"They always said about me on all the bubble gum cards that I had 'great hands,' " Bob told me, a little reluctantly, because Bob has never liked to blow his own horn. "And I wasn't particularly fast, but I was faster than everyone thought, because I had a real long stride."
By the time Brown could recover, Schnelker's long stride had gotten us 46 yards.
Now, with a first down on the Colt 15, Charlie wanted to finish the job right then. The call was for me to circle out of the backfield: an A-flare. But we lined up in a running formation: both ends tight, three backs in the backfield. And the line gave Charlie all the time he needed.
MacAfee broke for the end zone, and Milt Davis had to stay with him. That left Myhra covering me. Charlie looked right, freezing Myhra. The rest was easy. I circled around Myhra, who was caught flat-footed. Charlie lofted the ball in perfectly. I caught it at the 6, and as Davis closed in, I put the ball away, lowered my shoulder, stayed in bounds, and got it into the end zone. We had taken the lead for the first time since the first quarter.
If ever a moment called for some celebration, this was it. In today's world I imagine I would be all over the field, high-fiving anyone I could find, looking for a camera and making sure it knew what number to focus on. I didn't do that, because we didn't do that. I have nothing against all the celebration that goes on today, at every level of the game: high school, college, or professional.
Sometimes, when it really gets wild-and players start strutting around, banging on their chests, and bumping each other-I actu ally get a little embarrassed for them. I mean, let's face it: it's still a team game, and if Charlie didn't have the time provided by all those big guys in the trenches, and Schnelker didn't make a move that helped me to get open, and right on down the line, I wouldn't have scored. Given all that, why doesn't everyone just jump up and down-"Hey look at me?" Come to think of it, sometimes they do.
We just didn't.
But the real truth is that it literally never crossed my mind.
Honestly. You're just not conditioned that way. You never thought of doing it in high school, you never thought of doing it in college, and you never thought of doing it in the pros. Not in my time. What's changed? Maybe television's made the difference, but that's too easy an answer; we were on national television that day, too. I'd just scored the go-ahead touchdown in the NFL championship game, and it had just been watched by 45 million people. It was the biggest stage a football player had ever had. I knew the cameras were on me. I handed the ball to Ron Gibbs and jogged to the bench.
We'd gone 81 yards in four plays. Combine this drive with the one before it, and Charlie's statistics for our last two series were four for four, for 140 yards. Not bad for the "other quarterback," the thirty-seven-year-old who wasn't good enough to start.
Unitas went right back to work from the Colt 20. He went to the pass on the first five plays, starting with a slant to Moore for 11, beating Lindon by a step. Now Johnny gave us a taste of things to come: with Karilivacz playing way off Berry, Johnny hit Raymond for 14 down the left sideline. Landry had decided to take away any- thing deep, if he could, and Carl was playing Raymond deep. Carl was so out of the play that Patton had to make the tackle. We began to stiffen. The defensive line was getting a good surge, led by, of all people, big Frank Youso. And now the noise became a factor. Johnny stepped to the line, and realizing that his players couldn't hear the signals, motioned for the crowd to quiet down. Only Johnny would think he could quiet Yankee Stadium.
Of course, the roar just grew louder. Johnny had to burn a timeout.
But after an incompletion and a 1-yard scramble-during which Youso recovered to chase Johnny down-Unitas faked a pitch to Moore, then found Mutscheller open over the middle.
Johnny led him perfectly. Lindon was close to Moore-too close.
He broke up the pass, but drew the interference call. It was worth 17 key yards.
Now the Colts had it on our 38, and Johnny went for it all: He sent Dupre deep out of the backfield. Our safeties flanking him closely, L. G. reached for Johnny's pass. The pass was just about perfect, just inches long, off Dupre's fingertips. On third down, Johnny threw a look-in to Moore, split far to the right, but this time Tunnell, with help from Crow, was all over him, and broke it up.
The Colts sent out Rechichar for the tying field goal, from the 46. Maybe all the bad karma between Weeb and Bert now came into play. Maybe Bert's having warmed the bench all day figured into this kick. More likely, it was the distance: In 1958, 46 yards was a long shot for the straightaway kickers of the fifties.
