Abandonned rivalries: Big Red and the Six Dwarves

I haven't posted in several weeks because I've been rather busy, but also because my internet time has been entirely consumed by my morbid fascination with the current conference realignment process. At the time of writing Nebraska is officially in the Big Ten and Colorado officially in the Pac Numeral. Texas A&M is busily flirting with the SEC and imagining a future as a football school of national import in its own right. Texas is apparently considering every single option to figure which one means the most money with the least accountability and easiest schedule.

Anything could happen. But this blog is not about the present or future of college football. All we know about the relation of the current situation to the game's past at this moment is that Nebraska's century-long relationship with the Six Dwarves, the old Big Eight's perennial whipping boys, is over.

I wrote recently about the travesty of downgrading the OU-Nebraska rivalry when the Big XII was formed back in 1995. A few months ago that decision [taken largely with a total lack of courage and foresight by now-discredited people at OU such as then head coach Gary Gibbs] was just a big shame. Now it looks like it might prove an error so costly that it sowed the seeds of the Big XII's demise even at the very moment of its inception. For decades OU and Nebraska played every Thanksgiving Friday in the national spotlight before an audience of millions of spell-bound football fans who couldn't believe the hard-hitting, ground eating rushing attacks these Great Plains powers perennially produced. The winner of that game almost always won the conference. Fairly often they would win a national title, too. At very least they would likely earn a trip to Miami at New Year. The OU-Nebraska game mattered. A lot.

It mattered so much that without it people in Lincoln began to feel alienated in and by their own conference. As Matt Hinton has recently been reminding people, the Big Eight absorbed half the Southwest Conference -- not viceversa. Texas and Co. were the refugees from a discredited, crumbling wreck of a league. The Big Eight was a nationally relevant conference with a strong brand that at the time rested on the edifice of Big Red's unstoppable Triple-Option. In the fifteen years since that time the OU-Nebraska game, stripped of its prime time billing on Thanksgiving weekend, has become secondary in national import to the Red River Shootout. OU-Texas is now the League's annual feature presentation. Nebraska has no great rival and as a consequence has suffered a loss of relevance. The contrived NU-Colorado rivalry has, to say the least, lacked even a fraction of the mystique that saturated the great Oklahoma-Nebraska games of yore.

The silver lining of Nebraska's move to the Big Ten will hopefully be the restoration of the OU series to an annual event, preferably on Thanksgiving. OU played Texas every year out of conference for more than a century before the formation of the Big XII. It would be no different now to add NU to the non-conference slate. This move would be a big gain for college football in general and Nebraskans in particular.

Far less likely to survive the shake-up in any form are Big Red's six lesser 'rivalries' with the soup and potatoes of their old Big Eight menu, the Six Dwarfs.

NU first met Kansas and Missouri on the gridiron in 1892, only the third year of Big Red football. Iowa State joined the slate in 1896. Colorado followed in 1898. Nebraska first joined a conference when the Missouri Valley was formed in 1907. For the first two-decades of its existence the conference grew steadily into a large and unwieldy group that never played a round-robin slate in football. Kansas State first played NU in 1911 and joined the MVC two years later. Oklahoma A&M joined the league in 1925 but never played Nebraska in the three seasons before the league split in 1928. The bigger state schools split from their smaller bedfellows to form a more cohesive football conference in 1928. The new Big Six then became the Big Seven with the addition of Colorado in 1947, then the Big Eight with Oklahoma State in 1958.

Since their first meetings Nebraska has only not played Kansas in 1904 and 1905. Iowa State only fails to appear on the schedule in the years 1902-04, 1920 and 1925. Kansas State is missing in only 1917-19 and 1920-21. Mizzou disappears from 1903 to 1910 and again from 1913-17 and 1920-22 but appears every year thereafter. The Colorado series skipped 1906 and 1908-11 before a long break between 1920 and 1948. Oklahoma State never played Nebraska at all until 1960, but the two then met every year until 1995 and every second year since.

