Last Team Standing

by Matthew Algeo

  After the Redskins game, an ecstatic Lex Thompson once again treated the team to dinner. And, since Washington observed “meatless Sundays,” lobster was once again on the menu. Afterwards the celebration continued in the lounge of the Willard Hotel, where Greasy Neale granted the entire squad permission to imbibe, which they did liberally. It was quite a party.

  “I celebrated a little too much after the game,” remembered tackle Ted Doyle. “I had to catch a train out of Washington [that night] and I went to sleep and missed my train!” He showed up late at the Westinghouse plant the next day, but his bosses went easy on him.

  “By then they understood it all. I’d made enough trips. I got off the train in East Pittsburgh and went to work.”

  THE REDSKINS AND THE GIANTS weren’t originally supposed to meet on consecutive weekends at the end of the season. When the schedule was finally hammered out after long and tedious negotiations among the owners in June, the two teams were slated to open the season against each other in Washington on October 3. What George Preston Marshall didn’t realize was that Griffith Stadium was already booked on that date: The Washington Senators were playing their season finale against the Detroit Tigers. The Polo Grounds was also booked, as was Municipal Stadium in Baltimore. Lacking other options, Marshall petitioned Commissioner Elmer Layden to reschedule the game to December 12, a week after the other six clubs had already completed their schedules, and only a week after the Redskins and Giants were scheduled to play in New York. It was also the date on which the championship game had been scheduled. Reluctantly Layden acquiesced. The title game was pushed back one week to December 19, which elicited howls of protest from sportswriters who felt the season was already much too long.

  “An eight-team organization should be able to complete a forty-game schedule by the first Sunday in December,” wrote Dale Stafford in the Detroit Free Press.

  The Redskins needed only a win or a tie in either game against the Giants to clinch the Eastern Division. If they lost both games, however, a playoff would be needed to crown a winner. And if the Steagles ended their season with a win over Green Bay, the playoff would involve three teams, necessitating a round-robin format that could push the championship game all the way back to January 9.

  So, on December 5 at the Polo Grounds, the Redskins and Giants began what was essentially a two-game series for the Eastern title, with the Steagles a very interested third party. The Redskins were 14-point favorites, and at first it looked like they would take care of business without much ado. They took a 3-0 lead in the first quarter when a “horribly wobbly, half-scuffed” kick by Bob Masterson somehow managed to clear the crossbar from 26 yards out. They made it 10-0 six minutes into the third quarter when Andy Farkas capped a 64-yard drive with a one-yard plunge. But with Bill Paschal leading the way, the Giants came roaring back. The flashy rookie scored on a one-yard run late in the third quarter to cut Washington’s lead to 10-7. Then, with less than five minutes left in the game, Paschal brought the crowd of 51,308 to its feet with an electrifying 53-yard touchdown run, which Rud Rennie described in the next day’s New York Herald Tribune: “[T]he Giants opened the right side of the Redskins’ line and Paschal went careening through, into the clear, with only Baugh chasing him. For a fraction of a moment Baugh kept pace. But Paschal turned on the steam and ran away from him, winning the game in 10:42 of the quarter.”

  The final score was Giants 14, Redskins 10. Paschal finished the day with 188 yards rushing, the best single-game performance in the league all season. The Redskins had now lost two straight games in which they could have clinched the Eastern Division. In the Washington Post, Merrell Whittlesey said their title hopes had reached “the panicky stage.”

  A week later, on December 12, in the game that should have been played on October 3, the Redskins’ title hopes reached the terminal stage. The Giants defeated them again, 31-7, at Griffith Stadium before 35,540 disgruntled and disbelieving fans, many of whom exited the ballpark in disgust long before the final gun. Bill Paschal had another outstanding day, rushing for 92 yards. That gave him 572 for the season, of which 280—nearly half—were accrued in the final two games. It was the first time the Redskins had lost three consecutive games since 1937. In New York, Giants head coach Steve Owen was hailed as a genius for guiding a club that at one point in the season was 2-3-1 into a playoff for the divisional title. In Washington, there was only angst. The heading over the box score in the Washington Evening Star the next day read, “Giants vs. Pygmies.”

