By Bob Markus
You've got to play with the small hurts. That is the athletes' mantra. Mine, too. I've always played with the small hurts. Sometimes with the big ones, too. In 36 years of writing sports for the Chicago Tribune I missed one day of work. I was in the hospital that day, undergoing what they told me was "minor surgery." Eight days later I left the hospital, having learned this important lesson. There is no minor surgery.
At the time, I was writing a column five days a week. The only column I missed was that one on the day of surgery. The next day I sat up in bed and watched the Cubs-Phillies game. Mike Schmidt hit four homers and that took care of that day's column. A few days later, Cale Yarborough, at the time the hottest driver in NASCAR's Winston Cup series, visited me in my hospital room. My roommate, who was there for a face lift, was mightily impressed. Actually, I was, too. The rest of the week I just sort of winged it, writing whatever popped into my head. Kind of like today's effort. I finally went home on Saturday and about an hour later Bill Bradley popped in. He was still playing for the New York Knicks at the time and was on the road promoting his book; "Life on the Run," I believe was the title.
When his advance publicist called to ask if I wanted to interview the basketball legend, I said, sure, but I've got a problem. No problem, said the agent, Mr. Bradley will be glad to come to your house. Bradley sat on our sofa while I occupied a matching chair and, although my politics were pretty far to the right of Bradley's, I later found myself wishing he'd become President so I could tell visitors "President Bradley once sat on that sofa."
Several years later, I was covering the White Sox in spring training in Sarasota, Fl., their winter home at the time. They played their games in a park with a rather rickety grandstand that featured a press box reachable only by a set of wooden stairs. The date was April 1, 1981, and I can tell you the date precisely because it was two days after President Ronald Reagan was shot--and Greg Luzinski was traded to the White Sox. On the day of the Luzinski trade, the White Sox were playing an exhibition game in Tampa against the Cincinnati Reds. Two of my three children were staying with me and I figured as long as we were going to be in Tampa, I might as well take the kids to Busch Gardens in the morning and then take them with me to the ball park. Everybody had a great time at the amusement park and my daughter actually wheedled me into joining her on a roller coaster ride, an adventure I would come to regret. When it was time to go, the kids suggested I leave them there and pick them up after the ball game. I actually considered it. For about three seconds. Then common sense finally took charge. In about the fifth inning there was an announcement in the press box that the Sox had just acquired Luzinski, the Chicago-born slugger, from the Phillies and "The Bull" would be available for interview within the hour--in Clearwater.
I hustled the kids into the car and drove to Clearwater, where the Bull babbled like a baby, tears streaming down his face as he recalled his glory years with the Phils. Sitting in the front row taking it all in, were Trish and Mike Markus, 13 and 10 respectively. It was while I was writing the trade story that news flashed on the TV screen in front of me that there had been an assassination attempt on The President. As I pulled in front of our rented condo in Sarasota I took a moment to reflect on what would have happened had I left the kids at Busch Gardens.
Two days later, after my usual morning run, I was sitting on the edge of a sofa taking off my running shoes when, just like that, my back went out and sent me writhing to the floor where I remained until the spasm relented long enough to allow me to get back on my feet.
Damn that roller coaster, I muttered. But you have to play with the small hurts, so I went out to the ballpark and endured a day of hell. It was a day in which the White Sox made three different trades and each time I had to struggle down those devilish stairs to the press room for an interview and back up again to write the story.
Another time I was in Laramie, Wyo., doing a feature story on the Cowboys basketball team when, again after a run, my left knee suddenly felt as if it had been hit by a bazooka. I couldn't stand on it, let alone walk, but luckily, the Wyoming trainer was able to give me some relief and I went about my business. The knee got worse and worse and I recall getting a cortizone shot on the morning of a flight to Paris. Our trip lasted three weeks and so did the shot, which lost its zip as soon as we landed back at O'Hare. Eventually it required arthroscopic surgery, but I never missed a day at work.
I could go on and tell you about the time I was covering the Blackhawks in a game in Dallas and as I walked down towards the ice during ther morning skate I got my first gout attack and hobbled around for the rest of the road trip. But I won't. I'll simply tell you that I went to my dentist a while back and he told me, essentially, "Your teeth are okay, but those gums will have to come out." I had my gum surgery this morning and I'm supposed to be resting for th4e balance of the day. But this is my day to write my blog and you have to play with the small hurts. It's now three hours after the surgery and the novocain, or whatever it was they gave me, is finally starting to wear off. I can hardly wait to find out what's going to happen next.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
By Bob Markus
The sweet bird of youth has revisited Mark Martin's nest and it appears to be ready to stay a spell. At the so-called golden age of 50 Martin is leading after the first of 10 races that will decide NASCAR's Sprint Cup championship. His victory Sunday in Loudon, N.H., was the 40th in his career, but he has never won either a series championship or a Daytona 500. Every geezer, including this one, has to be rooting for Martin, who came out of semi-retirement to race for Rick Hendrick on a fulltime basis this season. Already signed through 2010, Martin recently added a third year to his contract, meaning he should still be racing at 52.
The longtime lead driver for Jack Rousch racing, Martin announced his retirement after the 2005 season. But when Rousch couldn't find a suitable replacement, Martin agreed to race the full series in 2006. He ran parttime the last two seasons before joining the powerful Hendrick team, which already included Jeff Gordon and Jimmie Johnson, with seven Cup titles between them, and the popular but apparently over-rated Dale Earnhardt Jr. My most abiding memory of Martin came not at a race track, although I did once have a one-on-one with him in his trailer, but at a theater in New York.
Martin was in the Big Apple to get his slice of the Winston Cup (as it was called then) pie. It was NASCAR's version of the Oscars, although everyone already knew who the winners were. The top ten drivers and their crews were invited to New York to honor the champion and receive their own accolades. Being No. 10 in most sports is synonymous with "loser," but in NASCAR it's a big deal. And Martin, although never the top banana, was one of the bunch on a regular basis. At that time the event was held each December in the Waldorf-Astoria and as the auto racing writer for The Chicago Tribune I went to several of them. On this occasion my wife was with me and Chip Williams, then the p.r. director for Winston Cup, asked me if we would like to go to dinner and the theater with Mark Martin. I don't remember much about the dinner or the show we saw, but I do remember looking at Mark halfway through the production and seeing that he was fast asleep. It didn't surprise me too much, because the play was "The Secret Garden," a musical based on the once popular, but long forgotten children's novel, and I had trouble staying awake myself. It was Mark's first Broadway show and I'd be very surprised if it wasn't his last. Martin is a down home type of guy from Arkansas and he's all business. Long before most drivers were into physical fitness, Martin was an avid workout proponent, which could account for his long career.