Those six series, especially against KU, constitute some of the longest standing rivalries in college football. They are also some of the most lopsided. Versus Kansas Big Red is a whopping 90-23-3. Mizzou has fared little better at 64-36-3. Kansas State's 77-15-2 constitutes the second-worst effort percentage-wise, while Iowa State owns the longest winless streaks. En route to the ugly end of an 85-17-2 head-to-head record the Cyclones have failed to beat Nebraska for over a decade in five separate stretches and beat them only once between 1978 and 2001. Against Colorado Big Red is 48-18-2, and against Oklahoma State an overwhelming 36-5-1.

For a century Nebraska football literally ran roughshod over these opponents, riding them to forty-six bowl invitations, forty-seven conference championships, and five national titles. When Nebraska played other big boys out of conference the Huskers rarely disappointed and won more often than not. Nebraska also owns a very respectable 38-44-3 record against Oklahoma -- the Big Eight's other juggernaut. There is no doubt that Nebraska football is no mirage created by inflated records racked up against weaklings and only weaklings. Whether under Dana X. Bible, in Bob Devaney's Power-I, or Tom Osborne's Triple Option, Nebraska has never feared clashing heads with fellow heavy weights. But as is the case with all great collegiate programs, the foundation upon which those great championship bouts versus fellow giants rests is a consistently solid conference record against a host of obliging lesser-lights.

Without the Six Dwarfs the Big Eight's big two would unquestionably have amounted to a less perennial brand of large. Those rivalries were rarely interesting, almost never commanded a national TV audience, and will be mourned by no one outside of Big Eight country. But make no mistake; while moving to the Big Ten will likely be a good decision for Nebraska, the step will forever change the face of Big Red football.

So long, friends. And thanks for all the wins.

Fifth down and goal

On November 16th 1940 the Cornell Big Red rolled into Hanover, NH as the homecoming day guest for hated rival Dartmouth. Cornell was undefeated at 6-0 and stood second in the AP poll. Until falling behind eventual national champions Minnesota in that week’s poll Cornell had been ranked first all year. The 1940 Big Red remains the only Ivy League team ever to top the AP standings.

Cornell is hardly a football power today but in 1940 they were a formidable outfit. The legendry Glenn “Pop” Warner had played and coached at Cornell, as had Gilmour “Gloomy Gil” Dobie – a giant of his generation who led the Washington Huskies to a 58-0-3 in his nine seasons as head coach from 1908 to 1916. This is still the NCAA’s longest ever undefeated run. Dobie’s Cornell teams claimed three consecutive national titles from 1921 to 1923. Although subsequent seasons had been less kind, the Big Red were enjoying a return to former glory under the rigorous tutelage of Carl “the Grey Fox” Snavely. An eighteen game unbeaten run stretched back to a narrow two-point road defeat at Syracuse in mid-October 1938. A winning streak of fourteen games beginning on opening day 1939 included a home and home series sweep of Francis Schmidt’s heavily favored Ohio State Buckeyes, the 1939 Big Ten champions. Although the fiscally cautious university administration turned down several bowl invitations in 1938 and 1939 Cornell did claim the Sagarin national title in the latter of those years and entered the 1940 season as a hot favorite in every wire service poll.

Waiting for the bookmaker’s fifteen-to-one favorite were the 3-4 Dartmouth Indians, led by their own rising coaching star, the young Earl “Red” Blaik. Then in his last season at Dartmouth before moving to West Point, Blaik had a win percentage above .700 and had never posted a losing season. [His entire career would total a quarter century with only a single losing year]. Although his team lacked the talent of the high scoring Red, on the day Blaik out foxed the Grey Fox. A bitterly cold contest unfolded on increasingly muddy sod. Snow began falling by the final quarter and neither team managed to move the ball. Snavely ran a progressive offensive system for the time, combining end-around runs with short passes underneath and to the flat [almost a hybrid of what would later become known as the option and west coast offenses]. Blaik quickly saw that the conditions would afford little mobility and dropped the interior of his defensive line back a few steps off the ball. By also bringing his linebackers up he created a crowd of defenders able to react quickly and contain the ball. Dartmouth gave the Big Red short gains on every down, but no more.

