by Jerry Kramer
NOVEMBER 10
Lombardi delivered a stern lecture this morning about bow-and-arrow hunting. It seems that some fish-and-game warden caught one of the boys—I don't know who—coming out of the woods a little late, after the curfew, so all of the bow-and-arrow people caught hell, particularly me. “There's not enough thought, not enough dedication to winning,” Vince said. “There's too many outside interests, too much bow hunting and all this other extracurricular what-not.” I stared him in the eye, and then he went on to cuss Gilly and Ski and Gregg and even, “You too, Bart.” As if he were saying,“You too, Bart, honey,” you know. He doesn't often raise his voice to Bart. After the meeting, everyone was going around asking, “Who shot Cock Robin?” And I said, “I did, with my little bow and arrow.” We were having used-bow sales all day.
Our line coach, Ray Wietecha, is something else sometimes. He knows his football and he's a good coach, but sometimes I get pretty perturbed with him. Today, for instance, Coach Lombardi put in a new play, a 37-rollout pass, which no one had ever heard of before. Straight out of the blue, Lombardi just made it up. When he called the play, I yelled, “What do you want the guard to do—pull?” Nobody said anything, so I said, “Ray, what do you want the guard to do? You want the guard to pull or what?” He looked past me as though he were searching for ships on the horizon, like he was all alone on the field and hadn't heard a word. I asked him again, and he still didn't answer, so I called to Lombardi, “Coach, what do you want me to do? Pull or what?”
“It's a rollout, isn't it?” Lombardi snapped. “PULL! What the hell do you think you do?”
“Well, I never heard of the damned play before,” I said. “I don't know what it is.”
At that point, Wietecha shouted, “Well, pull,” as if he knew all along what to do. He really didn't have the slightest idea.
Marvin Fleming did something right today, and Lombardi, who'd been chewing Marvin all week, hollered, “Way to go, Marvin, way to go. That's my boy. You're my boy, Marvin.” He patted Marvin on the head and sent him on his way, smiling and happy. Coach is thinking all the time. He'll cuss you early in the week and kiss you late in the week. He doesn't want you brooding going into the game.
Bob Hyland seems certain to start at center. His nickname is “Hercules,” because he's so big, about 6′5‘' and 260. He's muscle-mad, lifting weights all the time. He gets excited easily, and he's definitely excited about starting a game for the first time. After practice today, I gave him a lift home and I said, “Look, Bob, you and I'll get together Saturday morning and go over every play we have and every possible situation. We'll talk it all over.”
“I've been studying a great deal,” he said. “I've been putting in a lot of extra time this week. I certainly don't want any of you guys feeling it's a burden having me in there. You don't have to worry about me missing an assignment or anything like that. It's a great honor and a privilege for me to have an opportunity to play.”
He kind of surprised me; his attitude was perfect. Whenever we come up to the line of scrimmage Sunday, I'll try to remind him what to do. Just to be safe.
NOVEMBER 11
We left Green Bay early this morning, heading for Milwaukee in our chartered buses. During the ride, Dave Robinson joined us for the first time for a card game called boo-ray, and Robby paid his initiation fee. I don't know if he's going to play anymore.
We went to County Stadium to work out, and there were about 20,000 Boy Scouts in the stands watching us. We played our little lineman's game, throwing passes on the sidelines, taking turns at quarterback, right in front of the kids. Every time we'd complete a pass, they let out a tremendous roar. Fuzzy put on a great show for them, catching passes with one hand, bouncing the ball up, bobbling it around, finally grabbing it. He fell down once and dropped the ball, and 20,000 Boy Scouts hollered, “Boooooo…” The cheers were terrific. It's really a thrill for a lineman to hear a cheer.
I spent most of the afternoon with my cousin and his wife, Larry and Diana Riley, from Montana. We discussed some lake-front property we're thinking of buying, and then went out to dinner at my favorite Milwaukee restaurant, Frenchy's. I'm trying to cut down my weight—I'm up to about 257,258—so all I had for dinner was two dozen escargots. And a lot of garlic sauce, I guess.
