Book review - Fifty Year Seduction

Following on from my post about recent scheduling trends, I want to consider the question of revenue. The gears of my mind started turning recently after noticing one comment responding to a column by Senator Orin Hatch. The comment asked what business the Mountain West had telling the Big XII etc. what to do with ‘their money’?

This notion got me thinking about the question of revenue. Where does college football revenue come from, who generates it, how is it shared and why? Most importantly for this blog - how did we get there?

In all the BCS controversy over the last half-year the whole national championship game discussion has been a red herring. The BCS is primarily a revenue sharing system. The #1 vs. #2 title game is the lipstick on the revenue sharing pig.

I have not found any source as informative on all these questions as Keith Dunnavant’s book The Fifty Year Seduction: How Television Manipulated College Football, from the Birth of the Modern NCAA to the Creation of the BCS. I consider it to be required reading for any informed football fan. It is a meticulously researched and fabulously detailed eye-opener.

Dunnavant takes the story back to the NCAA's growth from a tiny organization with a handful of employees. He shows how completely dependent it originally was on football revenue. The annual TV contract, run as an absolute monopoly, was negotiated centrally and sold to the highest bidder. The money was shared equally among division one schools. Only one game a week was televised. Fans had no choice and the most popular programs had no independent access to TV rights and coverage.

As college football grew in scale this relationship began to tear. The first major change came with the division 1 spilt in 1978. But the more prominent football powers were still not satisfied. Some, like Notre Dame with their long established national radio following, chafed under the system. They felt that they could generate far more alone, trading on their own mystique and appeal, than by relying on collective bargaining power to drive up prices.

After years of discontent and discussion, the landmark 1984 Supreme Court ruling Board of Regents vs. NCAA smashed the monopoly. The enormous slate of televised football we have today is the result. But initially, the glut of available products depressed the market. For over a decade reduced prices and starving athletic departments fought to recover the golden goose they had seemingly slaughtered with the monopoly. Dunnavant locates the creation of the BCS within this process, showing how worried and hurting schools with massive football-driven athletics departments replaced one monopoly with another.

My summary cannot possibly do Dunnavant’s work justice. He goes into detail as to how ABC created modern TV football coverage. He reveals intricate human stories as to how deals were cut, and why. Most importantly, he writes with nuance, intelligence and impartiality. No doubt many readers would take the insightful detail in the book and view the story differently than I do. The bottom line is, this is an invaluably informative work. However the reader feels about TV revenue, the NCAA and the BCS, this is a must read.

Scheduling

There has recently been a lot of chatter regarding scheduling. It is an increasing trend for supposed power-house programs to line up less-than tantalizing non-conference slates of all home fixtures against multifarious current and former 1-AA sacrificial lambs. A recent rant by Jay Christensen (a.k.a the Wiz of Odds) on the In The Bleachers podcast got me wondering exactly how recent this trend is.

In 1978, NCAA football's top division split into 1-A and 1-AA. Big-time football schools felt shackled by their long-standing marriage to an equal number of much smaller programs. Each school possessed one vote in all matters, regardless of revenue or scale of operations. Big-time football schools felt that they needed different rules and organization for the very different requirements of high-revenue big-time ball. Many of the smaller colleges saw the split as an attempt by the big boys to starve their programs to death.

But how far was the 1978 split truly a divorce? Exactly how often did these big fish and their minnow bed fellows play against one another?

All the data for this post is taken from a survey of the game's major powers in the modern era. I define that as schools with more than one AP national championship since 1950. Those schools are Oklahoma, Texas, Notre Dame, USC, Ohio State, Penn State, Alabama, Tennessee, Florida, LSU, Florida State*, Miami, Nebraska and Michigan (who I included because they're Michigan, even though their 1997 championship is amazingly their only AP crown since 1950. They just kept finding ways to lose the Rose Bowl when it really mattered).

I looked for the number of games these teams played against schools which have spent more than a decade of the modern era below college football's top division. That includes schools who began in division 1 but moved down sometime after 1978, as well as schools who have risen to division 1-A from a lower level. It also includes several now discontinued programs such as Wichita State, Pacific etc. who went straight from the top division into non-existence.

The following graph indicates the number of games played between top-tier programs and smaller schools when both teams were technically competing at the same level. For example, Alabama vs. Wichita State in 1979 - WSU continued as a 1-A school until dropping football in 1986; Texas vs. UNT in 1992 - North Texas only moved up to 1-A in 1982; and Miami vs. Florida International in 2007 - FIU moved up to 1-A in 2005 and only began football in 2002.

I dropped the 1950s from this graph because the results were skewed by the fact that the three Florida schools did not really grow into major powers until after that decade. After the 1950s no decade contained a total of more than 22 games between the major programs and these smaller opponents. Until this one...

Not a pretty sight.

A more recent trend has been for division 1-A schools to play current 1-AA members. After 1978 such games did not count towards the necessary win total for bowl eligibility. That rule changed in 1998 after an NCAA amendment was proposed by the Big XII and adopted.

That this rule should come from the Big XII is interesting. Neither Oklahoma nor Texas had ever played a game with a team then competing in a lower division. With the exception of a few games against the South Dakota schools in the early 60s and one fixture with Middle Tennessee in 1993 (MTSU moved to 1-A in 1999) neither had Nebraska. Obviously some Big XII powers hoped to clear the way for some serious resume padding. And the giants of the SEC were only too happy to vote for the move.

From the divisional split in 1978 to the adoption of the bowl eligibility measure in 1998 no single season contained more than two games between major powers and a team then competing in 1-AA ball. More than half of those years contain none at all. Then this happened...

Inexcusable cowardice.

Seven games in one season between schools with more than one national championship and programs with twenty less scholarships competing a division below. If that doesn't make you change the channel, either your alma mater is involved or you've dozed off.

For more context, the following graph shows games between the major powers and schools then competing in a lower division by decade.

Not for the feint of heart.

The other regrettable recent trend is the number of big programs refusing to sign home-and-home series for non-conference games. This is tied to the declining value of the average September fare because obviously better opponents will only sign contracts to play return fixtures. So now we have Notre Dame, the historic giant of the game known for its many inter-sectional rivalries against other big boys, playing one-and-done home fixtures against Nevada - a school which only moved to 1-A ball in 1992.

I wondered how far back the trend of playing an unbalanced home slate went. I counted every season the big boys played six or more home games in a ten games season, or seven or more in an eleven or twelve game season since 1950. The figures were skewed somewhat by the fact that Michigan has apparently played more home fixtures than away since the dawn of time, and Florida and Tennessee are almost as travel shy. By comparison Texas, Notre Dame, USC and Oklahoma played a combined four seasons with a home-away imbalance prior to 1999!

Since then...

"Oh no, we can't travel. What about our precious revenue?"

Apparently, we are now told, home revenue is so vital that big football schools cannot possibly play less than seven, usually eight home games. This is clearly nonsense. For one thing, a decent one-and-done opponent will now run you over $1 million. That's what Clemson is paying TCU this September. Even your local UT. Chattanooga will claim around $750,000 for the eight touchdowns they guarantee your future Heisman winning QB Sam Bradford. Furthermore, how did all these schools ever make ends meet before this decade on only six home games?