Martin is just one of four drivers to win a Cup race after reaching age 50. The other three are Bobby Allison, Morgan Shepherd, and Harry Gant, who did it eight times. Four of those came in succession in September of 1991 and although he was not the champion, Gant was the most sought after interviewee at that year's banquet. Gant was the ultimate late bloomer. He not only was the oldest driver ever to win a Cup race for the first time (he was 42 when he won at Martinsville), but the oldest ever to win a Cup race, period,when he won for the last time at Michigan as a 52-year-old.
Shepherd , who was 41 before he won his first Cup race, was mostly a back marker during a long career that reached its peak when he ran for the legendry Wood Brothers from 1992 to 1995. It was sometime during that period that I talked to him and found out that, among other interesting tidbits, he was closely related to the infamous Tom Dooley of story and song--and that he was illiterate, couldn't read or write. Shepherd's Winston Cup career died a lingering death, but he's still racing at age 67. He ran his own truck racing team for awhile, but was so strapped for money that he actually was his own pit crew at times, climbing out of the truck to change tires and refuel before climbing back in and soldiering on. As long as he pitted under the yellow that wasn't too damaging--at least he didn't lose a lap, but green flag stops were another story. More recently he's run a one-car team in the Nationwide series, NASCAR's version of Triple A baseball. But once again money problems have loomed and he may not be able to finish out the season.
Bobbby Allison was a few months past his 50th birthday in 1988 when he won the Daytona 500 for the third time. His son Davey finished second and it was a spectacular day for the Allison family. It was Bobby's last victory. Later that year he was almost killed in a savage crash at Pocono and never raced again. I remember getting a phone call from Davey Allison's p.r. man several months later. He told me that Bobby for the first time was able and willing to talk about the crash and his recovery and that he could also get me hooked up with Davey. Was I interested? You bet. Davey told me of his feelings when he drove past the accident scene and saw how horrific it was, but Bobby couldn't remember much of anything about the wreck. I asked him how he now felt about the sport and he told me, "Racing's given me everything I have. Racing's good." A few years later his son Clifford was killed in a crash during practice at Michigan and a year after that Davey died in a helicopter crash en route to Talladega Speedway. It was on a Monday and I can tell you that with some assurance because I was just sitting down to dinner at the annual charity golf tournament with which I was involved when I got a phone call from the office. No dinner for me, that night.
In Formula One racing you're an old man at 30, but in other forms of racing it's not so rare to see a 50-year-old still driving competitively. A.J. Foyt ws 57 when he called it a career and Mario Andretti was 53 when he won for the last time in an Indy car. Paul Newman was still driving competitively well into his 70s. But for the ultimate in senior moments I think you have to look at Hershel McGriff, a legendary west coast driver who competed mostly in the Winston Cup West series. McGriff started racing when he was 17. That was 64 years ago. Now 81, McGriff this year entered the race at Portland, the same track on which he'd made his debut--and finished 13th. Mark Martin has some catching up to do.
The sweet bird of youth has revisited Mark Martin's nest and it appears to be ready to stay a spell. At the so-called golden age of 50 Martin is leading after the first of 10 races that will decide NASCAR's Sprint Cup championship. His victory Sunday in Loudon, N.H., was the 40th in his career, but he has never won either a series championship or a Daytona 500. Every geezer, including this one, has to be rooting for Martin, who came out of semi-retirement to race for Rick Hendrick on a fulltime basis this season. Already signed through 2010, Martin recently added a third year to his contract, meaning he should still be racing at 52.
The longtime lead driver for Jack Rousch racing, Martin announced his retirement after the 2005 season. But when Rousch couldn't find a suitable replacement, Martin agreed to race the full series in 2006. He ran parttime the last two seasons before joining the powerful Hendrick team, which already included Jeff Gordon and Jimmie Johnson, with seven Cup titles between them, and the popular but apparently over-rated Dale Earnhardt Jr. My most abiding memory of Martin came not at a race track, although I did once have a one-on-one with him in his trailer, but at a theater in New York.
Martin was in the Big Apple to get his slice of the Winston Cup (as it was called then) pie. It was NASCAR's version of the Oscars, although everyone already knew who the winners were. The top ten drivers and their crews were invited to New York to honor the champion and receive their own accolades. Being No. 10 in most sports is synonymous with "loser," but in NASCAR it's a big deal. And Martin, although never the top banana, was one of the bunch on a regular basis. At that time the event was held each December in the Waldorf-Astoria and as the auto racing writer for The Chicago Tribune I went to several of them. On this occasion my wife was with me and Chip Williams, then the p.r. director for Winston Cup, asked me if we would like to go to dinner and the theater with Mark Martin. I don't remember much about the dinner or the show we saw, but I do remember looking at Mark halfway through the production and seeing that he was fast asleep. It didn't surprise me too much, because the play was "The Secret Garden," a musical based on the once popular, but long forgotten children's novel, and I had trouble staying awake myself. It was Mark's first Broadway show and I'd be very surprised if it wasn't his last. Martin is a down home type of guy from Arkansas and he's all business. Long before most drivers were into physical fitness, Martin was an avid workout proponent, which could account for his long career.
Martin is just one of four drivers to win a Cup race after reaching age 50. The other three are Bobby Allison, Morgan Shepherd, and Harry Gant, who did it eight times. Four of those came in succession in September of 1991 and although he was not the champion, Gant was the most sought after interviewee at that year's banquet. Gant was the ultimate late bloomer. He not only was the oldest driver ever to win a Cup race for the first time (he was 42 when he won at Martinsville), but the oldest ever to win a Cup race, period,when he won for the last time at Michigan as a 52-year-old.
Shepherd , who was 41 before he won his first Cup race, was mostly a back marker during a long career that reached its peak when he ran for the legendry Wood Brothers from 1992 to 1995. It was sometime during that period that I talked to him and found out that, among other interesting tidbits, he was closely related to the infamous Tom Dooley of story and song--and that he was illiterate, couldn't read or write. Shepherd's Winston Cup career died a lingering death, but he's still racing at age 67. He ran his own truck racing team for awhile, but was so strapped for money that he actually was his own pit crew at times, climbing out of the truck to change tires and refuel before climbing back in and soldiering on. As long as he pitted under the yellow that wasn't too damaging--at least he didn't lose a lap, but green flag stops were another story. More recently he's run a one-car team in the Nationwide series, NASCAR's version of Triple A baseball. But once again money problems have loomed and he may not be able to finish out the season.