NOVEMBER 12
I had a lot of trouble falling asleep last night. Those escargots wouldn't stop crawling around. Fortunately, game time was 3 P.M. today, so I had a chance to sleep late. For once, after breakfast we could watch something on TV besides cartoons.
On the opening kickoff today, as usual, Jim Weatherwax, Bob Hyland, and I were the three Packers nearest the Browns. We have a regular kickoff play Wax, who's in the middle, blocks the man on either the left side or the right side of the kicker. If he takes the man on my side, Hyland blocks the second man on my side, and I cut across and block the man on the other side of the kicker. Our ends take the next two men, and then our wedge comes up the middle. Wax likes to keep shifting around, first aiming at one side of the kicker, then at the other.
When we lined up today, Wax said, “I'll get No. 34,” the man on my side of the kicker. I said, “OK, I've got 64.” We went down the field and crossed and I got a fair block. I knocked my man down and he got up just in time to get a hand on Travis Williams. That's all he got on him—a hand. Travis went right up the middle 87 yards for a touchdown. We couldn't do anything wrong after that. Five minutes later, Bart threw a touchdown pass to Marvin Fleming; five minutes after that, Donny Anderson plunged for a touchdown; less than a minute later, Bart passed to Andy for a touchdown. After the Browns picked up their first touchdown, to make the score 28-7, Wax and Hyland and I lined up again for the kickoff, and Wax said, “Let's block the same way.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It didn't work too damned bad the last time.”
So Wax and I criss-crossed again, and Travis charged up the middle again, and this time he went 85 yards for a touchdown. The Browns never did get another chance to kick off. With a 35-7 lead in the first period, we went on to beat Cleveland 55-7.
(We scored so many touchdowns Don Chandler seemed to spend the whole day kicking off, and after the game his wife Pat turned to him and said, “Babe, how come you were kicking off from the 40-yard line today?” Don said, “I always kick off from the 40,” and Pat said, “You do? I always thought you kicked off from the 50.” The team wives are beautiful. They're the greatest fans in the world and they know all about the game and they have a million of their own superstitions, but when we've got the ball the wives of the defensive players stop watching the game and start chattering, and when the other teams's got the ball the wives of the offensive players stop watching and start chattering.)
Everything, and everybody, worked for us. Ben Wilson gained 100 yards at fullback. Anderson scored four touchdowns and played his best game at halfback. Travis Williams added a long run from scrimmage to his two kickoff returns, and Chuck Mercein, in his first game as a Green Bay Packer, gained some good yardage. Even Allen Brown got into the game and caught a pass from Don Horn, the rookie quarterback. Poor Horn, who's really come along in his attitude, was about as confused as I would've been playing quarterback. I was telling him to run a 33, and Fuzzy was telling him to run a 36, and Max was telling him to throw the ball. He didn't know who to listen to or what to do, but he looked pretty good. He handled himself well.
Late in the game, after we'd already built up our 55-7 lead, they had a big boy from Oklahoma named Frank Parker playing defensive tackle. On one play, I was supposed to cut off the middle linebacker, but the middle linebacker went the wrong way, away from the play, and Parker charged across, so I cut him down. As we lay on the ground, our faces were close together. He looked at me, with sort of a smile on his face, and I smiled, too, which is very unusual during a game. “You ol' boys,” he drawled, “are jus' havin' yourselves a picnic out here, ain't you?” I couldn't help but laugh. It was a beautiful remark at the end of a beautiful day.
&nbs
p; NOVEMBER 13
Barbara and I got up early this morning and drove to a game farm for a day of shotgun hunting. Naturally, she shot the only pheasant of the day. I guess you can't win 'em all.
NOVEMBER 14
Bob Hyland was the movie star today. He was John Wayne, Paul Newman, and Rock Hudson all wrapped up in one. Everything he did was “brilliant” or “terrific” or “great,” according to Coach Lombardi. Actually, Hyland played a fair game, but Vince couldn't praise him enough. Kenny Bowman's feeling a little badly, of course; it's hard to sit on the bench after being a regular for almost three seasons.