What has happened to college football in the last decade?

For one thing, the 2002 move to the 12 game schedule has been a total joke. People love college ball because its amatuerism encapsulates the very essense of competition for its own sake. The 12th game has universally been used to add a cheap win to the record and fill athletic department coffers through $85 bleacher tickets for a 58-0 win over East Podunk State U. Whenever anyone talks about playoffs to improve the game ADs and Presidents complain about "too many games," yet they added an extra one already this decade for no competitive reason whatsoever. How about dropping the 12th games as part of post-season reform? Are there any greedy coaches and administrators brave enough for that?

I see two main issues that require reform. Firstly, the rule allowing one win per season against a 1-A opponent to count towards bowl eligibility should be scrapped. It's an indefensible joke. If 12 games is too many, play 11. If you need the revenue, then man up and actually play someone. There's no need to offend your fans and waste precious transmitter space that could be better spent on Saturday afternoon made-for-TV movies.

The Wiz of Odds goes as far as to suggest that teams playing a 1-A opponent should be disqualified from the national title game. That seems fair to me. This season's favorite is the Mighty Gators. Is it really necessary for Tim "second coming" Tebow and pals to beat the living snot out of Charleston Southern? Why not just stay home and have a nap instead? Oh yeah, revenue...

Secondly, the problem is the BCS. Defenders of our current nightmare system claim it is a better way to determine a genuine national champion than the previous regime. I actually disagree. Sure, the BCS guarantees a #1 vs. #2 matchup, but those teams won't necessarily actually be the first and second best. Generally they are just the two undefeated or one-loss schools from the fancied conferences.

The AP poll actually does several things the current BCS formula does not. For one thing, it recognizes the value of a quality loss. Look back over the records of former AP national champions. You'll find the 1975 Sooners with a 3-23 loss to Kansas, the 1966 Irish and their famous "tie one for the gipper" game with Michigan State, 1977 Notre Dame who lost 13-20 AT Mississippi (will ND ever go to Oxford again?), the 1978 Crimson Tide who lost at home to USC, the 1967 Trojans who lost a game at Oregon State, the 1970 Huskers who tied a game 20-20 with USC...

The BCS format elevates the golden record of 13-0 above everything else, so that beating up on Florida Atlantic is a better bet than testing your manhood against Southern Cal. Here are a few random samples of the non-conference slates played by previous AP national champions.

1978 Crimson Tide: Nebraska and USC at home, Washington and Missouri away.

1963 Longhorns: Navy and OU in Dallas, Tulane and Oklahoma State at home.

1975 Sooners: Oregon and Pitt at home, Miami away and Texas in Dallas.

1993 Seminoles: ND and Kansas away, Florida and Miami home.

According to all the pundits this year's champion will likely come from among Oklahoma, Texas, Florida, Penn State or USC. Leaving aside the ever fearless Trojans, the non-conference offering of this pack consists of Idaho State, Tulsa, BYU, Miami, Louisiana Monroe, UTEP, Wyoming, Central Florida, Charleston Southern, Troy, Florida International, FSU, Akron, Syracuse, Temple and Eastern Illinois.

There are a few good games in that list. Oklahoma playing BYU and Miami is certainly a cut above the rest. But shame on Penn State who made a late dash to sign TCU but were turned down because they refused a home-and-home. And on Texas and Wisconsin who flirted with each other but chickened out.

So this September, while you're flicking through the dial looking for something other than a ten touchdown home romp to watch, think about this. Before 1998 the average schedule of a major college football power consisted of all home-and-home series against equally weighted division 1 programs. Unless you cheer for Florida or Tennessee, you might never have seen your alma mater play a significantly smaller program in your life before the last ten years.

When you're at home watching Nebraska opening at home with Florida Atlantic, think back to better days, when Bud Wilkinson's Sooners volunteered for losses against Frank Leahey's Fighting Irish, or John McKay's Trojans butted heads with the Bear's Tide because they could.

And if you don't like what we have now, thank the BCS and your local athletic director's general lack of guts.

*(FSU only started football in 1947 and their first 15 years are not representative of what the program is now. Their schedules before 1965 totally skewed my data so I omitted them).

(Sources: national champions; John Underwood, NCAA spilt decisions; NCAA.org; cfbdatawarehouse.com; appollarchive.com. All graphs by Prolate Spheroid)

Air II

According to the 2000 U.S. census, the population of tiny, rural Mount Olive, Miss. is a whopping 893. It was about the same in 1973, when Lucille McNair bore her husband Selma a second son. They named him Steven. The better part of half-a-hundred of those townsfolk were directly related to Steve and lived within a pigskin toss’ radius of his humble home. The family was far from affluent, but growing up with three brothers, numerous cousins and plenty of space Steve never wanted for entertainment. The boys played endless games of baseball, basketball, and football with all comers.

Life got harder when Steve’s father left in 1981. His older brother Fred, then thirteen, had to grow up fast. As the younger boys looked up to him he led the way through high school and onto college. Steve followed his brother Fred every step, gladly learning from his experience and coaching in ball games as in life. And at every stage he seemed to surpass his friend and idol. The nickname “Air McNair” first attached itself to Fred as quarterback of Mt. Olive High, though Steve would later assume it and make it famous. Fred’s High School career attracted enough attention to earn a scholarship at Alcron State, the historically black college located in Lorman, south-west Mississippi. Steve took his prep career to a new level. He played both quarterback and safety for four years, leading Mt. Olive to a state championship as a junior. He notched fifteen interceptions as a senior, making a state record career total of thirty.

While Steve attracted attention from major colleges across the south, Fred worked hard to earn the starting job at Alcorn. He finally took over as the Braves' signal-caller as a fifth-year senior in 1989, throwing for 1,898 yards and 14 touchdowns. That performance earned him a place at training camp with the Dallas Cowboys, but he did not make the final roster. Fred spent the next four years bouncing around the Canadian Football League. During those same years Steve made earning and keeping the quarterback job at Alcorn look easy.

McNair had no shortage of scholarship offers. Miami and Mississippi State pushed especially hard. But without fail, every coach steered the Super Prep Magazine All-American towards a collegiate career on the defensive side of the ball. In fairness to them, McNair had excelled at safety. Prep defensive-back stars transfer to successful college players far more often than quarterbacks, especially those coming out of tiny schools. But Steve believed he could play quarterback. He wanted to be like his brother. More importantly, he wanted to win. He had the drive and desire to be in command. He didn’t want less gifted players controlling the fate of his team in the offensive backfield while he watched helpless from the sidelines. Jackie Sherrill and Dennis Erickson did not share McNair’s confidence. The Uncle of a Mt. Olive High teammate told a Sports Illustrated reporter in the frankest terms:

“The thing is, Steve wanted to play quarterback. And to do that round here, a black kid has to go to a black school.”

