We Saw It On TV

Before the lights of February fade from view, one more examination of the great cultural events that took place over these twenty-eight days seems in order. 

 On three of the four Sundays, tens of millions of viewers in North America and throughout the world settled down before their TV screens to become enthralled by the XLIX Super Bowl, the XL Anniversary celebration of NBC-TV's Saturday Night Live, and the LXXXVII  Academy Awards presentation.  The Super Bowl attracted an audience of 114.4 million, the largest TV audience ever; SNL drew 45 million; and the Oscars 36.6 million.  That's a lot of eyeballs.

I'm not very familiar with SNL, and would take the Westminster Kennel Club Show over the Academy Awards every time.  Football, though, seems to be implanted in every red-blooded American boy's heart.  And in the hearts of all red-blooded American old boys, too.  So I watch some college and some pro football, and pay more attention once the play-offs begin.

The better team lost XLIX.  The first half was very exciting, and the leap I executed at half-time over the recumbent form of my totally uninterested dog was fairly so.  I leapt to avoid the cacaphonous Katie Perry and the eye strain of her strobe light accompaniment.  I became distracted, and didn't return to the game until the third quarter was nearly over.  Everyone knows how the 4th quarter ended.

The coaching was, at very least, inept.  Not just the interception that won the game, although that is the enduring story.  The Patriots refused to run, which made Seattle's defense much easier, and Seattle likewise refused to run, which made New England's defense much easier.  Inept coaching x 2 .

 The Pats' No.78 remained fat and formidable all game, however.

Woody Hayes, Ohio State's grand old prowler of the sidelines, speaking of the forward pass, uttered this dictum: "three things can happen when you pass, and two of them are bad."  Passing from the half-yard line on first down with less than a minute left would have been beyond Woodie's comprehension.  As it was beyond the understanding of 114.4 million armchair quarterbacks and coaches looking on.  Granted, the views of many of the 114.4 million might have become a little 

blurry by that time.

The decision that ended the Seahawks' Super Bowl win string at one was probably made by their bright and ambitious Offensive Coordinator, Darryl Bevell, with Head Coach Pete Carroll obviously retaining the right to veto.  Carroll manfully took the rap. Whichever.

Both of them should be required to enter the Charles River Race for Thick Sculls.

The stunning climax of XLIX brought to mind the amazing finish of the best football game I ever saw, the classic match between the defending national collegiate champion Minnesota Golden Gophers and the Iowa Preflight Seahawks.  The game was played in Minneapolis Oct. 3, 1942.

The Gophers had reached their absolute pinnacle the preceding season.  They were crowned national collegiate champions for the second year in a row.  Stellar triple-threat tailback Bruce Smith won    

 Heisman Trophy, the first and only U of M player to be so honored.

The 1940 team set the stage.  It too had been a banner season.  The Gophers were national champs for the third time, the most recent being in 1936. The decade of 1932-1941 saw them dominate the Big 10 by winning five conference titles and tieing for two others. The ’41 national crown was their fourth. It cemented the U of M’s standing at the very top of football’s elite.  No other Minnesota team, college or professional, in any other sport, has ever come close the achieving that level of excellence. The Gophers had become Golden.

Their leader, Coach Bernie Bierman, was a U of M alumnus, who returned to Minnesota after a successful coaching tenure at Tulane. He was a focused, no-nonsense, former U.S. Marine Corps officer in WWI. His brand of football centered on skill, tactics, and endurance.  Endurance, in fact, might have been the hallmark of the Bierman gophers.  Few, if any, opponents could match the strength of the U of M during the 4^th quarter in those glory years. Players went both ways. They played offense and defense. Free substitution and two-platoon football; that is, one team for offense and one for defense, didn’t arrive until 1951.

Euphoria over the championship team and Bruce Smith’s signal honor by the Heisman Comittee, was ended abruptly by Pearl Harbor. Bernie Bierman returned to uniform as a Lt.Col. in the Marines. The Navy had established a pre-flight training program at the University of Iowa and Bierman was given charge of its football team, one of many organized in similar training programs at universities and military bases across the country.  The teams were stocked mainly by college players, both graduates and underclassmen, and by professional football players who met the Navy age and aptitude requirements. Iowa Preflight, nicknamed the Seahawks, boasted, among others, Forrest Evashevski, blocking back for the great Tommy Harmon of Michigan, Jimmy Smith, star halfback at the University of Illinois, Perry Schwartz, who played end for the pro football Brooklyn Dodgers, and Vince Bannonis, center of the Detroit Lions.

The 1942 Gophers opened the season by trouncing the University of Pittsburg 50-7. They were coached by Dr. George Hauser, Bierman’s right hand man, who agreed to take Bierman’s place at the U of M for the duration, as a popular saying went. Hopes were high for the Gophers, who returned two great tackles, Dick Wildung and Paul Mitchell from ’41, plus center Bob Fitch, QB Bill Garnaas, FB Bob Schweiger, and Bill Daley, a left halfback of huge promise, plus enough additional veterans to warrant optimism. The opening win against Pitt boded well.

The matchup was fascinating. Two teams playing exactly the same offense and defense. The Gophers scored first but missed the extra point, leaving them in the lead 6-0. The Seahawks came back with a TD, and made the point-after to go up 7-6. 

Then came a great deal of maneuvering and probing, with each side looking for a vulnerability to exploit. Latter day cynics labeled this style of football “three yards and a cloud of dust.” They were either ignorant or unaware of Bernie Bierman’s won-lost record.

  The Seahawks raised most of the dust, all the while nurturing their one-point lead.  Bill Daley ran wild for the Gophers, but came up short until the closing minutes. With a little more than one minute to go, Daley found a hole in the right side, cut back against the grain, and ran 54 yards to the Seahawk 1/2-yard line. I think he criscrossed the field twice in creating his epic. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was magnificent; the kind of run little kids and big kids dream about. The once in a lifetime run kids and grown-ups look for in playground, park board, jv, and high school games they attend, and the kind that glues their eyes to the TV in hope of seeing one like it, one that will stay with them forever.

On that gray day in October, 1942, the Golden Gophers mounted a typical closing charge. They were on the Iowa Preflight Seahawk’s ½ yard line, trailing 6-7, first down, and less than half a minute to go, thanks to Bill Daley. The ball was snapped.  But not to Daley; it went to the fullback.  He fumbled.  The Seahawks recovered.  Game over.

 I had to wait til I got home to find out that Ernie White of the Cardinals shut out the Yankees on their way to winning the World Series 4 games to 2.  Tough day for a 13-year old sports nut.

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