Almost predictably, Vince cussed out some of the people today worse than he does after a defeat. He cussed Gilly and Ski, and I came in for a little abuse, too. Coach acted pretty unhappy about a few things—everything except the score, I guess—but we managed to get out of the meeting alive.
In our weekly touch game the offense emerged triumphant once again over the big defensive dummies. Willie Davis is getting a bit touchy about the offense winning all the time. He's starting to play a little harder. He knocked Ken Bowman down a couple of times today. Kenny's really got enough troubles without getting hit in a touch game.
NOVEMBER 15
We started serious preparations today for the San Francisco 49 ers, who have always been tough for us. They're a big, physical football team; they pound and punish you. They beat us once last year, tied us the year before, and beat us the year before that. Of course, the way we feel right now, coming off the Cleveland game, is that nobody can beat us. We're all acting a little bit satisfied with ourselves.
Our performance in the Cleveland game meant a lot to me. It showed how well we could face a real challenge—the Browns had been leading their division—and it showed how well we could bounce back from defeat, even though both our first-string running backs were out with injuries. I doubt that Jim Grabowski's knee'll be strong enough for him to play this week. I can't understand why not. Doug Hart broke his hand against the Browns, and Boyd Dowler sprained his ankle and both of them are working out, ready to play, thanks to the miracle healing of Dr. Lombardi.
Bob Hyland, after rising to total stardom yesterday, came in for some criticism today, but I've got to confess he wasn't entirely at fault. We were having starting drills, practicing getting off the ball as fast as we can. We have starting drills every day—quickness off the ball is one of the secrets of our success—and for ten years Forrest and I have raced every day to see who gets off the ball the fastest. Ski and Gilly and Marv Fleming have gotten into the spirit of the race, and we all hurry, hurry, hurry—to the point where, a good part of the time, we actually anticipate the centering of the ball by the smallest fraction of a second. We jump the gun almost imperceptibly, and this practice carries over into our games. I've had referees come up to me and say, “Boy, it looks like you're offside every time, but I know it's just 'cause you're so quick,” and I've nodded politely and smiled.
After a few years of working with the offensive line, Kenny Bowman knows what we're doing, and he's learned to come off the ball almost as fast as we do, just a little behind us, not enough to cause any problems. But Hyland, naturally, doesn't realize what we're doing. He doesn't know we're cheating, so today, during starting drills, maybe we cheated an extra fraction of a second, and we were all coming off the ball three yards ahead of Hyland.
“What the hell's the matter with you today, Hyland?” Vince screamed. “Move, move! You're slow today. You're slow.” Poor Hyland was wondering where all his speed had gone.
NOVEMBER 16
Forrest and I felt a little embarrassed today about Hyland getting chewed yesterday. We got together with Ski, Gilly, and Marv and we said, “Let's go on the signal today. Let's wait for the sound.”
So we waited during starting drills today, and three or four plays in a row Hyland came off the ball right even with us. “Way to go, Hyland,” Lombardi yelled. “Way to go. Now you're moving. Now you're running.”
Lombardi reacted less happily to the team's general self-satisfaction. “That's the way, defense,” he screamed. “That's the way. You win one game, and you get sloppy. Just stand up and let anybody knock you down. You're going to get knocked down Sunday, you damn fools.” He reminded us that there's a $25,000 pot waiting at the end of the rainbow, and he reminded us that $25,000 is a lot of money. He whipped us, but we needed whipping. We've been too relaxed all week.
NOVEMBER 17
Don Chandler beat me at kicking field goals today, and after practice I bought his chili lunch. My cousin Larry Riley joined us, and Don had a friend visiting from Tulsa named Never Fail. He's not an Indian or anything; he's just named Never Fail. He told us that he's got an uncle named Will Fail.