Bobbby Allison was a few months past his 50th birthday in 1988 when he won the Daytona 500 for the third time. His son Davey finished second and it was a spectacular day for the Allison family. It was Bobby's last victory. Later that year he was almost killed in a savage crash at Pocono and never raced again. I remember getting a phone call from Davey Allison's p.r. man several months later. He told me that Bobby for the first time was able and willing to talk about the crash and his recovery and that he could also get me hooked up with Davey. Was I interested? You bet. Davey told me of his feelings when he drove past the accident scene and saw how horrific it was, but Bobby couldn't remember much of anything about the wreck. I asked him how he now felt about the sport and he told me, "Racing's given me everything I have. Racing's good." A few years later his son Clifford was killed in a crash during practice at Michigan and a year after that Davey died in a helicopter crash en route to Talladega Speedway. It was on a Monday and I can tell you that with some assurance because I was just sitting down to dinner at the annual charity golf tournament with which I was involved when I got a phone call from the office. No dinner for me, that night.
In Formula One racing you're an old man at 30, but in other forms of racing it's not so rare to see a 50-year-old still driving competitively. A.J. Foyt ws 57 when he called it a career and Mario Andretti was 53 when he won for the last time in an Indy car. Paul Newman was still driving competitively well into his 70s. But for the ultimate in senior moments I think you have to look at Hershel McGriff, a legendary west coast driver who competed mostly in the Winston Cup West series. McGriff started racing when he was 17. That was 64 years ago. Now 81, McGriff this year entered the race at Portland, the same track on which he'd made his debut--and finished 13th. Mark Martin has some catching up to do.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
By Bob Markus
Through the years, the Chicago Bears have been primarily known for two things--Hall of Fame linebackers and Hall-of-Shame quarterbacks. Oh, you can throw in an occasional Gale Sayers or Walter Payton, but by and large the Bears have been defined by the stellar play of, especially, their middle linebackers and the cellar play of the myriad of mopes who have taken center snaps. This was the year that would change all that, or at least half of that. Brian Urlacher would continue on as the latest in the long orange and blue line of dynamic middle linebackers, a line that stretches all the way back to Bulldog Turner, who strictly speaking was not a middle linebacker--the position had yet to be invented--but a center and middle guard. Turner handed the mantle to Bill George, who DID invent the position of middle linebacker and from there it passed through the brutish hands of Dick Butkus to the fierce-eyed Mike Singletary to Urlacher, who seems almost certain to join his predecessors in the Hall of Fame.
But, no longer would Bears fans have to watch in despair as their rag-armed quarterbacks threw more passes into the dirt or, worse, into the arms of opposing defensive backs than they did to their own receivers. Riding to the rescue like El Cid, to right all of history's wrongs was Jay Cutler, who bore the impressive label "franchise quarterback." Unfortunately, what we got was not El Cid, but Sancho Panza. He even looks a bit like the popular conception of Don Quixote's sidekick, moonfaced with a slightly rounded body.
I don't know what I expected from Cutler's debut as a Bears quarterback, but certainly not this. Not four interceptions, two of which contributed directly to the Green Bay Packers' 21-15 opening night victory. Most of the picks were about as close to the intended receiver as Rush Limbaugh is to Barack Obama. If you could even figure out just who was the intended receiver. There was less communication between Cutler and his wideouts than there was between King Kong and Fay Wray.
But Cutler's performance was not the worst thing that happened to the Bears Monday night. Perhaps it was an anomaly and Cutler would come back next week to carve up the Pittsburgh Steelers. Wait a minute. Did I just say the Pittsburgh Steelers? Aren't they the Super bowl champions? Doesn't matter. Even if Cutler were the second coming of Sid Luckman the Bears aren't going anywhere without Urlacher. And Urlacher isn't going anywhere near a football field for the rest of this season after surgery for a dislocated wrist. Speaking of Luckman, Sid was one of only three quarterbacks who have led the Bears to a championship in the modern era, which he himself inaugurated in 1940 as the NFL's first T-formation quarterback. Luckman won four titles with the Bears, Bill Wade and Jim McMahon one apiece. Wade, like Cutler, went to Vanderbilt, so perhaps there is an omen there. But if Cutler can't cut it, perhaps the Bears could draft BYU's Max Hall next year. After all, McMahon is a BYU product. I doubt there will be any help forthcoming from Columbia, Luckman's alma mater.
There has been an endless string of Bears quarterbacks between Luckman and Cutler, most of them easily forgettable. But not all. There were the three B's--Ed Brown, George Blanda and Zeke Bratkowski. Brown led the Bears into the 1956 title game, Blanda became one of the game's alltime leading kickers and, in his football dotage, the starting quarterback for an Oakland Raiders team that nearly got to the Super Bowl. There were the three L's--Luckman, Bobby Layne, and Johnny Lujack. Luckman you already know about, although you might not know he was one of the nicest men who ever lived. I once asked him for an interview for a free lance piece I was working on. He invited me to his downtown Chicago apartment for breakfast, gave me a great interview and then thanked me for coming. Unaware of what he had in Layne, George Halas traded him and watched the eccentric Texan become a Hall of Famer for the Detroit Lions. Lujack, a two-way player, gave the Bears three decent years and then retired.
Later there were the likes of Jack Concannon, Bobby Douglass, Virgil Carter, and Bob Avellini. The first three were key figures in the most bizarre locker room scene I have ever witnessed. The Bears were nearing the end of their most disastrous season ever, a season in which they would go 1-13 and Brian Piccolo would be diagnosed with cancer. Carter, a record-setting passer at Brigham Young had been given his first start of the season, but at halftime, with the Bears down 3-0 to the Packers, Coach Jim Dooley replaced Carter with Douglass, then a rookie. I don't remember the score, but the Packers won easily enough and the Bears locker room was like a three-ringed circus. In one corner sat Douglass, telling anyone who would listen that he was the quarterback of the future. In another corner sat Concannon, who had not played, laughing and goading Carter, who was standing in the center of the room in a white hot rage and insisting he had played his last game as a Bear and would play out his option. "What if Halas won't let you do that?" I asked him. "I hope he won't be chickenshit enough to do that," Virgil responded in what became infamous as "the chicken bleep speech." Halas fined him a substantial amount and when I asked why, the owner-coach responded, "because he called me chickenshit." I pointed out that what Carter had said was he hoped Halas wouldn't be chickenshit, but the fine stood. Carter went on to lead the Cincinnati Bengals to the playoffs the next season and later returned to Chicago as the quarterback of the short-lived Chicago Fire.. My wife and I were socially acquainted with Virgil and his wife, Judy. We always thought they were the perfect couple, he the star quarterback, she a cheerleader at BYU. So we were stunned a few years later when we heard that the two were divorced. I lost track of him after that, but finally decided to find out what had become of him. I called Lavell Edwards, his coach at BYU, and Lavell said that the last he'd heard, Virgil had become part of a motorcycle gang. He gave me a phone number where Carter could sometimes be reached, but I never tried to call him.
