Tom Brady’s GOAT status is out of reach for now, but Patrick Mahomes is closing fast on Texas’ immortals

Chief among the Super Bowl’s selling points Sunday — if you don’t count the beer and chips and Romos hawking sneakers — is Tom Brady vs. Patrick Mahomes.

Greatest ever vs. greatest eventually.

Now, no matter what happens in Tampa, it may seem presumptuous to suggest such a destiny for Mahomes, given that he still has such a long way to go before catching Brady in Lombardi Trophies. But I like his odds. If the Chiefs repeat, Mahomes will find himself, at 25, a year ahead of Brady’s epic Lombardi pace.

And if the bar that Brady set remains out of reach for a decade or so, Mahomes is closing fast on Texas’ immortals, an unthinkable notion when he came out of Whitehouse just seven years ago.

Of those who played both high school and college football in Texas, then starred in the NFL, Mahomes is already among select company.

Think about it this way: If Zach Thomas, a Pro Football Hall of Fame finalist, makes the cut Saturday, he’ll become the 23rd inductee with credentials from the paragraph above, having played at Pampa and Texas Tech.

The quarterbacks on that list? Sammy Baugh and Bobby Layne.

Layne, of Highland Park and Texas, did in Detroit what Matthew Stafford, his heir of sorts, couldn’t: won back-to-back NFL titles in 1952-53. Baugh, of Sweetwater and TCU, led Washington to a pair of titles, in 1937, his rookie season, and again in ’42.

Baugh holds a special place in NFL history above all other Texans. He didn’t invent the forward pass, but he raised it to heights previously unknown. Not for nothing did they call him Slingin’ Sammy. He wasn’t just a great quarterback, though. In ’43, he led the NFL in passing, punting and interceptions, the last category as a defensive back.

Whatever nuances Layne and Baugh may have lacked in an era when the numbers don’t translate to today’s NFL, they remained larger-than-life characters who packed stadiums and stirred imaginations wherever they went.

Earl Campbell’s 9,407 yards rushing does not rank him even in the top 25 all-time NFL rushers. His 4.3 yards per carry average seems like a lie. Anyone who saw Earl at Tyler John Tyler or Texas or in the Oilers’ Columbia blue will tell you that no one could tackle him. That’s how we remember him, anyway. That’s how we remember Isiah Robertson, flat on his back after Earl road-graded the Rams’ linebacker. Defenders didn’t stop Earl; they waited for him to stumble over the destruction he’d wreaked. Ever so slowly he’d rise from the rubble, then do it all over again.

Mike Singletary was such a devastating linebacker at Houston Worthing, Baylor and with the Bears, he even looked scary. Eyes wide open, he wore the expression of an excitable young man whose mother had recently been insulted, and he would locate the culprit if he had to go through the offense piece by piece. Opponents spoke reverently of the look. Some were spooked by it. Asked once if he meant to be intimidating, Singletary said he was simply trying to see as much of the field as possible. I don’t think any of his old nemeses will find this comforting.

We remember many of the Texas 22 for signature traits and plays and moments: Eric Dickerson, at 6-3 already tall for the position, cavalierly violating the running back code by running straight up, almost daring anyone to hit him ... Ken Houston, maybe the greatest safety ever, stopping Walt Garrison cold at the goal line in ’73 ... Mean Joe Greene tossing his jersey to a kid in a commercial ... Don Maynard’s sideburns ... the gap in Michael Strahan’s teeth ... Bob Lilly, “Mr. Cowboy.”

God willing, Mahomes is decades from joining their Hall of Fame ranks, but, like them, his success and instinctive flair have already captured our imagination. Funny, then, that only Kliff Kingsbury seemed to see it coming.

Mahomes was only a three-star recruit coming out of Whitehouse even though he was a three-sport star. The fact that his father, Pat Mahomes, had been a big-league pitcher, including with the Rangers, scared off some coaches who thought he’d follow in his father’s footsteps. Kingsbury saw through it and signed him. He didn’t flinch when Baker Mayfield or Michael Brewer or Davis Webb left to start for other teams. He still had the best quarterback in Tech history. Maybe the best in the history of the state.

Mahomes didn’t win much at Tech, but let’s not hold that against him. He proved quickly in Kansas City that losing in Lubbock wasn’t his fault.

Of course, it’s not just that he wins; it’s the way he wins. He’s not so much Tom Brady or Peyton Manning or Joe Montana as he is Magic Johnson. Mahomes is as much fun to watch as Johnny Manziel and not a tenth of the trouble.

Mahomes is so good, he’s ruined the curve for quarterbacks. A loyal reader noted recently that Dak Prescott isn’t close and got no argument. The point is, other than Brady and Aaron Rodgers, no one else is in his class, either. Mahomes isn’t just building a case for the present; he’s making one for the ages. You’re welcome, Texas.

Texas football royalty

If honored Saturday, Zach Thomas, who played at Pampa and Texas Tech before a 13-year career with the Dolphins and Cowboys, would become the 23rd Pro Football Hall of Famer who played both high school and college in Texas. The list:

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