Dartmouth passed only once all day. That ball fell incomplete. Neither team gained a first down in the opening fifteen minutes. The teams punted a combined twenty-two times. Cornell had not entered the locker room without the lead in two seasons, but the game remained tied at zero heading into the final period. Finally, with less than five minutes to play, Dartmouth penetrated the Cornell twenty yard line and attempted a field goal on fourth down. Pre-war football being what it was, no player on the entire Dartmouth team had ever been involved in a field goal try. They were universally amazed and ecstatic to see left tackle Bob Kreiger send the ball through the uprights.

In response, a desperate Snavely signaled his men to open up the playbook. With an unbeaten season, possible AP title, and long winning streak at steak Cornell began to throw the ball in defiance of the inhibiting conditions. Starting from a kick return to their own forty-eight it took only two long connections to carry the Big Red to Dartmouth’s six yard line. Facing first and goal with under a minute remaining, a three yard halfback run off left tackle halved the distance. A run off right tackle on second down ate up two more yards. Then, with only seconds remaining, the game entered infamy in Ivy League lore. Fullback Mark Lansberg carried up the middle and fell backwards towards the goal line. Center Frank Finnerman maintains to this day that Lansberg came across the line and landed on top of him in the end zone. The carry would have given Cornell a victory. Instead, referee Red Friesell called the ball down and returned it to the one yard line. Someone in the confused and angry Cornell team attempted to call a timeout, forgetting that the Big Red had none remaining. This error drew a delay of game penalty and moved the ball back to the six. On fourth down, with time expiring and only one chance remaining, quarterback Walter Shaw bootlegged right and threw a jump-pass to the end zone. A Dartmouth defender batted the ball down, apparently sealing the 3-0 win. Inexplicably, Friesell placed the ball on the six yard line rather than the twenty (where the rules of the day dictated Dartmouth should have taken over after a turnover on downs inside the red zone). Friesell signaled fourth down and Cornell ran the same play with a different result. Halfback Bill Murphy brought the ball safely to his chest before the PAT gave Cornell a controversial 7-3 win.

Media uproar began immediately. Reporters wired news across the country of the inexplicable fifth down and Cornell’s eleventh hour victory. Some speculated that Friesell may have thought the five yard penalty cancelled a down. Whatever he thought, the umpire soon changed his mind. After reviewing tape of the game he admitted his error in apologetic telegrams to both schools only hours after the final gun. The following day Cornell President Ezra Day, a Dartmouth graduate, and coach Snavely agreed to concede the game. Informing the team of the decision Day assured the distressed players that Dartmouth honor and decency would surely lead their president to refuse the concession.

Day was wrong. The game became the first in college football history decided off the field. It entered the record books as a 3-0 Dartmouth victory and ended the Cornell winning streak. The following week a crushed Big Red team dropped a second game by two points at Penn. Cornell men still protest that had they retained a morale boosting victory in Hanover their team would surely have triumphed in Philadelphia to finish the season 8-0. Instead, Frank Leahy’s undefeated Boston College headed south as champion of the East to face Tulane in the 1941 Sugar Bowl. 6-2 Cornell ended the year 15th in the AP rankings. No Ivy League team has ever come so close to an AP crown.

Exactly half a century later in 1990, the 3-1-1 Colorado Buffalos headed to Columbia on October 6th for a Big Eight matchup against 2-2 Missouri. Head coach Bill McCartney was in his ninth year in Boulder, where he had put together some startlingly athletic teams. His dynamic option offenses even gave Tom Osbourne’s power running Cornhuskers some things to think about. McCartney had finally broken through the ten-win barrier and flirted with a national title in 1989, going 11-1. Through the first five games of a grueling 1990 schedule the Buffaloes had defeated #12 Washington (the eventual Pac-10 winner and Rothman national champion), #20 Texas (the eventual Southwest Conference champion), and unranked Stanford. They had lost by a single point in Champagne to Illinois (the eventual Big 10 champion), and had tied the #8 Tennessee Volunteers (the eventual SEC champion). Understandably, even with starting quarterback Darian Hagan out injured, Colorado entered Columbia heavy favorites over the unranked Tigers.