So Steve “Air II” McNair went to play for first-year head coach Cardell Jones at Alcorn in 1991. It took him less than a quarter to assume the starting role he would not relinquish until graduation. It took only 60 minutes to prove the South’s elite college coaches wrong. In the Braves’ annual season opener against cross-river rivals Grambling State – the greatest black college program of all time, coached by the legendry Eddie Robinson – an unintimidated McNair led his team from behind in the fourth quarter to win 27-22.

Alcorn’s first two possessions sputtered and disgruntled locals began calling for Fred McNair’s kid brother. Jones had already been amazed by the freshman in fall camp. McNair went 9-of-9 for a TD in his first contact scrimmage. Jones made the best decision of his career in his inaugural game as head coach. He gave Air II a shot. His reward came immediately in the form of a touchdown. McNair added two more, along with 230 yards. By the end of that first game there was no doubting the talent Alcorn had on its hands. Those performances continued every week, every season.

As the truly great athletes always do, McNair played his best against the best. When McNair matriculated, W. C. Gordon’s Jackson State Tigers had been Southwest Athletic Conference champion nine times in the preceding eleven years. They had beaten in-state rival Alcorn in the traditional season finale fifteen of the last twenty. McNair delivered four straight victories by ever increasing margins. His freshmen year the Braves squeaked a two-point win. The next year it was seven, then nine. As a senior, McNair embarrassed the hated rivals 52-34. Larry Dorsey, who took over from Gordon in 1992, acknowledged before the 1994 season:

“I don’t have a clue how to stop him.”

Performances against Grambling were equally memorable. As a sophomore McNair sprained his ankle and needed help to reach the locker room. The Braves were losing, had not reached the end zone, were on the road, and their star was hurt. The outlook was bleak. McNair came out for the second half, threw three touchdowns, and ran for a late game-winning score with a visible limp. Alcorn won 35-33. The following year, he threw for 268 in the first half alone. With the game tied 35-35 at half time McNair pleaded with his defense to give more and promised his team he would lead them to victory. He passed for 217 yards in the second half, totaled five TD passes on the day, and also ran for 99 yards and a score. Two other certain touchdown passes were dropped, one with only seconds remaining. The Braves lost 62-56.

Alcorn offensive coordinator Ricky Taylor summed up McNair’s skills as succinctly as anyone. He told a reporter:

“He’s perfect.”

He had a strong case. McNair racked up 758 rushing yards with 16 touchdowns and threw for 6,436 with 53 scores in his first two seasons alone. He added 23 more TDs through the air and eight on the ground as a junior. These performances were incredible enough to garner serious Heisman talk, making McNair the first player at a historically black college to even be considered for the trophy. No player before or since at a division I-AA school [never mind one with an enrollment of only 3,300] has attracted so much national attention.

McNair summarized his obscurity best. He told the New York Times before his senior year:

“I’m just Steve the country boy from Mount Olive. There are about 900 people there; there were 42 in my high school class. I guess Lorman has about 300.”

That year McNair passed for 5,799 yards in 11 games – a divssion I-AA record. Over four seasons he averaged 400 yards passing per game - then an NCAA record. He totaled 928 completions on 1,673 attempts for 16,823 yards and 119 touchdowns – also a I-AA record. Not a few of his 58 interceptions could fairly be blamed on receivers, though he certainly never did. How could Heisman voters ignore him? Junior running back Rashaan Salaam of Colorado, one of only a handful of elite college backs to rush for 2,000 yards in a season, won the award. But McNair gained 655 voting points and polled third. For a small-town quarterback at an unfancied, tiny land-grant school in an unfancied state, third place practically is winning the Heisman.

McNair should have won. He deserved it. Pro-scouts salivated over him the way college recruiters ought to have done. He had always believed he could play quarterback at any level and set out to test himself at college. He passed the test on his first possession and proved it was no fluke in every game for four years. But at a school like Alcorn he simply didn’t have the skill around him to go all the way. As a sophomore and senior McNair delivered SWAC championships, but the Braves went out of the playoffs first round both times.

Regardless, McNair was the best at any level. If Heisman voters weren’t quite convinced, the NFL was. He went as the third overall pick to the Houston Oilers in the 1995 draft. His pro career lived up to every expectation. In 2000, he came within inches of being the second black quarterback to win a Super Bowl.

This play brought the Titans within a yard of a PAT for overtime or two points for the win

At the time of writing the circumstances of McNair’s death remain unclear. Even if they were fully know it is not for me to discuss or comment. I can only say that such deaths are always a sad waste. Steve McNair will leave many legacies to many people, no doubt. Of all the things he was, college quarterback does not rank as the most significant. But let there be no mistake: he was a great one.



(Sources: SI, 1992 Offensive POY; Tim Crothers, Loyal to his roots; S. L. Price, Air McNair; McNair, Wiki; hwwilson.com, bio; ajc, McNair’s death; AP, McNair & Alcorn; Thomas George, NYT, Halo over Alcorn; Heisman.com)

Orange Juice

Orenthal James Simpson grew up in a deprived neighborhood outside of San Francisco. His father left his family when he was a toddler. As an under-nourished baby he developed rickets. Amazingly the bent-toed little infant grew into a keen athlete and became a stand-out back at Galileo High School, just blocks from the waterfront. Pac Eight schools quickly became aware of his abilities, but they were also aware of his poor grades.

OJ matriculated at San Francisco Community College in 1965 to play football and work on his academic eligibility. At the end of his first year he qualified for Arizona State and under heavy pressure from Sun Devils coaches nearly headed for Tempe. He even considered Utah State at one point, but in his heart the Bay Area stud knew he wanted to follow local hero Gary Beban (then an all-American quarterback with the Buins) to Los Angeles. The ambitious Simpson set his sights on USC and with much encouragement from John McKay’s staff he spent one more year in San Francisco. When he finally became eligible he had only two years remaining and needed to make an immediate impression.

There was little doubt about OJ's talent. He left San Francisco as the all-time junior college rush leader with 2,552 yards and 54 TDs in just two years. But McKay wanted to know just how much USC could build around him and whether the lithe 6”1’ 202lb back could run between the tackles at the highest level. In one pre-season scrimmage during full contact drills McKay ran Simpson up the middle seven consecutive times. OJ seemed to grow stronger and more assertive with every run, knocking first team defenders onto their backs with apparent ease. The Trojans had their go-to man.

Then as today USC did not shy away from scheduling tough slates. In a 10 game 1967 season with seven conference match-ups and an annual bout with heavyweight Notre Dame already on the docket they also lined up a trip to East Lansing and a home game with Darrel Royal’s Texas Longhorns. Hugh Daugherty’s Michigan State Spartans claimed back-to-back national championships for 1965 and 1966. Texas won three national titles of their own during the 1960s and dominated the Southwest Conference. None of that intimidated OJ, who carried the ball 36 against Sparty and 30 vs. Texas. When asked about his enormous workload the irrepressible back said:

“I feel like I can go all the way every time.”

McKay half-jokingly stated:

“He isn’t in any union. He can carry it as much as we want him to.”