Bert missed, way short. The ball crossed the goal line-on the ground. A touchback, and we had the ball on our 20. (In '58, after a missed field goal into the end zone, they put the ball on the 20.)
We came out on offense with three guys who hadn't started the game: Mischak was at guard. MacAfee had replaced Rote. More significantly, Vince had King spelling Alex in the backfield. Phil had been our number one draft pick that year, out of Vanderbilt; we had a solid backfield already, but Wellington loved to draft for offense. Phil had had a good year for a rookie: 83 carries, averaging almost 4 yards per.
Phil was a funny guy. He always had an opinion. He was part Indian, so we called him "Chief," when we could get a word in. I liked him a lot. Charlie never liked anyone who talked a lot. He did, however, cut Phil some slack, because Phil was yet another southerner on a team full of them.
Phil also had a hidden talent, as Youso remembers it-a key skill that the rookie revealed in training camp. "In Winooski one night, the rookies got together and had a little beer party, and we found out that Phil could drink a mug of beer in three and a half seconds," Frank remembers. "Well, we thought it would be great if we could sucker in the vets with a contest. We threw in fifty dollars. The old guys matched it, and you were the vets' guy. We all thought, How the hell could Frank Gifford drink any faster than Phil?
So we're all set to pick up our money. Phil drinks his in four seconds. Frank, you grab your mug-and suck it all down in a second and a half. You just opened up your throat and didn't even swallow.
We got suckered in by the old-timer."
I remember it well, but I tried that recently, and damned near choked.
By now, the offense had a rhythm. I could feel it. We began to move toward the touchdown that would clinch this game.
Charlie picked up where he'd left off-throwing the ball. This one was a hitch to MacAfee split to the left, the first time Ken's number had been called. Ken was a solid receiver, nothing flashy, who'd been a starter a few years back until Schnelker took over the position. Milt Davis was giving him a huge cushion, and Charlie picked up on it right away, and hit Ken with a turn-in that picked up 15.
Charlie was now seven of eight for the half.
The clock was now another player, as we started to move the ball on the ground. Charlie called a draw to Mel, behind my block, and we gained 7 as I made a good block on Myhra. Now it was my turn: a 49 sweep, with both guards pulling. Vince used to drool over this play, because if everyone did his job, it was a guaranteed big gainer. Schnelker blocked in on the linebacker, Triplett led the way and blocked down on Big Daddy, and Stroud bounced out- side, looking for the cornerback. It wasn't a wide sweep. It looked as if I were running straight into a swarm of blue and white-but I slipped through a sliver of daylight. Taseff came up to drag me down, but I'd gained 10 yards, into Colt territory, and picked up another first down.
We had it on their 46, with less than eight minutes to go.
The Colts were dragging. Everything Charlie called was working, and now he called my play again: a 41 slant, right up the middle. I gained 4. We were on their 42, second and six.
And then it all came apart. In a game full of key plays, none was bigger than this. It was a 28 sweep out of a strong left formation, with King getting the handoff. Both guards would pull to set up a wall. Daddy was lined up right over Barry, the left guard. At the snap, as Barry pulled to the outside, it was Rosey's job t
o block in on Daddy.
But Daddy was so quick off the ball that Rosey never had a chance. Lipscomb blew in untouched. King took the handoff deep in the backfield, and as he was trying to put the ball away, Daddy hit him high. The ball flew out and bounced backward. Joyce pounced on it, and it bounced out again. Ray Krouse recovered for the Colts.
I don't care what you say about the football game that Johnny Unitas and Raymond Berry played on December 28, 1958. For my money, Eugene Lipscomb played as good a football game as anyone on that field that day.
You know what they say about hindsight, of course, but this play can't help but beg a "what-if ": What if we'd kept Alex in the game? He wasn't hurt. I guess Vince (or maybe Jim Lee) had a hunch. But I know this: Alex never fumbled. Mel fumbled. Kyle fumbled. I fumbled. Everyone fumbled. Alex Webster never fum- bled. And his replacement had. Today, Alex still doesn't know why they'd made the switch: "I wasn't hurt. Maybe they figured Phil was fresher than I was, younger and stronger. I just don't know."