The Buffaloes were loaded with talent. McCartney had expanded CU’s recruiting base, taking stud athletes from urban areas of California. Several brought personal problems along with their physical ability. McCartney caught serious media heat for the frequent arrests surrounding his team, but annually increasing win totals largely alleviated domestic discontent. Nine players from the 1990 Buffaloes would be drafted into the NFL, including first round picks in receiver Mike Prichard and linebacker Alfred Williams, and a second round pick in standout running back Eric Bieniemy. Such a deep and dynamic team should have dispatched unfancied Mizzou with ease. But on a hot and dry October day conditions were poor for the Buff’s explosive option attack.

Backup quarterback Charles Johnson recently told Rivals.com that Missouri’s turf was designed to cope with a typically humid and muggy climate. That day the disastrously low-tech 1980s artificial turf was dry and dusty and afforded little purchase. Colorado players slipped on play after play as they attempted to turn up-field for potentially significant gains. Johnson claims the conditions disadvantaged the Buffaloes’ system far more than the vertical passing Tigers. Film of the game obviously shows the difficulty CU players experienced attempting to stay upright. On the play immediately preceding the fateful series of downs, Johnson threw a screen pass to tight end Jon Boman who broke for the end zone. With nothing but daylight between him and the game winning score Boman slipped out of bounds at the three yard line. But whatever the validity of their excuses, Colorado failed to put the game away. A back-and-forth offensive slugging match stood at 31-27 to Mizzou and came down to Colorado first and goal at the three with forty seconds and one timeout remaining.

Hoping to distract the Buffs and help their frantic Tigers save a memorable conference win, Missouri fans roared as Colorado approached the line of scrimmage. Times were not rich for Mizzou. Second year head coach Bob Stull had begun his MU career with a disappointing 2-9 campaign. In five seasons at Missouri Stull would fail to register a single winning record. The Tigers had not enjoyed a season above .500 since Warren Powers’ penultimate campaign in 1983. They would not taste another until 1997. MU students could be forgiven for moving hopefully toward the field in preparation to tear down the goal posts. The prospect of knocking off a ranked rival with an impressive record coming off an 11-1 year was a rare treat.

Desperate for time to select the best possible play, Johnson spiked the ball on first down. Eric Bieniemy plunged up the middle on second. A Mizzou linebacker drove him back just short of the goal line. Johnson called time out. Before entering the huddle he looked at the sideline official, who had forgotten to flip his down marker from 2nd to 3rd. The announcers calling the game noted the mistake but commented that it hardly mattered as the Buffs only had time for two plays at most. Regardless, Johnson and Coach McCartney mistakenly agreed three possible plays. The QB hurriedly passed them on to his team before breaking the huddle. All-American CU center Jay Leeuwenburg attempted to correct his quarterback but with time of the essence Johnson hurried to the ball unaware of the official’s mistake.

On third down Bieniemy ran up the middle again and was stopped under a pile of bodies for no gain. When Johnson finally got his team back at the line of scrimmage only two ticks remained. Believing it to be third down he hurriedly spiked the ball. Mizzou coaches and players on the sideline began moving forward for handshakes. Students cheered and prepared to rush the field. But before they could make their way onto the treacherous turf Johnson returned to the line and ran a fifth and final play. On a quarterback keeper he fell backwards towards the line and may or may not have broken the plane of the goal. Referees signaled touchdown. Time had expired and the Buffs headed for the locker room as a crowd of MU students with shocking mullets surrounded the officials in futile protest. The students tore down the goalposts anyway, perhaps thinking the fifth play had been a mistake and believing that their Tigers would be awarded the win.



Johnson and his teammates confidently told reporters they had only run four plays. Though they genuinely believed that at the time they learned their error soon after arriving back in Boulder and watching tape. Unlike their predecessors at Cornell fifty years before, the CU president and coach did not refuse the win. The Buffaloes did not lose again and finished the season 10-1-1, tied atop the AP ranking with 11-1 Georgia Tech. Colorado claimed its only national title. Neither the AP nor the NCAA listened to howling protests emanating from Columbia.

Twice in college football history fifth down and goal plays have resulted in controversial triumphs as the clock expired in games that directly impacted the national title. Exactly fifty years separates the two games. In that half century college football evolved dramatically. No doubt Ezra Day and Carl Snavely would hardly have recognized the big money circus of the late twentieth century. They certainly would not have sympathized with Colorado’s decision. Which begs the question why the second game turned out so differently? Has modern college football lost its soul? Do Coloradans just lack integrity and honor?