  The Redskins and the Giants had finished the season with identical records of 6-3-1. A playoff would be needed to determine the Eastern Division champion. But would it include the Steagles? That depended on what the Steagles had done a week earlier, in their final regular season game.

  13

  Win and In

  ON SUNDAY, DECEMBER 5, 1943, the Steagles arrived at Shibe Park around noon, two hours before the kickoff of their game against the Green Bay Packers. Inside the home team locker room, a cramped and damp concrete cube underneath the first base stands, they changed into their football attire, like knights donning armor: pants, cleats, shoulder pads, and, finally, the kelly green jersey, its many tears and rips meticulously repaired by equipment manager cum trainer Fred Schubach. They dressed in silence. The only sound in the locker room was that of white athletic tape being ripped from its spool to stabilize creaky joints and bind aching muscles. The players’ bodies were worn out, not only by the punishing football season, but also by the long hours they put in at their war jobs. They were weary, yes, but they were also excited. For most of them this was to be the most important football game they had ever played, certainly professionally.

  It was remarkable that they had gotten even this far. Thrown together by necessity and chance, they were a motley bunch, the unwanted remnants of two mediocre teams, with a host of ailments: ulcers, perforated eardrums, trick knees. There had been animosities, but they had been overcome, and now they were truly a team, a team on the verge of a championship no less.

  “When you’re on a team,” explained center Ray Graves, “you’re part of the team whether you like it or not. You can have fights among yourselves, but you’re still a team. That’s the way football is.”

  Once in uniform, the players went out to the field to warm up, stretch, do calisthenics, run a few drills, and check out the condition of the turf, which by this point in the season resembled a bombing range. They were surprised by how many people were already in the stands.

  Around 1:15 p.m., Greasy Neale and Walt Kiesling called the team together in the locker room. The 25 players took seats on the long benches that ran in front of the lockers on three sides of the room. They were “wound up and ready to fight.” Don’t worry about what the Giants and Redskins are doing up in New York, the coaches told them. Just do your job. There were no hysterical, hyperbolic speeches, no spittle-emitting harangues or tear-jerking pep talks. Neither coach was like that.

  “There was never any idle talk,” Vic Sears said of Greasy Neale. “It just never occurred to him to waste any time.” Ted Doyle said Kiesling wasn’t a “fire-’em-up” kind of coach either: “He just pointed out some of the things you should do and some of the things you shouldn’t, that type of thing. In fact, there weren’t many people that were fire-’em-up in the league then.”

  Neale and Kiesling carefully went over the game plan one more time, the pass patterns, the running plays, the defensive alignments. Each player’s assignments were reviewed, who blocked whom, who covered whom. Above all, the coaches emphasized the need to stop Don Hutson, Green Bay’s lithe receiver. Hutson, who planned to retire after the Steagles game, was leading the league in scoring and pass receptions. The Steagles were fortunate in that Hutson would not be in top shape: he had accidentally slammed his hand in the door of a taxicab a few days before the game. His right index finger was in a splint. But Greasy Neale knew a one-handed Don Hutson was still more dangerous than most two-handed receivers in the league.
Neale once called him “the only man I ever saw who could feint in three different directions at the same time.” Just as the key to beating the Redskins was stifling Sammy Baugh, the key to beating the Packers was stifling Don Hutson. To that end, the Steagles would employ the same tactic that had been so successful against Baugh: They would try to rough up Hutson at every opportunity. Knock him off his game. In a time when receivers were afforded few of the protections from interference they enjoy today, it was a perfectly logical and licit strategy.

  Emotionally, the two teams were worlds apart. The Steagles were coming off their stunning and ferocious victory in Washington. The Packers hadn’t even had a game scheduled the previous Sunday, but, as was customary, they filled the open date with an exhibition contest. At a ballpark in Bristol, Connecticut, they crushed a semipro outfit called the New London Diesels, 62-14. The Packers arrived in Philadelphia on Wednesday afternoon and worked out at Shibe Park the rest of week. Another difference between the two teams was that, while the Steagles had everything to play for (namely a chance to tie for the Eastern Division title), the Packers had nothing at stake in this game. Win, lose, or draw, they were guaranteed to end the season in second place behind the Bears in the West (and to pocket their share of the championship pot).