OJ’s collegiate career really took off in South Bend on October 14^th 1967. Notre Dame was coming off a 9-0-1 year with the usual slew of vaunted recruiting classes. In year four of the Parseghian era the Irish were heavily favored to slide into their historic sixth gear. A one-touchdown loss in their second game at Purdue didn’t seem to register with the experts, who still had 2-1 Notre Dame as 14 point favorites at home against the 4-0 Trojans. Although the Irish went into the locker room up 7-0 at halftime, the visitors proved to have the staying power on the day. Terry Hanratty, Notre Dame’s all-American quarterback, threw six interceptions. OJ ran 38 times for 160 yards and accounted for all three USC touchdowns. Every week his huge carry totals testified to his strength, stamina and power. Simpson pounded Notre Dame without mercy and by the end of only his fifth division one football game he had compiled 762 yards. That pace never slackened.

Two weeks later OJ featured in an impressive road win in Seattle against 4-1 Washington, whose only previous loss had come at the hands of mighty Nebraska. Simpson ran 30 times for 235 yards (7.3 ypc) and again accounted for all three USC touchdowns in a 23-6 win.

USC cruised to easy wins vs. Oregon and at Cal before picking up the only regular season loss of OJ’s career on a slippery surface in Corvallis on November 11^th. Behind the composed quarterback play of Steve Peerce the Beavers pulled off an ugly 3-0 win which is still considered the school’s greatest ever upset. Despite the conditions and a rare off day for the team OJ did not disappoint, carrying 31 times for 188 yards.

The loss created some uncertainty heading into the season finale cross-town clash with 7-0-1 UCLA (whose record also bore a single blemish doled out by the impertinent Beavers). The Pac Eight title, a trip to the Rose Bowl and a likely national title shot were in the balance. There was also plenty of Heisman Trophy talk surrounding the Bay Area rivals lining up in opposing backfields. In his first varsity season for the Bruins in 1955 Beban had engineered an unlikely comeback from a ten-point deficit against USC. He manufactured a 20-16 win in the final four minutes against eventual Heisman Trophy winner Mike Garrett. Bruins called him “the Great One”. Trojans were less enthusiastic.

Despite absorbing a string of tough hits Beban led the Bruins to a fourth quarter lead. Only two field goal blocks by 6’8” lineman Bill Hayhoe balanced out three Trojan fumbles inside the red zone and kept USC in the contest. The game had everything. The lead changed four times, scores were level heading into the fourth quarter, and the two Heisman candidates each enjoyed memorable career days. The Great One led UCLA up and down the field, throwing for over 300 yards and two touchdowns. He gave the Bruins a 20-14 lead early in the fourth quarter with a twenty yard pass to end Dave Nuthall (the last of seven catches he made on the day). Crucially, Ukranian born all-American punter Zenon Andrusyshyn missed the PAT. The sole spot on Beban’s performance came on the final play of the first period when he threw a pass into the left flat for Greg Jones that hung in the air just too long. USC’s Pat Cashman jumped the route and ran the ball back 50-yards for the game-tying score.

Critics might look at that mistake as the eventual difference maker (though Beban was playing hurt and could not be expected to do everything). Mathematically, the interception and Simpson’s legendary TD run with ten minutes remaining were of equal value. But football is more than mere numbers. Every seasoned fan knows in his gut when he has witnessed a genuinely momentum shifting moment of personal brilliance. In every meaningful sense, it was OJ’s run and not Beban’s pick that decided the day.

On third and three at his own thirty-six McKay called a pass play. At the line of scrimmage back-up quarterback Toby Page, who was in for Steve Sogge, saw a UCLA linebacker move back in anticipation and called an audible. He handed off to Simpson, who ran off-tackle left for five yards before meeting two Bruins. OJ then found his hidden gear, whirled left and burst into the open field as though it were nothing. His 64 yard touchdown palpably sealed a Trojan victory, despite the ten minutes remaining on the clock.

OJ finished the regular season with 1,415 yards and 11 TDs on 266 carries. He added 128 yards and 2 TDs on 25 carries in the 1968 Rose Bowl, leading the Trojans to 14-3 victory over Indiana [who represented the Big Ten rather than Woody Hayes’ Buckeyes because of the league’s ridiculous prohibition on consecutive bowl appearances].

Simpson’s incredible debut year in division one ball doubtless deserved a Heisman, but Beban also had a strong case. One L.A. Times writer said after the USC-UCLA game:

“They should send the Heisman out here with two straws.”

Beban went 24-5-2 and was a three time all-conference quarterback at UCLA. His 34 career touchdowns and over 1,500 passing yards established school offensive records that stood for 15 years. Having already won a conference title at LA’s less fancied football school in his first year, Beban’s appeal proved too much for Heisman voters.

OJ Simpson did enter his senior year as the stand out tailback with the defending national champions and was the clear Heisman favorite from day one. Repeating his 1967 statistics would make him the sure winner in a cake walk. He surprised no one by doing exactly that.



OJ's game-turning run vs. UCLA, 1967

The Trojans standout single handedly secured an impressive road win in Minneapolis on opening day. He scored four TDs, two coming in the final quarter to rally USC from behind. Simpson racked up 236 yards rushing and 57 yards receiving on six receptions. The 29-20 win came against a squad that had gone 8-2 the previous year. If there had been any question heading into the year who the Heisman favorite was, it had evaporated by the time USC boarded their plane home.

The Trojans came through their next eight games unscathed, despite narrow decisions against Stanford and Oregon State. In the third game of the year, USC’s home opener, an anticipated matchup between OJ and Miami’s 6’8” 210lb future hall of fame linebacker Ted “the Mad Stork” Hendricks fizzled into a rout. USC racked up points just as well as if the U had not even fielded a linebacking corps. A 28-3 win came as much from the passing yards Steve Sogge was able to rack up as Miami focused too much on OJ. Even still, Simpson punched in two short runs for TDs in another hundred yard day.

A record breaking career ended, fittingly enough, with games against USC’s great arch rival Notre Dame and the Big Ten’s perennial power Ohio State. OJ had excelled in every outing for two seasons. Behind his running the Trojans had won a conference title, a Rose Bowl and a national championship. Heading into a home date with the Irish on November 30^th 1968 they were already repeat conference champions and only 120 minutes away from successfully defending their national crown. Ara Parseghian had other ideas.

Behind the passing of Joe Theismann (playing for an injured Terry Hanratty) and an exceptionally well prepared defense, Notre Dame held OJ to just 23 yards on nine carries in the first half and amassed a commanding 21-7 lead with a 234-71 yard edge. OJ’s longest run of the day amounted to a paltry seven yards. With ND keyed in on his every move it fell to Sogge to engineer the come back. He did just that, leading two long scoring drives to salvage a 21-21 tie. Simpson finished with just 55 yards on 21 carries – stunningly human career lows in both total yards and ypc (2.6)

Exactly one year previously Simpson put up his greatest collegiate performance and most memorable single play. He had sealed a dramatic win, clinched a conference championship and placed his Trojans in the driver’s seat for a national crown. That year the man in the opposing backfield had lifted the Heisman Trophy. In 1968 the roles were reversed. Coming off the sole poor performance of his career Simpson won the Trophy at a canter. Even with a 55 yard day vs. Notre Dame OJ racked up a staggering 1,709 yard, 22 TD year on 355 carries. His 2,853 Heisman voting points nearly tripled the total of second place Leroy Keyes of Purdue – a mere 1,103.