You could feel the collective sigh as we trotted back to the sideline. We'd played smart football, our kind of football. For the entire second half, we'd put the sloppy play behind us. With our backs to the wall, we'd come back to take the lead, and we hadn't let up. But one bad play, one fumble, and the whole thing began to unravel.
The Colts had it on our 42. And again, Johnny went for it all on the first play. And for a second it looked as if he'd gotten it.
Moore ran a fly pattern down the right sideline, with Crow beside him step for step. Lenny managed, somehow, to gather it in through the forest of Lindon's waving arms, inside the 5-yard line.
To this day Lenny swears he had both feet in. The official ruled he had a foot out of bounds.
The next play could have sealed it for us: Karilivacz anticipated the hook to Berry, jumped the pattern, and almost picked it off; he had both hands on the ball. But he couldn't gather it in. If he'd intercepted, that interception would have been the Johnny Unitas pass that everyone remembered. It was not to be.
On third and ten, John came right back to Berry. Raymond drove straight upfield at Carl, and turned out to the sideline. Unitas's pass was right there. Eleven yards, and a first. John and Raymond were just getting warmed up.
But now, as they had so many times that year, our defensive line came up big. They seemed to be getting stronger-or maybe the Colt line was starting to weaken. Robustelli and Modzelewski sacked Johnny twice in a row. On the first sack, Johnny faked a run and bootlegged right to get some time, but Robustelli was all over him. "Andy'd had a long game." Sam says. "Parker was one of the best that ever played the game, and he had Andy frustrated all day He tried every move he had. He'd spin, but Parker would still block him."On the second sack, Mo just bulled his way over Spinney.
On fourth and twenty-seven, they punted. Patton returned it 16 yards up the sideline, to the 19.
At this point, on the sideline, the Colts' two defensive stars shared a brief dialogue-well, brief on the part of one of them, anyway-as Donovan shook his head and turned to Marchetti. "I said to Gino, 'You know, this is the first championship we've ever been in,' " Artie says he told his linemate. ' "We're so much better than these guys. We should be up by three or four touchdowns on these assholes, and here we are fighting for our lives.' "
Gino remembers the conversation. He nodded, and replied, "You're right, Fatso."
The consecutive sacks had the Stadium rocking. The defense had come up big, and it was our game to win. There were five minutes remaining. All we had to do was control the ball one more time.
On third down, Charlie got the first down, rolling right and hitting Webster out of the backfield. Alex had put a move on Ray Brown, the safety, and stepped out of bounds on our 34. The clock was running, and Charlie wanted to keep it that way. One first down-just one first down; ten yards of dirt-and we would win the title.
Alex was stopped after a yard on a first-down slant. But on second, I got the call: "47 power off tackle, right"-and found a hole.
Stroud and Mischak did their work, and I picked up 5.
Four more yards, and we'd have it locked up.
We huddled. And I changed the play in the huddle. And Charlie called my sweep: "Brown right, over, 49 sweep. Okay? On three. Break."
The play came off as well as could be expected. It was designed for me to take it wide around the right side or, depending on what we needed for the first, cut it hard back upfield. This time, I took it outside, until I saw a gap, planted my right foot, and turned it up, knowing exactly what I needed for the game-winning first down.
I'd gained about three yards when Marchetti shed Stroud's block, lowered his head, and hit me waist-high. "I hadn't had a lot of people running right at me during that game," Gino remembers.
"So I kind of figured you'd cut in. A back was coming at me, and I was able to elude him, and when you cut back in I was in real good position with my feet, and I was able to hit you solid."
But I had momentum, and I fell forward as Marchetti was pulling me down. Now Donovan came in, over Barry's block, and threw a big right arm at me. I ducked under it. Then Lipscomb came in, and landed on Gino-and Marchetti started screaming.
His ankle was broken.
Everyone started to yell, "Get off him! Get off him!" It was chaos. Marchetti remembers those next few seconds, as he reached for his leg: "Some Giant said to me, 'You can get up now, Gino the play is over.' I could have cared less. I was in so much pain, if I wasn't a grown man, I'd have cried."