  The game would pit Green Bay’s high-powered offense against Phil-Pitt’s smothering defense. The Packers were second in the league in total yards gained per game (341.5) and passing yards per game (200.7). The Steagles meanwhile had given up the second-fewest total yards per game (224.8) and the fewest rushing yards (68.7). The Steagles, however, would not be at full strength. Their second-leading rusher, Johnny Butler, was sidelined by a broken thumb. The bookies rated the Packers slight favorites.

  The Steagles’ pregame skull session took about 30 minutes. Neale and Kiesling wished the players luck and sent them into the long tunnel that led to the field. Neale was the last man out of the locker room. It was one of his many superstitions. Once he spotted a player running back to the locker room to use the bathroom before a game.

  “We better win today or else,” he growled.

  Neale also wore the same suit and hat when his team was winning.

  “I even drive to the park by the same route, if we won the last time I took that route,” he once confessed.

  As they walked through the concrete tunnel, the players’ hard rubber cleats made a loud clickety-clack sound that echoed in their heads. The tunnel opened into the baseball dugout along the first base line. When they reached the top step of the dugout, the Steagles were amazed by what they saw: Shibe Park was absolutely packed.

  The lines had started forming outside the ticket windows at nine o’clock that morning, two-and-a-half hours before they opened and five hours before kickoff. It was the first NFL game ever played in Philadelphia for which the demand for tickets exceeded the supply. The weather helped: it was an unseasonably mild day. But there was more to it than that. Not since the days of the Frankford Yellow Jackets had the city’s pro football fans seen a team as good as this one. Their Eagles—well, their Steagles—were completing the most successful season in the history of the franchise, with a chance of winning it all. Their enthusiasm foretold the fervor that would come to grip the team’s fans in the generations to come.

  By game time the stands were overflowing. Even way, way up, in the far reaches of the upper deck behind home plate, not an empty seat could be seen. Everywhere there were people. The players had never seen anything like it. More people, in fact, had assembled to watch this game than had ever before witnessed a professional football game anywhere in the state of Pennsylvania. Lex Thompson, there on his usual weekend pass, was “flabbergasted” by the size of the crowd. The attendance of 34,294 shattered the record set against the Redskins four weeks earlier. Back in Pittsburgh, thousands more were tuned into radio station WWSW to hear Joe Tucker and Bill Cullen call the game. In the Pittsburgh Press, Cecil Muldoon wrote, “The big complaint from Pittsburgh fans was the scarcity of games there but the combined team’s showing [has] more than made up for the deficiency and provided a successful season instead of a possible blackout.” The Post-Gazette’s Havey Boyle agreed: “[T]he merger worked out pretty well.”

  It would work out even better if they beat the Packers.

  The Packers were decked out in their classic blue jerseys with gold trim. (Not until the early 1950s would green become the team’s primary color.) The crowd roared in anticipation as Don Hutson kicked off, the ball spinning end over end in a high arc, but the Steagles’ first drive ended prematurely, as had many all season, with a fumble. Jack Hinkle was the culprit this time. Green Bay recovered the ball on the Steagles 31. From there Tony Canadeo busted through a big hole at right guard and streaked into the end zone. Hutson converted the extra point, and barely two minutes into the game, Green Bay led 7-0. Hinkle atoned for his miscue on the Steagles’ next possession, sweeping wide around the left end and dashing 38 yards down the sideline for the tying touchdown. Just a few minutes later the Packers jumped back in front. Irv Comp intercepted a Roy Zimmerman pass on the Packers 25 and returned it 46 yards, all the way to the Steagles 39. Three plays later, Canadeo took the snap and handed off to Lou Brock. As the Steagles converged on Brock, Canadeo slipped undetected into the right corner of the end zone. Just before getting smeared, Brock hit Canadeo with a wobbly pass. Hutson converted again and it was 14-7 Packers.