After claiming the Downtown Athletics Club’s coveted award Simpson had one last chance to make an impression in the legendry cardinal jersey. Waiting for him in Pasadena would be Woody Hayes’ Buckeyes. Ohio State reflected their prickly and often less-than personable coach. Hayes’ T-formation offenses were long out of style. His teams were physical, gritty, unattractive, predicable, disciplined, and extremely tough. They gave up little on defense and earned wins on offense three brutal, inexorable yards at a time.

In the early going USC seemed to be the team of destiny. OJ was his old self, finding daylight even inside the Trojans' own 20 yard line and tearing off 80 yards for a second quarter TD. But Hayes’ men dug-in. The Buckeye defense tightened and did not allow OJ loose again. Barely a minute into the fourth quarter the tide turned for good when Buckeye defensive end Bill Urbanik sacked Sogge at the USC 21 with the force of a freight train. After Vic Stollemyer recovered the fumble Ohio State quarterback Rex Kern, whose calm and unflashy play carried the day, fired off a 14-yard scramble and a four yard TD pass to halfback Leo Hayden.



OJ's 1969 Rose Bowl TD run

USC still had time to close the gap but on a fourth quarter drive cornerback John Tatum stood OJ up at the three, forcing a field goal where a touchdown would have made the task so much easier.

Along with his sublime 80-yard score Simpson fumbled twice, ran a sloppy route on a swing pass that allowed a Buckeye INT, and overthrew a halfback pass to end Ted Dekraai who was wide open in the endzone. Those mistakes cost dear as the Trojans dropped the game 20-16. Ohio State, not USC became national champions. OJ Simpson’s heart-thumping, jaw-dropping, whirlwind, record breaking collegiate career ended on two low notes – the only two low notes of the entire ride. OJ did add 171 yards and a touchdown to his career totals on the day. But he did not get the one thing he wanted – a second Rose Bowl.

Simpson went on to a pro career that met every expectation. He is unquestionably one of the game’s all-time great runners. The only tarnish on his considerable legacy is the unsolved case of the double murders of his ex-wife Nicole Brown and Ronald Goldman. So much ink has been spilled over this case that it is unnecessary for me to add to the total. The facts are that Simpson was acquitted in a criminal trial in October 1995 but that the case remains open. A civil trial found him guilty of wrongful death in February 1997.

The important question for this blog is whether uncertain but lingering and substantial doubts as to Simpson’s personal life and legal history are relevant to his collegiate legacy on the gridiron. There is a strong case to be made for leaving sporting achievements in a class of their own and not complicating the matter with uninvited elevations of athletes to the level of role models and leaders. Many intelligent and rational people take this line.

For my part, I prefer Joe Paterno’s perspective. When asked if his national champion1982 Nittany Lions were his best team ever he replied that true greatness was a measure of character, which could only be seen off the field. He told the reporter:

“Ask me again in twenty-five years.”

(Sources: Dan Jenkins, USC-ND 1967, Great One vs. OJ, Face-off that wasn’t, Irish tied up OJ, 1969 Rose Bowl; OJ, Wiki; Sports.jrank, OJ; USC-UCLA 1967, SI, Wiki; Hall of Fame, OJ; Heisman.com, Beban, OJ; CFB data warehouse; ESPN, Rites of Autumn)

The fall of 1905 (Presidential intervention part 2)

In the fall of 1905 College football faced a grave crisis that spilled over from decades of unchecked aggression. Ugly hits after plays, targeted attacks on key players and out-of-control body piles created public outcry. A New York Times article on October 15th 1905 stated: “For the last five years there has been more or less agitation for rule changes in football to accomplish the reducing of the liability to injury.” Finally, that fall, a perfect storm of public and political interest coincided with the game’s most violent, and regrettable year ever. The crisis culminated in lasting reform that created the modern game of football and established the lasting structure of the collegiate game.

Public interest in reform did not begin in 1905. During the game’s early decades through the late nineteenth century college football was regulated by the Intercollegiate Football Association’s rules committee, chaired by the venerable Walter Camp. The game’s original powers, the Ivy League establishment, ted the body. By the twentieth century, as the game was expanding both geographically and socially, the elitism of this limited access tarnished the committee’s reputation and effectiveness. Glorified gentlemen’s agreements maintained a universal style and system of play. Individual schools and not the IFA arranged and directed referees. The committee faced criticism from parties who viewed it as exclusionary – such as upstart Western
Walter Camp as a Yale player Conference (Big 10) who lobbied through the late 1890s for their man Amos Stagg to be admitted – as well as those who viewed the game as wantonly violent.

Many University Presidents, Boards of Advisors, and alumni groups feared the game’s disreputable elements rendered it unsustainable. They also looked in dismay on the distracting influence of football in collegiate life, its disproportional popularity, and the corrupting impact of the gate revenues it generated. At most schools game-day takings were handled by the athletic club’s graduate director with little oversight. Money often found its way to players or simply disappeared. The game also lacked any mechanisms for regulating eligibility and amateurism. Players routinely transferred, even during the season. There were no limits on the length of a man’s eligibility. A series of muckraking articles in McClure’s Magazine ran in the summer of 1905 highlighting the problem of creeping professionalism. They caused a public sensation. The author, Henry Needham, highlighted one athlete at Pennsylvania State College who performed well against Ivy League giant Penn on a Saturday and was practicing with the Quakers as a member of their squad by Monday.

Prior to the fall of 1905 reformers were already wondering how to prevent a popular but brutal game from eclipsing and disrupting American education. When the season began young men started suffering brutal and even injuries early and often. Prominent university administrators began seriously considering abolition of the game. It is a commonly rehearsed error that Roosevelt threatened to abolish the game in the absence of reform. He neither wanted that outcome nor possessed such power. In fact, by December several colleges were dropping the game without compulsion. Few administrators actually wanted to see football abolished. Even fewer wanted to leave the rules unchanged. But for every problem there existed dozens of proposed solutions and no adequate regulatory authority existed to enforce any one of them. The rules committee seemed an out-dated, ineffective tool of the eastern establishment.

The most famous and highly publicized injury of 1905 did not lead to a fatality. Robert “Tiny” Maxwell took a vicious beating during the Penn-Swarthmore game at Franklin Field on October 7th. Photos of his bloodied face shocked the nation. Stories that the pictures shocked President Roosevelt into action are certainly apocryphal as he had already organized a meeting with representatives of “the Big bloothree” colleges before the event. But such adverse press did add to public pressure. At 250lb and standing 6’4” tall, Maxwell was a giant among men. He played for two years at Chicago for Amos Stagg before transferring to Swarthmore College outside Philadelphia, where he acquired the sardonic nickname ‘Tiny’. The stand-out guard’s line play led Swarthore to a 7-1 record in 1905. Penn accounted for the only loss by singling out Maxwell for late hits and illegal contact to the face.