Douglass was totally miscast as a quarterback. He had an arm like a bazooka and was a powerful runner. He could have become another Paul Horning had he been switched to tailback, but it never happened. After his football career ended, Douglass tried to become a baseball pitcher and was given a tryout by the White Sox's Iowa farm team. I went to Des Moines to cover the event. All I remember about it was that Bobby was wild and I had a nice conversation with the Iowa manager, a guy named Tony LaRussa.
The quarterbacks came and went. Mike Phipps, Vince Evans, Avellini, then, finally, McMahon. But the euphoria that McMahon helped bring to Chicago didn't last long, and the qbs kept coming. Doug Flutie and Mike Tomczak and Jim Harbaugh and Erik Kramer, and Steve Walsh and Shane Matthews and Cade McCown and on and on and on. Finally there was Rex Grossman, who got credit for getting the Bears to the Super Bowl a few years back, although it was the defense and Devin Hester who really were responsible.
Jay Cutler may be a cut above many of the signal callers who passed through Chcicago over the past 50 years, but he sure didn't show it in the opener. Now, with Urlacher down, the very heart of the Bears' defense ripped out, it might take more than the second coming of Sid Luckman to save the Bears' season. It would take the second coming of you know who to do that.
Through the years, the Chicago Bears have been primarily known for two things--Hall of Fame linebackers and Hall-of-Shame quarterbacks. Oh, you can throw in an occasional Gale Sayers or Walter Payton, but by and large the Bears have been defined by the stellar play of, especially, their middle linebackers and the cellar play of the myriad of mopes who have taken center snaps. This was the year that would change all that, or at least half of that. Brian Urlacher would continue on as the latest in the long orange and blue line of dynamic middle linebackers, a line that stretches all the way back to Bulldog Turner, who strictly speaking was not a middle linebacker--the position had yet to be invented--but a center and middle guard. Turner handed the mantle to Bill George, who DID invent the position of middle linebacker and from there it passed through the brutish hands of Dick Butkus to the fierce-eyed Mike Singletary to Urlacher, who seems almost certain to join his predecessors in the Hall of Fame.
But, no longer would Bears fans have to watch in despair as their rag-armed quarterbacks threw more passes into the dirt or, worse, into the arms of opposing defensive backs than they did to their own receivers. Riding to the rescue like El Cid, to right all of history's wrongs was Jay Cutler, who bore the impressive label "franchise quarterback." Unfortunately, what we got was not El Cid, but Sancho Panza. He even looks a bit like the popular conception of Don Quixote's sidekick, moonfaced with a slightly rounded body.
I don't know what I expected from Cutler's debut as a Bears quarterback, but certainly not this. Not four interceptions, two of which contributed directly to the Green Bay Packers' 21-15 opening night victory. Most of the picks were about as close to the intended receiver as Rush Limbaugh is to Barack Obama. If you could even figure out just who was the intended receiver. There was less communication between Cutler and his wideouts than there was between King Kong and Fay Wray.
But Cutler's performance was not the worst thing that happened to the Bears Monday night. Perhaps it was an anomaly and Cutler would come back next week to carve up the Pittsburgh Steelers. Wait a minute. Did I just say the Pittsburgh Steelers? Aren't they the Super bowl champions? Doesn't matter. Even if Cutler were the second coming of Sid Luckman the Bears aren't going anywhere without Urlacher. And Urlacher isn't going anywhere near a football field for the rest of this season after surgery for a dislocated wrist. Speaking of Luckman, Sid was one of only three quarterbacks who have led the Bears to a championship in the modern era, which he himself inaugurated in 1940 as the NFL's first T-formation quarterback. Luckman won four titles with the Bears, Bill Wade and Jim McMahon one apiece. Wade, like Cutler, went to Vanderbilt, so perhaps there is an omen there. But if Cutler can't cut it, perhaps the Bears could draft BYU's Max Hall next year. After all, McMahon is a BYU product. I doubt there will be any help forthcoming from Columbia, Luckman's alma mater.
There has been an endless string of Bears quarterbacks between Luckman and Cutler, most of them easily forgettable. But not all. There were the three B's--Ed Brown, George Blanda and Zeke Bratkowski. Brown led the Bears into the 1956 title game, Blanda became one of the game's alltime leading kickers and, in his football dotage, the starting quarterback for an Oakland Raiders team that nearly got to the Super Bowl. There were the three L's--Luckman, Bobby Layne, and Johnny Lujack. Luckman you already know about, although you might not know he was one of the nicest men who ever lived. I once asked him for an interview for a free lance piece I was working on. He invited me to his downtown Chicago apartment for breakfast, gave me a great interview and then thanked me for coming. Unaware of what he had in Layne, George Halas traded him and watched the eccentric Texan become a Hall of Famer for the Detroit Lions. Lujack, a two-way player, gave the Bears three decent years and then retired.
Later there were the likes of Jack Concannon, Bobby Douglass, Virgil Carter, and Bob Avellini. The first three were key figures in the most bizarre locker room scene I have ever witnessed. The Bears were nearing the end of their most disastrous season ever, a season in which they would go 1-13 and Brian Piccolo would be diagnosed with cancer. Carter, a record-setting passer at Brigham Young had been given his first start of the season, but at halftime, with the Bears down 3-0 to the Packers, Coach Jim Dooley replaced Carter with Douglass, then a rookie. I don't remember the score, but the Packers won easily enough and the Bears locker room was like a three-ringed circus. In one corner sat Douglass, telling anyone who would listen that he was the quarterback of the future. In another corner sat Concannon, who had not played, laughing and goading Carter, who was standing in the center of the room in a white hot rage and insisting he had played his last game as a Bear and would play out his option. "What if Halas won't let you do that?" I asked him. "I hope he won't be chickenshit enough to do that," Virgil responded in what became infamous as "the chicken bleep speech." Halas fined him a substantial amount and when I asked why, the owner-coach responded, "because he called me chickenshit." I pointed out that what Carter had said was he hoped Halas wouldn't be chickenshit, but the fine stood. Carter went on to lead the Cincinnati Bengals to the playoffs the next season and later returned to Chicago as the quarterback of the short-lived Chicago Fire.. My wife and I were socially acquainted with Virgil and his wife, Judy. We always thought they were the perfect couple, he the star quarterback, she a cheerleader at BYU. So we were stunned a few years later when we heard that the two were divorced. I lost track of him after that, but finally decided to find out what had become of him. I called Lavell Edwards, his coach at BYU, and Lavell said that the last he'd heard, Virgil had become part of a motorcycle gang. He gave me a phone number where Carter could sometimes be reached, but I never tried to call him.