  But once more the resilient Steagles struck right back. On third down from the Green Bay 44, Zimmerman heaved the ball to Tony Bova near the ten. Don Hutson stepped in front of Bova and nearly intercepted the pass, but, encumbered by the splint on his index finger, he bobbled the ball momentarily. Bova snatched it out of Hutson’s hands and raced across the goal line. As was the custom, Bova gently placed the pigskin on the ground. The crowd exploded. Shibe Park was literally shaking with excitement. Zimmerman calmly booted the extra point, and the rip-roaring first period ended with the two teams dead even on the scoreboard: 14-14.

  While the fans were delirious, Greasy Neale was concerned. He didn’t think the Steagles could possibly sustain the frenetic and exhilarating pace of the first period.

  In the second period Don Hutson kicked a 25-yard field goal: Green Bay 17, Phil-Pitt 14. In the third, Joe Laws intercepted a Zimmerman pass to set up a four-yard scamper by Irv Comp: Green Bay 24, Phil-Pitt 14. On the last play of the third quarter, Zimmerman was intercepted again, leading to a 12-yard touchdown pass from Comp to Hutson: Green Bay 31, Phil-Pitt 14.

  Then Greasy Neale took a gamble. He decided to give Zimmerman, who was exhausted, a rare rest. Twenty-year-old rookie quarterback Allie Sherman went into the game and calmly guided the Steagles on a 60-yard drive that ended when he tossed a perfect 13-yard touchdown pass to Tony Bova. When the Steagles got the ball back, Neale reinserted a refreshed Zimmerman, who masterminded a 63-yard drive that included a 45-yard pass to Bova and ended with a four-yard touchdown run by Ernie Steele. Suddenly, with seven minutes left, the Steagles trailed by just three points, 31-28. The crowd, wrote Red Smith, “looked on with jaw agape and eye glazed.”

  On Green Bay’s next possession, the Packers were forced to punt. With less than five minutes left, Lou Brock booted the ball high into air from his own 26. Jack Hinkle, who was having the best season of his life, camped under the ball. It hit him in the chest with a thud and he bobbled it momentarily. By the time he’d gained full control of it, five Packers were bearing down on him. Hinkle was buried in an avalanche of blue and gold jerseys and the ball came loose for another fumble. Green Bay’s Charley Brock collapsed on the ball on the Steagles 38. Four plays later, Irv Comp fired a 24-yard touchdown pass to Don Hutson, who managed to make the catch with his left hand—his only “good” hand. It was the spectacular final act of Hutson’s spectacular career. It was also the final nail in the Steagles’ coffin: Green Bay won, 38-28.

  Despite their best efforts, the Steagles had not been able to stop Hutson. He caught six passes for 56 yards, scori
ng two touchdowns. He also kicked a field goal and five extra points, giving him 20 points for the game and 117 for the season, most in the league by far.

  The Steagles’ line had played a good game, with Phil-Pitt out-rushing Green Bay 318-278. But turnovers, their Achilles’ heel all season, killed them. The Steagles fumbled four times and Roy Zimmerman threw six interceptions, three of which led to Packer touchdowns. He also missed two field goal attempts.

  “We made mistakes” is how a disappointed Greasy Neale summed up the team’s performance after the game.

  Nevertheless, the Steagles had much to be proud of. Theirs was the first winning season in the history of the Philadelphia franchise and just the second for Pittsburgh. Their defense ended the season ranked second to the Bears in fewest total yards allowed per game (230.1) and first against the rush, ceding opponents just 79.3 yards per game on the ground. On offense they led the league in rushing yards per game (173), ending the Bears’ four-season hold on that title.

  Jack Hinkle rushed for 59 yards against the Packers, ending the season with 571. In the papers the next day he was hailed as the league’s new rushing king, but the Giants’ Bill Paschal still had one more game to play. In that game Paschal would surpass Hinkle by a single yard to win the closest ground-gaining race in league history (subsequently equaled in 2004). Hinkle’s total, of course, does not include the 37-yard run he made against the Giants on October 9 that was mistakenly attributed to Johnny Butler. Contemporaneous newspaper accounts confirm that Hinkle, not Butler, made that run. Rightfully, Jack Hinkle was the NFL’s leading rusher in 1943, but he has never pursued the matter with the league.