Not long after the game Swarthmore President John Swain stated publically that he supported President Roosevelt’s pressure for reform and that: “Swarthmore College stands for clean and manly sport, shorn of all unnecessary roughness. . . . [We] will cooperate with others to secured clean college athletics.”However, the college dropped football in 1908 under pressure from a wealthy alum who demanded the move as a condition of an endowment. Clearly powerful and influential people were sick of football. Had enough colleges agreed the game might have lost critical mass.

At the White House on October 9th Roosevelt entertained Dr. D. H. Nichols and football coach William Reid of Harvard, Arthur Hildebrand and John Fine of Princeton, and Walter Camp and John Owsley of Yale. Alongside Stagg, who was not present, these men made up the IFA rules committee. Roosevelt had no power to enforce any change. He set precedent simply by showing Presidential interest in such a matter. But in 1905 TR was in a unique position to act. The trend-setting President possessed almost limitless political capital. The New York Times summarized his Midas touch by reporting: “After settling the war in the Far East . . . President Roosevelt today took up another question of vital interest to the American people. He started a campaign for reform in football.” The reformist commander-in-chief would earn the Nobel Peace Prize that year, but to many Americans the act of lending his copious political influence to the pressure for regulation and reform in college football deserves more lasting notoriety.

The same day of TR’s meeting with the big three, Howard C. Montgomery died during practice at
Hampton-Sydney College, Virginia. Disgust at such loss of life added to suspicions of football’s disproportionate and educationally disruptive popularity. That same week, faculty members at Columbia expelled football captain Tom Thorpe for allowing his athletic obsession to undermine his grades. A week later a statement in the Harvard Bulletin from an alumni group demanded substantial reform of the game and quoted Dr. William White, a notable surgeon at the University of Pennsylvania, as saying: “the human body is not fitted to endure the game as it is played in American colleges.” In the wake of the Maxwell scandal White and U Penn emerged as leading advocates of reform.

Among the big three Harvard aligned most eagerly with upstart colleges beyond the Ivy League, especially after biased officials blatantly ignored extremely rough play from the Bulldogs in the 1905 Harvard-Yale game. Harvard men were suspicious of Walter Camp’s strangle-hold over the game’s rules. In three decades of college football Harvard had beaten Yale on only 3 occasions. Yale’s nce and on the field and influence in the rules committee seemed more than coincidental.

By 1905 Harvard men were ready to break the solidarity among the game’s established powers.
Reformers looked to create a more open style of play on the field and to more effectively enforce the rules. In November, several weeks before the Yale game, William Reid informed Harvard graduates that sweeping reforms were required to “put a higher premium on skill, make weight and strength of less value, and produce a more scientific and interesting sport.” He also advocated “the rigorous imposition of severe penalties.” Public statements from Roosevelt continued to support those goals. He particularly advocated “simplicity and uniformity in the eligibility rules.”

The month ended on a low note when William Moore, the right halfback of Union College died under a pile of bodies against NYU that required policemen to untangle. On the same day William Carter of Columbia was hospitalized in a game against Pennsylvania with a severe spinal injury. U Penn emerged in the early post-season as the leading voice for reform. A circular letter to all major athletics colleges invited representatives to a meeting in Philadelphia to discuss reform. U Penn officials suggested rules prohibiting players from representing more than one college in their career and the imposition of 25-yard penalties for violent hits. Several days later a public letter from a Professor Hollis at Harvard called for a definition of professionalism and the prohibition on monetary compensation.

The crisis of public confidence had reached fever pitch. A Chicago Tribune survey of university administrators published on November 26th reported Professor Shalter Matthews of the Chicago Divinity School as saying: “Football to-day is a social obsession – a boy-killing, education prostituting, gladiatorial sport. I do not know what should take its place, but the new game should not require the services of a physician.”

President Schurman of Cornell was less pessimistic. He believed that university Presidents possessed the power to reform the game and stated: “All that is needed is action.”

President Wheeler of California, Berkeley summated succinctly: “Football must be made over, or go.”

President Hopkins of Williams College captured perfectly the game’s internal conflict in publically supporting reform but warning that “taking all the struggle and peril out of [football] would just spoil it.”

Hopkins’ view represented the majority. Few favored outright abolition. When change finally came, the process moved quickly with revolutionary consequence. On November 27th Columbia President Francis S. Bangs joined NYU president Henry McCracken in threatening permanent abolition. He condemned the existing rules committee, stating: “I would not trust [them] to reform the game. . . A new committee should be appointed whose members have a direct personal responsibility to a higher authority.”

Columbia administrators perceived such dire immediacy that a committee of faculty announced two days later that the college would drop football. Professor Herbert Lord called the game an “obsession, which has become a hindrance to the great mass of students, and proved itself harmful to academic standing and human life.”

Even in whimsical postcards, vicious face injuries were assumed

Columbia became the first school to publically commit to abolishing the game as it then existed and others seemed to feel equally strongly. Even still, support for the game remained overwhelming. Students at Columbia turned out in droves to publically protest the euthanizing of their team. A New York Times editorial on December 5th stated: “College Presidents who think football too bad for further tolerance are extremely few.” It was in this climate that the FIA rules committee met at the Philadelphia home of George McFadden, the chair of U Penn’s football committee, on December 10th.

The committee debated several possibly rule changes. Walter Camp’s suggested Panacea was to increase the yardage required for fresh downs from five to ten. John Bell of U Penn hoped to weaken the ends of the line of scrimmage to encourage end running and prevent the ly body piles caused in central “mass plays”. He specifically suggested legalizing forward passes completed behind the line of scrimmage. Initially the forward pass was designed to open the field horizontally with back-field passes to the sidelines in order to get runners into the open. Bell had no idea how far his suggestion would eventually go to open play up and over the full hundred yards. More than any other rule change the forward pass defines the difference between American football and the early forms of Rugby from which it grew.

L. M. Dennis of Cornell suggested requiring all offensive players to remain behind the ball prior to kick-off. Stagg advocated 15 and 25 yard penalties for intentional fouls. The committee also considered suggestions for instituting a ‘neutral zone’ to separate the teams at the line. We can hardly imagine the game today without these rules and it is unfortunate that it took so many lives lost to bring them about.

Perhaps the most significant development came the day after the meeting when E. M. Seeley of the YMCA training school offered to host a training program for officials in order to improve standards of rule enforcement. This conceptual seed grew into centralized control over refereeing crews. Today the game would hardly function without conference and NCAA oversight of umpires.

Despite conservations in Philadelphia vocal reformers outside the Ivy League continued to doubt that the establishment could act effectively to save the game and the lives of those who played it. On December 20th, a week before a scheduled conference of athletics colleges in New York, McCracken called the rules committee “high and mighty potentates.” He complained of institutional exclusion and elitism, complaining that committee members were “elected I know not how.”