The only certain fact is that there are several unwritten rules governing football that cannot be broken. For example, no one at the Tournament of Roses will ever acknowledge the fact that the Rose Bowl is not actually the national championship game. Five all-American prep running backs will go to USC every year even though it is obvious even to small children that they won’t all get playing time. But the most cast-iron, incontrovertible rule in all of college sports is this:

If it is improbable, unpredictable, disastrous, and can happen to Missouri, it will.

(Sources: Cornell Sun, history of Red football parts I and II; Cornell Bid Red history; Wiki, Gil Dobie; CSTV, Fifth down game; SI, McCartney and CU Buffaloes; Rivals, 5th down an honest mistake; Wiki, Fifth down game; CFB data warehouse; AP poll archive)

False pessimism

Whilst trawling a few Auburn blogs recently in order to gloat in their deliciously painful coaching hire fiasco, I came across one post at Joe Cribb’s Car Wash stating that the writer could not recall a single case of “false pessimism” from fans who mistakenly berated what they saw as an ill-considered coaching hire.

Although I don’t like to encourage Auburn, the blogger might well have considered the curious case of Woodrow Hayes.

After the 1950 season Ohio State parted ways with head coach Wes Fesler. Though a highly touted All-American end for the Buckeyes in the late 1920s and general local hero, Fesler had not inspired as OSU coach. Despite a 1949 Rose Bowl championship his 6-3 record a year later, capped with ‘snow bowl’ loss to hated Michigan, proved too much. The university administration feared that the apparent gap between the Buckeyes and their rival to the north might never be closed and decided to look elsewhere for leadership.

Fan favorite and media darling Paul Brown expressed clear interest and the way seemed clear. Brown, a man so astronomically conceited he allowed the NFL franchise he served as inaugural head coach to assume his own name, had succeeded Francis Schmidt at OSU in 1940. In 3 years leading the Buckeyes he amassed an 18-8-1 record and had been gathering significant momentum and national attention before war intervened. Brown left Columbus to serve in the U.S. Navy and after the war accepted the job as coach of Cleveland's new NFL outfit. He gladly applied his local fame, immense personality and undeniable appeal to the success of the pro-game in Ohio. Impressed with his performance and dissatisfied with 6-3 finishes for the state's real team, Ohioans yearned to wind back the clock and resume Buckeye football progress at the point Japanese militarism had retarded it.

Athletic Director Dick Larkins and the university Board of Advisers did not see things in quite the same light. Where Buckeye fans saw wins, confidence, and magnetism, Larkins perceived arrogance and potential power struggles. The committee passed on an incredulous Brown and focused instead on University of Missouri head coach Don Faurot.

After playing for his home state Tigers in the first half of the 1920s Faurot determined to continue in athletics as a coach. Physically diminutive but mentally impressive and possessed of an indomitable drive for victory, Faurot proved a remarkable leader. His 101-79-10 record with three conference championships and four bowl trips in nineteen seasons from 1935 to 1956 stand as one of Mizzou’s better eras. Faurot also originated the T-formation, which dominated offense in the college game during the 1940s and into the 1950s. Faurot interviewed in Columbus and initially accepted the job, but experienced a change of heart upon returning home. He decided to remain in Missouri, preferring to finish his career in the state he had always called home than to take on a new and vast challenge farther north.

Denied his first and second choice, Larkins looked lower down the list. Eventually the search came to one Woodrow “Woody” Hayes, then at the end of his second year at Miami of Ohio. Hayes’ resume did not exactly inspire. He had been an unmemorable lineman at tiny Denison University in Granville, OH before going on to assistant coach/ history teacher duties at Mingo Junction and New Philadelphia High Schools. In three years as New Philadelphia head coach his teams went 18-10-1. Nine of those losses came in 1940, his final year before departing for naval service. The strength of his first two seasons earned him the head coaching job at his alma mater in 1946.