After lunch, I stopped at the bank to pick up some information about an oil-well deal in Abilene, Texas. A few of the New York Giants are involved in it, and they've been trying to get me to invest. But I don't think the potential return is worth the risk. I think I'll pass up this opportunity. I just finalized a deal for $15,000 worth of lake-front property and maybe, as Coach Lombardi says, I've got too many outside interests.
NOVEMBER 18
As we came out of the dressing room after a short practice today, some of the 49 ers were drifting in. I said hello to John Brodie, their quarterback, and to Dick Voris, one of their coaches who used to be with us, and to Hugh McElhenny, who now works on San Francisco telecasts. I started thinking about the first time I played against Hugh McElhenny. It was an exhibition game in 1958, and I was on the punting team, and he was returning punts for the 49 ers. He'd already been a pro for seven years, and I guess I'd been hearing about him all my life. He had played for the University of Washington before he joined the 49 ers, and he was a legend, one of the all-time great football players. We punted to him, and I started running down the field, supposedly to tackle him, and I found myself thinking, “How absurd for a dumb ass like me to tackle a man like Hugh McElhenny. That would really be a dumb thing to do.” It seemed inconceivable, a young upstart dum- dum from Idaho trying to knock down the king. He ran away from me, toward the other side of the field, and pretty soon, of course, I got over my humility.
I spent the afternoon at Chandler's house, watching Southern Cal play U.C.L.A., and I kept thinking about the game tomorrow. Most of the time, I thought about the man I'll be facing, Charlie Krueger, a big old boy from Texas A. & M. Charlie and I played together on the 1958 College All-Star team, and for some reason-National Guard duty or something—he reported to camp three days late. His wife didn't know he was going to be late—none of the players knew it, either—and she kept phoning from Texas and saying, “Is Charles Krueger thayuh?” She had one of those real thick Texas accents that I enjoy so much. My old teammate, Bill Forester, probably had the thickest I ever heard. When he first arrived in Green Bay, he walked into a local restaurant and told the waitress, “Ma'am, Ah'd like a stack.” She brought him a stack of pancakes, and Bill shook his head and said, “No, Ma'am. Ah want a stack. S-T-E-A-K. Stack.”
In 1958, Charlie Krueger's wife must have talked to everyone in the whole College All-Star training camp, asking, “Is Charles Krueger thayuh?” And when he finally arrived, we all called him, “Charles Krueger thayuh.” I saw him last year at the airport in San Francisco as a matter of fact, and I greeted him, “Charles Krueger thayuh.” I don't imagine I'll have that much to say to him tomorrow.
Charlie's about 6′4″, about 270 pounds, exceptionally solid, exceptionally strong. When he was drafted by the 49 ers ten years ago someone predicted he'd outlast three or four coaches, and he's outlasted three already. He's right below Alex Karras and Merlin Olsen, just a notch below them. He's very similar to Cleveland's Walter Johnson. They both beat on you unmercifully; they both give you headaches and neck pains. Charlie's especially tough on running plays. It's almost impossible to move him, and he almost always gets a piece of the ballcarrier. This is a week when I really have to get off the ball quick, quick, quick. I'm afr
aid it's going to be a long Sunday afternoon, and I'm grateful that I've been having a good season physically, that I'm still in one piece.
NOVEMBER 19
I started off the day determined to get mean and serious for the game. It's something that can't be done just on Saturday and Sunday. It has to be done starting Monday or Tuesday, has to be done gradually, building up to the game. You work up an anger, then a hatred, and the feeling gets stronger and stronger until, on Sunday, you've got your emotion so high you're ready to explode. But I had a lot of distractions this week—friends, relatives, business deals—and after the big win over Cleveland I had a natural tendency to relax. Anyway, I really tried to get going this morning. I tried to work up a good hate for the 49 ers, for Charlie Krueger in particular. I have one little habit: When I want to hate an individual, I make it a point not to look at the other team before the game, not to see the man I'm going to face. I feel if I don't see him, I can hate him a little more.