The 62 delegates who gathered from across the nation at the Murray Hill Hotel on December 28th addressed that very point. The meeting took just nine hours to agree on suggested reforms and elect a new rule committee which more fully represented the changing face of the game. H. L. Williams of Minnesota, J. T. Less of Nebraska, F. H. Curtis of Texas showed a shift both westward and towards public universities.
The meeting established a new body for oversight of both refereeing standards and rules of eligibility. The Inter Collegiate Athletics Association of the United States would change its name in 1910 to the National Collegiate Athletics Association. The body’s first act was to demand unification of the old and new rule committees and threaten independent action if the old guard refused.

On January 12th the two committees met at the Netherland Hotel in New York. William Reid announced at the meeting that the Harvard football committee had instructed him to join the new body unilaterally if necessary. Three days later the Harvard board of overseers announced that the university would drop football until satisfactory new rules were established. The board cut the Crimson’s off-season football camp short and sent the players home. This move had less to do with genuine taste for abolition than it did breaking Yale’s nce of the game. It succeeded spectacularly. Reid became secretary of the amalgamated committee. This position gave him the agenda-setting and editorial powers that Camp had long enjoyed.

A few days later President Hadley of Yale gave his annual alumni dinner address and showed his institution’s lack of enthusiasm for the reforming vandals who were wrestling control of the game from the Connecticut school. He stated: “In the 30 years we have played Rugby football at Yale there has been no , and to the best of my knowledge, no grave case of permanent injury.” He believed the situation required little more than college-level commitment to clean play. Regarding rule changes he only said: “we are happy to leave the work to Mr. Camp.” Obviously most other university presidents felt more strongly.

A week later on January 20th the annual conference of the Western Conference passed a stark and brief resolution declaring: “The game of football, as currently played, is hereby abolished in collegiate and inter-collegiate contests in conference colleges.” The conference adopted rules dramatically reducing the number of games played per year, giving faculty overseers control of gate receipts, and limiting varsity eligibility to three years. From those rules would grow intercollegiate athletics departments and NCAA regulation of eligibility. The conference which would supersede the Ivy League as the game’s power house for the ensuing half-century committed explicitly to new rules.

Only one week later the amalgamate rules committee ratified rule changes that radically changed the game. This proved a water shed. For thirty years college football had revolved around private, east coast schools and been ted by Yale – the game’s first great dynasty. The crisis of 1905 broke the ranks of the Ivy League establishment and introduced a broader influence in the game for rising football powers beyond the eastern private schools. It also created a central body that would enforce a universal version of the game and effectively cut the umbilical chord that still existed between the college game and English Rugby Football.

Officially college football is dated to the 1869 Rutgers-Princeton contest [although that meeting was actually a form of what would become Association Football]. The real birth date of the college game, at which it became truly and definitively American, is December 28th 1905. This was also the first time that upstarts forced an unresponsive establishment to admit them into their old-boys club and share the proverbial pie.

Here’s hoping the powers of misrule that control the BCS cartel face a similar day of destiny very soon.

(Sources: Richard Pagano, Robert Maxwell; New York Times; Chicago Tribune; John Sayle Watterson, College Football)

Theodore Roosevelt and football (presidential interference part 1)

During the 1905 college football season the loosely regulated violent tactics of the era caused eighteen fatalities; that in a day when varsity squads generally numbered below forty and only a hundred or so colleges played. Football evolved slowly from the same roots as both rugby and soccer. In the early days every team used its own variations on the basic rules. By the later nineteenth century college football possessed a rules committee, presided over by the venerable Walter Camp. But the body met only occasionally and had no full-time staff or punitive power. Effectively, it only acted to prohibit the most flagrantly violent abuses [such as the notorious flying wedge formation] long after public outcry necessitated action.

Excessive violence and brutal tactics caused major injuries and damaged the reputation of the game. Even the Harvard-Yale rivalry, the sport’s premier event, suffered as a result of this harmful publicity. University administrations enforced a two-year hiatus after a disgustingly vicious spectacle in 1894. Through the 1905 season, as young men died unnecessarily on a weekly basis, college Presidents grew sympathetic toward public and press appeals for institutions of higher learning to drop football.

Fortunately for posterity President Theodore Roosevelt saw the great value and national importance of college football and acted to save the game. On October 9th, two days after the highly publicized brutal beating of Robert “Tiny” Maxwell in the Penn-Swarthmore game, Roosevelt hosted a meeting at the White House between the Presidents of Yale, Harvard, and Princeton. The public impetus this meeting gave the cause of reform grew in the following months. After the season, rule changes proposed by the University of Pennsylvania led to larger meetings between the representatives of more colleges in New York. In February 1906 colleges replaced the antiquated rule committee with a new body - the Intercollegiate Athletics Association of the United States (renamed the NCAA in 1910).

This move established a regulatory body to enforce the spirit of amateurism, maintain safety, and promote gentlemanly conduct. For all its ills, American college athletics would likely never have achieved such prominent, lasting, cohesive, and structured success without the NCAA. That organization might never have come into being without the leadership and applied political capital of a President who saw a popular and valuable national sport stranded in controversy and crying out for reform.

The larger-than-life President had been a voracious reader from early childhood. As an adult he routinely read three or four books a day, often amazing guests by taking a new book to bed in an evening and citing lengthy passages from memory at breakfast. Roosevelt mastered the art of taxidermy at the age of nine. He published his first book [a guide to bird species of the Adirondacks] as a Harvard sophomore. His second book, The Naval War of 1812, written his senior year, has only been surpassed as an authority on the subject once in over a century. In all, Roosevelt wrote eighteen books. His letters are filled with references to ancient classics such as Plutarch, Herodotus, or the Greek tragedies.

But for all Roosevelt’s prolific genius, biographers invariably trace the turning point in his life to the genesis of his interest in bodily exercise. As a boy Roosevelt was an awkward, skinny asthmatic and often slept propped up on a large pillow to aid his feeble lungs. His father worried that physical weakness would prevent his intellectually vivacious young son from fulfilling his potential. He challenged twelve year old Theodore in an exchange recorded in his mother’s diary:

“Theodore, you have the mind but not the body, and without the body the mind cannot go as far as it should. You must make your body. It is hard drudgery to make one’s body, but I know you will do it.”

Theodore, who worshipped his father, replied with the indomitable resolve that set him apart from his peers his whole life:

“I’ll make my body.”

A life of physical exertion began that moment. The young Roosevelt started to spend his free time lifting weights. He competed against his cousins in every conceivable event. He developed a love of the outdoors. As an undergraduate Roosevelt spent long periods of his university breaks hiking in the wilds of northern Maine with a famed local woodsman named Bill Sewall. The hardy New Englander initially saw in TR “a thin, pale youngster with bad eyes and a weak heart.”

Sewall quickly came to see that Roosevelt’s emotional and spiritual heart was considerable, more than compensating for lack of natural skill. Sewall also praised the great ease with which the young New York Brahmin spoke to the rough, unschooled men of the Maine wilderness.