A tumultuous 2-6 start gave way to two consecutive 8-0 seasons, allowing Woody to cash in and move to Miami of Ohio. With the Redskins Hayes again began poorly, going 5-4 in 1948 before a 9-1 run, conference title and a win in the short-lived Arizona ‘Salad Bowl’ in 1949. At both schools the friction caused in his first season by Hayes' demanding and pugnacious style raised eyebrows around campus and beyond. Hayes had to use personal connections to even get his name added to the bottom end of the Ohio State search list and was a long shot at the start of the process. Larkins interviewed numerous candidates better known and with stronger resumes, but Hayes’ bullish confidence served him well when he finally gained the chance to meet the committee in person.

The announcement of Hayes as Ohio State’s new head football coach did not spark public euphoria. If it did not quite create the pandemic vocal disappointment recently displayed in eastern Alabama the response was at least analogous. Starting with a 4-3-2 season, in which friction caused by Hayes' coaching methods again became public knowledge, did little to quell criticism. Confidence in the hire remained so low that as late as Hayes’ third season one irate fan paid for a plane to fly over the Horseshoe on OSU’s final home date pulling a banner reading “Bye bye, Woody”. Only delivering the Buckeyes’ first win in Ann Arbor since 1937 ensured a fourth season. Unofficially, Hayes was on notice.

His team could hardly have responded better. In 1954 Hayes finally had the players he wanted for his ultra-conservative pounding run-game. His stout, dedicated team replicated his own work ethic in grinding out a 10-0 Rose Bowl winning season. An AP national championship more than closed the gap between OSU and Michigan that in 1950 seemed in danger of opening into a chasm.

Woody Hayes almost defies eulogy. There is little about him that immediately commands praise except his success on the field. He did choose and train assistants well, and though he often struggled to delegate authority he was rarely served poorly when he did. Many of his assistants went on to coaching notoriety in their own right - Ara Parsegian, Bo Schembechler and Lou Holtz to name only three. Woody’s own game plans evolved little in three decades. His preference for the outmoded T-offense endured well into the 1970s. Only the innovations brought by his staff saved him from being outstripped by younger rivals always keen to prove themselves by outdoing the vaunted juggernaut Buckeyes.

Hayes struck out at his players routinely in practice and on the field. He verbally attacked referees with great ferocity and often embarrassed the university. He typically worked 14 plus hour days, becoming a presence noted by absence in the family home. His wife and son bore with him but must have felt cheated by his unyielding devotion to Buckeye football. Hayes' temper made countless enemies and brought official Big Ten censure on several occasions. Finally, in the 1978 Citrus Bowl Hayes punched Clemson linebacker Charlie Bauman after he made a game winning interception for the Tigers. Caught on ABC camera for the nation to see Hayes could not deny his crime, though he baulked from a full apology. A unanimous Board of Advisers decision put Hayes in the unusual position of being fired with a win rate above 70%, five national championships and thirteen Big Ten crowns.

But his players continued to love him. Former assistants and lettermen showered adoration, respect and praise until his dying day in 1985. Schembechler, Hayes’ great rival since taking the Michigan job in 1968, gave his former mentor the most glowing eulogy. Clearly the many tirades Bo received from Woody did not define the teacher in the eyes of his pupil. Players who had been through agonizing practices with no water or breaks, not to mention the psychologically punishing rants and physical abuse, returned praise for Woody’s character off the field. They saw him as a tender and concerned father figure who followed grades and social lives with selfless interest, helping wherever he could in the most practical ways. President Nixon also gave a eulogy at Hayes’ funeral. To many this will detract from Hayes’ standing and credibility, but not many people have a former Commander in Chief call them a friend at their funeral – even if it is R. M. Nixon.

Defining and judging Hayes is beyond the scope of my knowledge and talents. The man was irascible, outspoken and intransigent to say the least. His lack of self awareness almost cost Ohio State as much as his victories gained. And yet people who actually knew him saw past his flaws to something deeper.

Whether or not Hayes was a good man in the grand scheme, one thing is in no doubt. Hiring him as Ohio State head football coach in 1950 proved a good decision. The public despair his arrival in Columbus inspired now seems laughable. Except to Michigan fans.

Here’s hoping Gene Chizik is no Woody Hayes.

(Sources: Lombardo, Fire to Win; WOSU, Beyond the Gridiron; Life of Don Faurot)