Douglass was totally miscast as a quarterback. He had an arm like a bazooka and was a powerful runner. He could have become another Paul Horning had he been switched to tailback, but it never happened. After his football career ended, Douglass tried to become a baseball pitcher and was given a tryout by the White Sox's Iowa farm team. I went to Des Moines to cover the event. All I remember about it was that Bobby was wild and I had a nice conversation with the Iowa manager, a guy named Tony LaRussa.
The quarterbacks came and went. Mike Phipps, Vince Evans, Avellini, then, finally, McMahon. But the euphoria that McMahon helped bring to Chicago didn't last long, and the qbs kept coming. Doug Flutie and Mike Tomczak and Jim Harbaugh and Erik Kramer, and Steve Walsh and Shane Matthews and Cade McCown and on and on and on. Finally there was Rex Grossman, who got credit for getting the Bears to the Super Bowl a few years back, although it was the defense and Devin Hester who really were responsible.
Jay Cutler may be a cut above many of the signal callers who passed through Chcicago over the past 50 years, but he sure didn't show it in the opener. Now, with Urlacher down, the very heart of the Bears' defense ripped out, it might take more than the second coming of Sid Luckman to save the Bears' season. It would take the second coming of you know who to do that.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
By Bob Markus
The extended opening week-end of the college football season had everything--the good, the bad, and the ugly--and that was just opening night during and immediately following Boise State's 19-8 victory over Oregon. The good: Boise State's defense, which held the supposedly high-powered Oregon offense without a first down until midway through the third quarter. The bad: that Oregon offense, which performed like a wounded Duck. The ugly: Oregon running back LeGarrette Blount's sucker punch of a Boise State player as the teams were leaving the field. Is that what they mean by "assault with a Blount instrument?" Blount may have been provoked. The recipient of his straight right to the jaw had tapped him on the shoulder and said something to the Oregon runner. So far as I know nobody has yet revealed what was said. Could it have something to do with Blount's pregame statement that Oregon would exact revenge for last year's loss to Boise State, that they were going to "whoop their ass?" Could it have been something on the order of "put your money where your mouth is?" after Blount spent most of the night going backwards and finished with negative rushing yards? ( Would Joe Namath have punched out Johnny Unitas had the Jets lost Super Bowl III?) Regardless, it was about as ugly as it gets in college football and it cost Blount his career and could impact on his future earnings in the NFL.
The game was surprising not so much for the fact that Boise won it, but in the way the Broncos won it. After sitting through South Carolina's stultifying victory over North Carolina State in the first game of the new season, most tv viewers were anticipating a wide open wingding. Boise State is noted for its innovations on offense and the Ducks had hung 63 points on Oregon State and 42 on Oklahoma State in their last two games a year ago. This game was the most important on Boise State's schedule, which is not entirely good news for Broncos fans. There is a pretty good chance that Boise will go undefeated in the regular season, but with that schedule, perceived to be as soft as a whisper, there is no chance the Broncos will play for the national championship. That is not the case with Brigham Young, which pulled off the upset of the week-end, not only knocking off No. 3 Oklahoma 14-13, but sending Heisman Trophy winning quarterback Sam Bradford to the infirmary. Bradford may return at some point in the season, but his bid to become only the second two-time Heisman winner is over. BYU is another team not noted for its defense but the Cougars were containing the high-powered Sooner offense even before Bradford's injury in the second period. On this night the Sooners were not the better. BYU has a tough enough remaining schedule: Florida State , TCU, Utah --all in the preseason Top 25--to make a case for its inclusion in the national championship game should it run the table. All three of those games will be played in Provo, as is the game against Air Force, unranked but dangerous. The Falcons opened their season with a 72-0 scorching of Nicholls State, which might not be very good, but. . . .72-0?
There are some interesting implications to be drawn from the results of the first week-end: The first is that the Atlantic Coast Conference is not very good . Duke and Virginia both lost to Division IAA schools. Virginia Tech, supposedly one of the powers of the conference and ranked No. 7 nationally, lost to Alabama, an SEC power and North Carolina State lost to South Carolina, definitely not an SEC power. In addition, Maryland was overpowered by California, which has hopes of ending USC's reign of terror in the Pac 10. But the ACC did provide THE game of the week-end and possibly of the season. It will be hard to top Miami's 38-34 win over Florida State, which wasn't over even when it was over. The final play was reviewed by officials after both teams declared themselves the winner, kind of like two boxers throwing their arms in the air while awaiting a decision. While Doak Campbell Stadium was wracked with tension while awaiting the decision, it was clear to viewers at home that Jarmon Forston had dropped quarterback Christian Ponder's pass in the end zone on the final play. Florida State players jumped up and down when it appeared Forston had caught the ball, but Miami's players saw immediately that he had not held onto the ball. The officials finally confirmed it. The game made instant stars of both Ponder and Miami quarterback Jacory Harris. Harris threw for 386 yards and two touchdowns and led the Hurricanes back even after a devasting interception return put the Seminoles in front 31-24. So it looks as if Miami may be back on track, although the Canes have as tough a four-game opening stretch as there is in the country.The next three games are against Georgia Tech, Virginia Tech, and Oklahoma, which could have Bradford back by their Oct. 3 meeting.
Two other teams that made a statement Saturday are Notre Dame and Michigan, which both won handily and relieved the pressure on their embattled coaches. Notre Dame's Charlie Weis has been under fire for the better part of two years for the simplest of reasons--the Irish have lost 15 games over that period, Michigan's Rich Rodriguez had two strikes against him. Not only was his first year as Wolverines coach a disaster, but just last week he was accused of abusing NCAA rules on the amount of time student athletes can spend being athletes. The two will meet Saturday in Ann Arbor and the loser will go back to being abused. The other big game involving a Big Ten team finds USC visiting the Horseshoe in Columbus, with a true freshman quarterback. But the Buckeyes will have to play a whole lot better than they did last Saturday, when Navy came within an intercepted two-point conversion attempt of taking the Buckeyes to overtime.