They carried Marchetti off on a stretcher, but he insisted the trainers put him down so he could watch the outcome. So there he sat, on the ground, near the end zone, his lower leg wrapped in ice, a Colt jacket draping his shoulders.
Ordell Braase, Marchetti's backup, watching from the sideline, remembers the play well: "Why would you want to run at Marchetti?" he asked me. The answer, to me, is obvious: you go with what you got there, with the sweep and all its options.
I'll say it again for the last time: I still feel to this day, and will always feel, that I got the first down that would have let us run out the clock. And given us the title.
Gibbs had picked the ball up at the end of my run. He held on to it, and didn't put it back down until all the chaos had subsided and Gino had been removed from the field.
Then they brought out the chains. And it was a couple of inches short.
It turned out that the best play Big Daddy made that day, on a day when he made the biggest plays of his career, was on a late hit on his own man. I know he didn't plan it that way, but breaking his teammate's leg won his team a championship.
I wasn't happy about the spot. And I told Gibbs about it. As Artie recalls it now, "You were shouting, 'I made it, I made it!' I told you, 'Shut up, and get back to the huddle.' " I don't remember ever shouting in any game, but I do recall being dead certain that I'd made the first down.
Decades later, soon after Ron Gibbs passed away, I would get a letter from his son, which included this passage: "Dad told me a few days before he died, 'You know, Joe, maybe Frank was right . . . maybe he did make that first down . . . We shouldn't have ever picked up that ball before the measurement.' "
On the sideline, I tried to make our case, forcefully: We had to go for it on fourth down. We had it on our own 40. We needed a couple of inches.
"I was standing right next to Lombardi," Jack Kemp told me, "and he was talking to Howell. You came over and said, 'We have to go for it!' Any coach in his right mind would have gone for it. But Jim Lee Howell was not in his right mind."
M. L. Brackett told me he can still picture the scene on our sideline: "You, Kyle, Charlie, and Stroud were all ranting and raving." I wasn't ranting or raving. But I wasn't happy. Even Don Chandler, the best punter in the league, says now that he thought we should have gone for it. Under three minutes left, with a three point lead? With our offense in control for the last quarter and a half? And their best defensive player, the best defensive end in football, now ly
ing on a stretcher on the sideline? With our home-field fans screaming their lungs out?
Jim Lee didn't check his watch. He didn't have to. No one was going to change Jim Lee's mind. The huge scoreboard clock in front of the big Bronx courthouse looming over the bleachers said it all: less than three minutes left. We had the best defense in the league.
So he sent out the punting team.
Chandler got off a great punt. The Colts took possession on their 14. The defense took the field.
Now the clock showed two minutes and twenty seconds to go. The Colts had only one timeout left. Their field-goal kicker was just about the worst in the league. They were playing against a hostile crowd. Sam's unit was rested.
Sure, the Colts had Unitas. But could the comical-looking guy I'd first seen in an exhibition game in Maine two years before, fresh off a sandlot, with his jersey sleeves held up by rubber bands, his pants flapping around his pencil-thin legs, actually cover eighty-six yards against the best defense in the league? With just one timeout left?
He was facing a defense that hadn't given up a point in the whole second half-a defense that had turned in the goal-line stand of all time in the third quarter, and consecutive sacks to stop his team's last drive.
I'd like to say we felt confident on the sideline, but if I did, I'd be lying. Up until now, Unitas had sold me big-time. I had watched him mature over the past few years, and watched him on film for hours. He was special in so many ways. And his stage for football history was set.
Johnny talked about that final drive in regulation a lot over the years. He said he knew we'd protect the sidelines because passes down the middle would eat up the clock. Berry confirmed it: "We knew you'd try to concentrate on keeping us from going outside,"
Raymond told me, "therefore giving us that middle. Once you go in the middle, if a defender makes a mistake, you could take it all the way. But if you take too long to get the next play off, the clock can kill you."
The Glory Game: How the 1958 NFL Championship Changed Football Forever Page 19
