Though hardly a watershed moment in NFL history, the recent revision of rules related to uniform numbers nevertheless has stirred discussions of athletes’ traditional (almost spiritual) attachment to their numbers as well as the league’s long-perceived stodginess.

Nothing new there. In the 1970s, during my days covering the New York Giants, there was a wide receiver named Danny Buggs, drafted out of West Virginia, who requested jersey No. 8 when he showed up at rookie camp. Sorry, he was told; wrong number. Requirements at the time—just now changed—were that Buggs, as a wide receiver, had to pick something from 80 to 89.

Buggs was given 86 and later 88, but remained uncomfortable with both. “8 means a lot to me,” he said. “I wore it in college….It’s psychological or something. I don’t know. I feel lighter in 8.”

Bobby Hammond, a running back who was briefly Buggs’ teammate, also requested 8, which he had worn at Morgan State. He too was informed of that impossibility because, starting in 1972, NFL running backs had been restricted to digits from 20 to 49. Hammond was assigned 46, though he stubbornly wore 8 in practice.

A half-century later, we have a recount. For the upcoming 2021 season, NFL wide receivers and running backs will be allowed any number from 1 to 49 and 80 to 89.

With this new numbers racket, articles naturally have surfaced taking the league to task for its past sin of being too buttoned-up—The No Fun League—over all these years. Why, before this, couldn’t players wear any number they wanted?

The answer was that codifying numbers by position benefited officiating crews to instantly differentiate, for instance, interior linemen from eligible receivers (which the new system essentially continues). The NFL also believed it was “simpler for fans” to be able to associate numbers with players’ roles. So in 1972, the league decreed: 1-19 for quarterbacks and kickers; 20-49 for running backs and defensive backs; 50-59 for centers and linebackers; 60-79 for defensive linemen and interior offensive linemen (except centers); 80-89 for wide receivers and tight ends; 90-99 for exhibition game use only (when teams’ rosters are larger).

No exceptions! Except…The Giants had signed a celebrated linebacker out of Michigan State for the 1973 season named Brad Van Pelt, and Van Pelt had included a stipulation in his contract—shortly before the numbers rule passed—that he wear No. 10.

Which he did for 11 seasons. Until he was traded to the Raiders—who then were based in Los Angeles—and took advantage of a 1984 tweak in the numbers’ rule (allowing 90s for linebackers) by wearing No. 91.

Football observers even older than myself know that long, long ago, on a planet far, far away, no number was out of bounds on the gridiron. Red Grange, a superstar halfback of the 1920s and 30s (before that position was known as “running back”), wore 77. The University of Michigan back Tom Harmon, who twice led the nation in scoring in the 1940s and played briefly for the Rams, was widely referred to as “Old 98,” his unique uniform number.

These days, smaller numbers—and, specifically, single digits—are all the fashion, as a glance at any college roster demonstrates. What hasn’t changed is that players get attached to their numbers, often as early as high school, and acknowledge that they “feel like an 85” or “feel like a 7….” and prefer to take the number with them as long as they are playing.

Now, basically, they can, though there is a financial catch. Any NFL veteran wanting to switch numbers for the 2021 season will have to buy out the existing allotment of his personalized jerseys that are on the market featuring his old number. Still, this is a matter of identity, and the NFL Network analyst Andrew Hawkins, who had worn 2 as a college wide receiver and 0 in the Canadian League, expects, for instance, to see single-digit wide receiver numbers proliferate. Because, he said, “You look good, you feel good, you play good.”

And maybe, as Danny Buggs said long ago, you feel lighter.

Anybody have a problem with that?

“Good luck trying to block the right people now!” lamented old pro Tom Brady in a tweet. What if his linemen won’t know who to knock down if their opponents are wearing smaller jersey numbers? “DUMB,” Brady railed. “Why not let the Linemen wear whatever they want, too? Why have numbers? Just have colored jerseys…Why not wear the same number?…DUMB.”

It has been reported that Brady’s former coach, New England’s Bill Belichick, likewise is against the new number allowances. That guy across the line dressed in No. 3 might be either a cornerback or a linebacker—maybe a kicker—and then what?

In the end, the sum of all this doesn’t seem to amount to much.

Go figure.