The question of which is the best conference in the country was hardly settled by Saturday's events. Alabama came up big for the SEC with its win over Virginia Tech. The Big 12 took a hit with Oklahoma's loss, but Missouri drubbed Illinois 37-9 in a mild upset and Oklahoma State whipped SEC heavyweight Georgia 24-10. As Bette Davis famously said in "All About Eve," "hold onto your seats, boys, it's going to be a bumpy ride."
The extended opening week-end of the college football season had everything--the good, the bad, and the ugly--and that was just opening night during and immediately following Boise State's 19-8 victory over Oregon. The good: Boise State's defense, which held the supposedly high-powered Oregon offense without a first down until midway through the third quarter. The bad: that Oregon offense, which performed like a wounded Duck. The ugly: Oregon running back LeGarrette Blount's sucker punch of a Boise State player as the teams were leaving the field. Is that what they mean by "assault with a Blount instrument?" Blount may have been provoked. The recipient of his straight right to the jaw had tapped him on the shoulder and said something to the Oregon runner. So far as I know nobody has yet revealed what was said. Could it have something to do with Blount's pregame statement that Oregon would exact revenge for last year's loss to Boise State, that they were going to "whoop their ass?" Could it have been something on the order of "put your money where your mouth is?" after Blount spent most of the night going backwards and finished with negative rushing yards? ( Would Joe Namath have punched out Johnny Unitas had the Jets lost Super Bowl III?) Regardless, it was about as ugly as it gets in college football and it cost Blount his career and could impact on his future earnings in the NFL.
The game was surprising not so much for the fact that Boise won it, but in the way the Broncos won it. After sitting through South Carolina's stultifying victory over North Carolina State in the first game of the new season, most tv viewers were anticipating a wide open wingding. Boise State is noted for its innovations on offense and the Ducks had hung 63 points on Oregon State and 42 on Oklahoma State in their last two games a year ago. This game was the most important on Boise State's schedule, which is not entirely good news for Broncos fans. There is a pretty good chance that Boise will go undefeated in the regular season, but with that schedule, perceived to be as soft as a whisper, there is no chance the Broncos will play for the national championship. That is not the case with Brigham Young, which pulled off the upset of the week-end, not only knocking off No. 3 Oklahoma 14-13, but sending Heisman Trophy winning quarterback Sam Bradford to the infirmary. Bradford may return at some point in the season, but his bid to become only the second two-time Heisman winner is over. BYU is another team not noted for its defense but the Cougars were containing the high-powered Sooner offense even before Bradford's injury in the second period. On this night the Sooners were not the better. BYU has a tough enough remaining schedule: Florida State , TCU, Utah --all in the preseason Top 25--to make a case for its inclusion in the national championship game should it run the table. All three of those games will be played in Provo, as is the game against Air Force, unranked but dangerous. The Falcons opened their season with a 72-0 scorching of Nicholls State, which might not be very good, but. . . .72-0?
There are some interesting implications to be drawn from the results of the first week-end: The first is that the Atlantic Coast Conference is not very good . Duke and Virginia both lost to Division IAA schools. Virginia Tech, supposedly one of the powers of the conference and ranked No. 7 nationally, lost to Alabama, an SEC power and North Carolina State lost to South Carolina, definitely not an SEC power. In addition, Maryland was overpowered by California, which has hopes of ending USC's reign of terror in the Pac 10. But the ACC did provide THE game of the week-end and possibly of the season. It will be hard to top Miami's 38-34 win over Florida State, which wasn't over even when it was over. The final play was reviewed by officials after both teams declared themselves the winner, kind of like two boxers throwing their arms in the air while awaiting a decision. While Doak Campbell Stadium was wracked with tension while awaiting the decision, it was clear to viewers at home that Jarmon Forston had dropped quarterback Christian Ponder's pass in the end zone on the final play. Florida State players jumped up and down when it appeared Forston had caught the ball, but Miami's players saw immediately that he had not held onto the ball. The officials finally confirmed it. The game made instant stars of both Ponder and Miami quarterback Jacory Harris. Harris threw for 386 yards and two touchdowns and led the Hurricanes back even after a devasting interception return put the Seminoles in front 31-24. So it looks as if Miami may be back on track, although the Canes have as tough a four-game opening stretch as there is in the country.The next three games are against Georgia Tech, Virginia Tech, and Oklahoma, which could have Bradford back by their Oct. 3 meeting.
Two other teams that made a statement Saturday are Notre Dame and Michigan, which both won handily and relieved the pressure on their embattled coaches. Notre Dame's Charlie Weis has been under fire for the better part of two years for the simplest of reasons--the Irish have lost 15 games over that period, Michigan's Rich Rodriguez had two strikes against him. Not only was his first year as Wolverines coach a disaster, but just last week he was accused of abusing NCAA rules on the amount of time student athletes can spend being athletes. The two will meet Saturday in Ann Arbor and the loser will go back to being abused. The other big game involving a Big Ten team finds USC visiting the Horseshoe in Columbus, with a true freshman quarterback. But the Buckeyes will have to play a whole lot better than they did last Saturday, when Navy came within an intercepted two-point conversion attempt of taking the Buckeyes to overtime.
The question of which is the best conference in the country was hardly settled by Saturday's events. Alabama came up big for the SEC with its win over Virginia Tech. The Big 12 took a hit with Oklahoma's loss, but Missouri drubbed Illinois 37-9 in a mild upset and Oklahoma State whipped SEC heavyweight Georgia 24-10. As Bette Davis famously said in "All About Eve," "hold onto your seats, boys, it's going to be a bumpy ride."
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
By Bob Markus
I think I'm becoming a junkie. No, not like Frankie Machine, the drug-addled hero of Nelson Algren's novel The Man With the Golden Arm. I don't crave heroin and I'd sooner eat brocolli than stick a needle in my arm. Still, I need my fix. Need it real bad. Here it is Sept. 1 and not a single college football game on TV yet. As far as I know there hasn't been one played yet. I know that back in the day college football used to be strictly an autumn sport. In fact, if you go way back, you'll find that football season didn't start until October. As late as 1982 a college football game in August was as rare as a Chicago Cubs World Series appearance.
Then came the kickoff classic, a game in late August in the New Jersey Meadowlands. I covered the inaugural game in 1983, when Nebraska blew out Penn State 44-6 on Aug. 29. The only thing I recall about that game is I had rented a black compact from Hertz and just as I wrapped up my story and went into the parking lot, the lights were turned off. Ever try finding a black car in an inky night, not even knowing on which side of the stadium you had parked it? The kickoff classic went on for several years, but the only other one of them I covered was the 1986 game when Alabama beat Ohio State 16-10. I have two memories of that one. The first was that I went to Tuscaloosa a few days before the game, less to advance it than to do a feature on quarterback Mike Shula, Don's son. I had made arrangements to talk to head coach Ray Perkins as well as young Mr. Shula, but the day I arrived one of the Crimson Tide players died on the practice field. Under the circumstances, I expected Perkins, not known as a huge fan of the media, anyway, to cancel the appointment. But he went through with it and later, when I saw him in an elevator in the headquarters hotel in New Jersey, he even said "hello." The other thing I remember is that on the morning of the game I awoke with a raging fever. The Alabama medical staff was kind enough to give me some medicine, but it didn't help much. By the time I got to South Carolina for my next assignment, the fever had subsided, but my mouth was so inflamed I couldn't eat. I finally went to a clinic on the afternoon of the Saturday night game and was given a potion which numbed my lips for about 10 minutes, just long enough to choke down a sandwich before going to the game.
The idea of playing football in August seemed to catch on. In 2002 both Nebraska and Arizona State played two games in August, the first against each other on Aug.24. In 1997 Northwestern and Oklahoma played as early as Aug.23. College football was always one of my favorite assignments when I was covering sports for the Chicago Tribune and remains one of my favorites in retirement. I was so hungry for football of the non-NFL variety that I even watched a high school game last Saturday. Of course, it featured St. Thomas Aquinas of Fort Lauderdale, my current residence, and the Raiders, widely acknowledged the No. 1 prep team in America, looked as if they could have taken on a Division one college team in the course of their 52-7 blowout of Upper Arlington (Ohio). Usually on that last Saturday in August there are at least a few college games played, and one or two of them is likely to be an intriguing match-up. Not this year. Mercifully, I have only two more days to wait before getting that nerve calming fix. There are five games scheduled for Thursday night and two of them are intriguing matchups--South Carolina at North Carolina State and, even yummier, Oregon at Boise State. The Ducks, Sports Illustrated's choice as the No. 11 team in the country are 4 point underdogs to Boise State, SI's No.9 team. That game is going to test my dedication to the sport because it starts at 10:15 Estern time and probably won't be over until at least 1:30 a.m. I usually set my alarm for 6 a.m. on Friday to make my regular tee time. Something's got to give .
That's a pretty good warmup act for Saturday, when most of the major teams go into action. There are several early showdown games scheduled for that day and although Alabama vs. Virginia Tech is getting most of the hype it isn't the only premium attraction Saturday. Worth watching: Georgia at Oklahoma State, BYU at Oklahoma, and Illinois-Missouri, for personal reasons, in their annual St. Louis showdown. The Oklahoma-BYU game is particularly intriguing because it features Heisman Trophy winner Sam Bradford of Oklahoma against the latest in a long line of BYU gunslingers, Max Hall. Should Hall win this duel in the sun, he would become an instant Heisman contender, even in a year when all three finalists--Bradford, Texas' Colt McCoy and former Heisman winner Tim Tebow of Florida--are back to try again.
My love affair with college football began in the war years--that's World War II if you're keeping score--when I'd listen to a game on the radio every Saturday afternoon, then go next door to Maisel's Drug Store for the early edition of the Sunday papers, where I could read about all the Big Ten games. The stories were all told in play-by-play fashion and it wasn't until I started working for The Tribune myself that I came to understand that what I was reading was not the final story, but "running" matter which later would be "subbed out" by the writer covering the game. The first college game I ever saw in person was in 1947, when I was 13. Somebody had given my father a single ticket to the Notre Dame-Northwestern game at Dyche stadium. I took the train by myself to the Central Street station and followed the crowd to the Stadium. I don't remember the details, but I remember the score, Notre Dame 26; Northwestern 19. That was the closest game Notre Dame played in a perfect 9-0 season.
The first college game I covered was Purdue's 31-0 drubbing of Missouri to start the 1954 season. I was a student at Missouri, covering football for The Missourian, the daily paper put out by the school's journalism students. The two things that stand out in my memory were, first, that Len Dawson, in his college debut, threw four touchdown passes to Lamar Lundy, also making his first start and, second, the Friday night press party. In that era it was de riguer for the host school to have a press "smoker," featuring food and drink and, usually, an appearance by both coaches. Purdue's "smoker" was by far the best in the Big Ten. It was held at that time in a downtown hotel and featured a steak dinner and all you could drink--cocktails before, wine during, and brandy afterward. There were perhaps 12 of us sitting at a long table and I was awe struck at being in the company of such famous writers as Dave Condon of The Tribune and Bob Broeg of St. Louis. They all treated me as one of the gang and I was spellbound by the stories they told. Later, when I was covering college football for The Tribune I remember vividly two other press parties involving Purdue Coach Jack Mollenkopf. At that time the Tribune used to publish on Friday a list of the writers who would be covering The Big Ten and Notre Dame games on Saturday. It was called: They'll Be There. One time when I was going to cover a Purdue game my flight to Lafayette was cancelled and we were all piled into a bus and driven to West Lafayette. As a result, the press party was in full swing when I arrived, and there to greet me, a gin and tonic in hand, was Mollenkopf, who said:"I read in the paper that you were coming down. I've been waiting for you. Here, I bet you can use this." A few years later at a "smoker" at Notre Dame, I sat at Mollenkopf's table for dinner. The two teams were ranked 1 and 2 in the polls and there was a great deal of anticipation, but Mollenkopf scoffed: "I don't know why everyone's making such a big deal of this game. We're going to win tomorrow and at the end of the year Notre Dame's going to be ranked ahead of us." He was right on both counts.
Part of the joy of covering college football was in arriving early on a Saturday morning and walking around the campus. I always believed that Indiana and Michigan State had the two prettiest campuses in the Big Ten, because, believe it or not, although I lived less than five miles away from it I never saw the Northwestern campus until after I retired. Having seen it often since then I have to revise my list. I've seen dozens and dozens of college campuses and, with the exception of Pepperdine, which overlooks the Malibu coast, there is no more beautiful college campus than Northwestern's.
Of course, I'll never see another college football game from the same perspective, but I'll never lose interest in it, either. Let the games begin.
I think I'm becoming a junkie. No, not like Frankie Machine, the drug-addled hero of Nelson Algren's novel The Man With the Golden Arm. I don't crave heroin and I'd sooner eat brocolli than stick a needle in my arm. Still, I need my fix. Need it real bad. Here it is Sept. 1 and not a single college football game on TV yet. As far as I know there hasn't been one played yet. I know that back in the day college football used to be strictly an autumn sport. In fact, if you go way back, you'll find that football season didn't start until October. As late as 1982 a college football game in August was as rare as a Chicago Cubs World Series appearance.
Then came the kickoff classic, a game in late August in the New Jersey Meadowlands. I covered the inaugural game in 1983, when Nebraska blew out Penn State 44-6 on Aug. 29. The only thing I recall about that game is I had rented a black compact from Hertz and just as I wrapped up my story and went into the parking lot, the lights were turned off. Ever try finding a black car in an inky night, not even knowing on which side of the stadium you had parked it? The kickoff classic went on for several years, but the only other one of them I covered was the 1986 game when Alabama beat Ohio State 16-10. I have two memories of that one. The first was that I went to Tuscaloosa a few days before the game, less to advance it than to do a feature on quarterback Mike Shula, Don's son. I had made arrangements to talk to head coach Ray Perkins as well as young Mr. Shula, but the day I arrived one of the Crimson Tide players died on the practice field. Under the circumstances, I expected Perkins, not known as a huge fan of the media, anyway, to cancel the appointment. But he went through with it and later, when I saw him in an elevator in the headquarters hotel in New Jersey, he even said "hello." The other thing I remember is that on the morning of the game I awoke with a raging fever. The Alabama medical staff was kind enough to give me some medicine, but it didn't help much. By the time I got to South Carolina for my next assignment, the fever had subsided, but my mouth was so inflamed I couldn't eat. I finally went to a clinic on the afternoon of the Saturday night game and was given a potion which numbed my lips for about 10 minutes, just long enough to choke down a sandwich before going to the game.
The idea of playing football in August seemed to catch on. In 2002 both Nebraska and Arizona State played two games in August, the first against each other on Aug.24. In 1997 Northwestern and Oklahoma played as early as Aug.23. College football was always one of my favorite assignments when I was covering sports for the Chicago Tribune and remains one of my favorites in retirement. I was so hungry for football of the non-NFL variety that I even watched a high school game last Saturday. Of course, it featured St. Thomas Aquinas of Fort Lauderdale, my current residence, and the Raiders, widely acknowledged the No. 1 prep team in America, looked as if they could have taken on a Division one college team in the course of their 52-7 blowout of Upper Arlington (Ohio). Usually on that last Saturday in August there are at least a few college games played, and one or two of them is likely to be an intriguing match-up. Not this year. Mercifully, I have only two more days to wait before getting that nerve calming fix. There are five games scheduled for Thursday night and two of them are intriguing matchups--South Carolina at North Carolina State and, even yummier, Oregon at Boise State. The Ducks, Sports Illustrated's choice as the No. 11 team in the country are 4 point underdogs to Boise State, SI's No.9 team. That game is going to test my dedication to the sport because it starts at 10:15 Estern time and probably won't be over until at least 1:30 a.m. I usually set my alarm for 6 a.m. on Friday to make my regular tee time. Something's got to give .
That's a pretty good warmup act for Saturday, when most of the major teams go into action. There are several early showdown games scheduled for that day and although Alabama vs. Virginia Tech is getting most of the hype it isn't the only premium attraction Saturday. Worth watching: Georgia at Oklahoma State, BYU at Oklahoma, and Illinois-Missouri, for personal reasons, in their annual St. Louis showdown. The Oklahoma-BYU game is particularly intriguing because it features Heisman Trophy winner Sam Bradford of Oklahoma against the latest in a long line of BYU gunslingers, Max Hall. Should Hall win this duel in the sun, he would become an instant Heisman contender, even in a year when all three finalists--Bradford, Texas' Colt McCoy and former Heisman winner Tim Tebow of Florida--are back to try again.
My love affair with college football began in the war years--that's World War II if you're keeping score--when I'd listen to a game on the radio every Saturday afternoon, then go next door to Maisel's Drug Store for the early edition of the Sunday papers, where I could read about all the Big Ten games. The stories were all told in play-by-play fashion and it wasn't until I started working for The Tribune myself that I came to understand that what I was reading was not the final story, but "running" matter which later would be "subbed out" by the writer covering the game. The first college game I ever saw in person was in 1947, when I was 13. Somebody had given my father a single ticket to the Notre Dame-Northwestern game at Dyche stadium. I took the train by myself to the Central Street station and followed the crowd to the Stadium. I don't remember the details, but I remember the score, Notre Dame 26; Northwestern 19. That was the closest game Notre Dame played in a perfect 9-0 season.
The first college game I covered was Purdue's 31-0 drubbing of Missouri to start the 1954 season. I was a student at Missouri, covering football for The Missourian, the daily paper put out by the school's journalism students. The two things that stand out in my memory were, first, that Len Dawson, in his college debut, threw four touchdown passes to Lamar Lundy, also making his first start and, second, the Friday night press party. In that era it was de riguer for the host school to have a press "smoker," featuring food and drink and, usually, an appearance by both coaches. Purdue's "smoker" was by far the best in the Big Ten. It was held at that time in a downtown hotel and featured a steak dinner and all you could drink--cocktails before, wine during, and brandy afterward. There were perhaps 12 of us sitting at a long table and I was awe struck at being in the company of such famous writers as Dave Condon of The Tribune and Bob Broeg of St. Louis. They all treated me as one of the gang and I was spellbound by the stories they told. Later, when I was covering college football for The Tribune I remember vividly two other press parties involving Purdue Coach Jack Mollenkopf. At that time the Tribune used to publish on Friday a list of the writers who would be covering The Big Ten and Notre Dame games on Saturday. It was called: They'll Be There. One time when I was going to cover a Purdue game my flight to Lafayette was cancelled and we were all piled into a bus and driven to West Lafayette. As a result, the press party was in full swing when I arrived, and there to greet me, a gin and tonic in hand, was Mollenkopf, who said:"I read in the paper that you were coming down. I've been waiting for you. Here, I bet you can use this." A few years later at a "smoker" at Notre Dame, I sat at Mollenkopf's table for dinner. The two teams were ranked 1 and 2 in the polls and there was a great deal of anticipation, but Mollenkopf scoffed: "I don't know why everyone's making such a big deal of this game. We're going to win tomorrow and at the end of the year Notre Dame's going to be ranked ahead of us." He was right on both counts.
Part of the joy of covering college football was in arriving early on a Saturday morning and walking around the campus. I always believed that Indiana and Michigan State had the two prettiest campuses in the Big Ten, because, believe it or not, although I lived less than five miles away from it I never saw the Northwestern campus until after I retired. Having seen it often since then I have to revise my list. I've seen dozens and dozens of college campuses and, with the exception of Pepperdine, which overlooks the Malibu coast, there is no more beautiful college campus than Northwestern's.
Of course, I'll never see another college football game from the same perspective, but I'll never lose interest in it, either. Let the games begin.
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