Gregariousness and natural charm fueled TR’s political success. He maintained an enormous list of personal correspondents, including the French founder of the modern Olympic Games Pierre de Coubertin. One exchange of letters between the two men in 1903 discussed the importance of exercise for public health and education. Roosevelt especially advocated rigorous exercise for boys. He sensitively and wisely condemned the practice of forcing boys into any sports they disliked as harmful to mental development. The purpose was to build up men, not break them down. Nor was the purpose to triumph for the sake of it and make an idol of success at games.

Roosevelt acknowledged to de Coubertin:

“I was never a champion at anything… I have met English officers to whom polo, racing, football and baseball were far more absorbing than their professional duties. In such case athleticism becomes a mere harmful disease.”

Despite such strong reservations, Roosevelt saw physical exercise as the great test of a man, as well as a great leveler. Competition formed and made a man, causing him to face adversity. Roosevelt felt these realities as a boxer at Harvard where he reached the 133lb class championship bout as a junior in 1879. Fighting without his glasses, Roosevelt compensated for poor eyesight with sheer tenacity and desire. Despite facing a much stronger man and receiving a broken nose, Roosevelt willfully refused to concede and went the full distance.

TR did not need the accolades of championships. He believed that physical development served the greater purpose of fitting a man for his real work. He once wrote to his son Theodore Jr., then a junior at Groton Academy:


“In my regiment probably nine-tenths of the men were better horsemen than I was, and probably two-thirds were better shots. But nobody else could command them as I could.”

He wrote these words to affirm his son’s decision to play football, despite a size disadvantage and a recent injury. Roosevelt viewed necessary injuries as positive hardship that would form character. If, on the other hand, football threatened to produce personal bitterness of any form, the president instructed his son to abstain. The central point was to see Ted Jr. master a challenge and not to be mastered:

“I am delighted to have you play football. I believe in rough, manly sports. I do not believe in them if they degenerate to the sole end of ones existence.”

TR never played football but enthusiastically followed Harvard’s fledgling team as an undergraduate in the late 1870s. Later he continued to follow Harvard’s progress, always believing that winning was important, but less so than virtue and character. After team captain, Norman Winslow Cabot followed a tradition of removing the player’s letter ‘H’ from their jerseys after the Yale loss in 1897 Roosevelt wrote to correct the man’s perspective:

“Our men had done well; not quite as well as we had hoped, but still well; and I think it as great a mistake to show undue sensitivity in defeat as it is to be indifferent about it.”

Somehow the snobbish New York society man and socially Progressive democracy advocate in Roosevelt mixed evenly. But with regard to sports, the democrat always shone more brightly. A 1906 letter to fellow Harvardian Owen Wister, who despite growing up in Pennsylvanian heavily romanticized the south in his writing, challenged him firmly:

“I do not know a white man in the south who is a good a man as Booker Washington today. You say you would not like to take orders from a Negro yourself. If you had played football at Harvard anytime in the last fifteen years you would have had to. And you would not have minded in the least, for during that time Lewis has been a field captain and a coach.”

Roosevelt referred to William H. Lewis, the first ever black college football player who made the Walter-Camp All-America list as a Harvard center in 1892. Lewis went on to a remarkable career as a football coach, writer, lawyer and civil rights activist in an era when opportunities for black Americans were severely limited. Roosevelt took pride in the fact that Lewis was a Harvard man. He praised a game that placed men on a level field, demanding mutual respect. Decades ahead of his time, TR perceived the power of inclusion football possessed as a symbol and tool in bringing down destructive racial barriers.

Roosevelt’s profoundly balanced view of athletics celebrated competition and castigated idleness, but he viewed a life of public leadership as far more important. Athletic prowess was to him a means to an end. He used his body always as his father had directed him, to carry his incredible mind. The indomitable combination of TR’s body and mind enjoyed such unceasing success that he learned to expect progress and triumph in every situation. Believing that self-discipline, resolve, and personal virtue could solve any problem he emerged as an ardent reformer. TR never threw babies out with bathwater.

When TR considered football in 1905 he saw a violent and often over-emphasized game. He also saw an integral link to American identity. Its rugged nature and intricate connection to America’s most iconic colleges made football too precious to lose. TR had already worked to restore the Army-Navy rivalry in 1899. The Secretaries of War and Navy had forbidden the academies to play road games after a very public and embarrassing near duel between a Rear-Admiral and a Brigadier-General in 1893. The five year break remains the longest in series history. As Assistant Navy Secretary TR urged Secretary of War Russell Alexander Alger to allow the rivalry to be restored. Thanks significantly to him the annual fixture resumed and quickly became the most vivid symbol of college football’s uniquely American character.

Understandably, Roosevelt felt aggrieved as the spiraling violence of 1905 far surpassed the necessary roughness he approved and led many college administrations to consider dropping football. He feared that a perfectly redeemable national treasure might be lost unnecessarily. TR publically resisted those Presidents who leaned towards the easy option of abolition and praised those with the foresight and courage to approach reform. In the fall of 1906 praised a speech by Yale President Arthur Twinning Hadley which condemned “the growth of luxury in the American colleges.” Hadley’s contention that lives without challenge and adversity produce self-entitled, weak-willed, useless citizens resonated with TR.

In an address to the Harvard student Union in February 1907 he extolled the value of “the athletic spirit” as profoundly formative and “essentially democratic.” Roosevelt warned:

“Our chief interest should not lie in the great champions in sports. On the contrary, our concern should be most of all to widen the base to encourage in every way healthy rivalry which shall give to the largest number of students the chance to partake.”

(One wonders what venomous ire President Roosevelt – a great supporter of the Anti-Trust Act - would have poured upon the exclusionary, anti-democratic practices of the BCS cartel?)

TR warned Harvard students of the potentially dire consequences colleges risked if they dropped football:

“We cannot afford to turn out college men who shrink from physical effort or from a little pain. In any republic courage is a prime necessity for the average citizen if he is to be a good citizen.”

Today the NCAA’s highest honor is the Theodore Roosevelt award, recognizing men and women who compete in college athletics before going on to become nationally recognized leaders in significant non-athletic fields. Past winners include four US Presidents.

Coaches often cite the character forming qualities of football. At times these articles of faith become cliché and can even be used to justify a nexus of greed, obsession, and uncivil conduct that is anything but beneficial. But we cannot surrender our most cherished and outstanding game to those who lack scruples, character, or courage. Regardless of its potential abuses and its penchant for over-emphasis, college football can and should teach good qualities to players and fans alike – loyalty, perseverance, endurance, collective identity, collegiate spirit, educational zeal… These make our game great.

When we see corrupt, cowardly, greedy men who spurn inclusion and shy away from genuine competition hijacking a national treasure we should join President Roosevelt in his unflinching response and cry “Reform!”

(Sources: Wiki, William Lewis; Philly Army-Navy site; Scott McQuilkin and Ron Smith, Flying Wedge, Journal of Sports History; Wiki, TR award; Edmund Morris, Rise of TR; Roosevelt, Strenuous Life; Letters and speeches of TR)

Lightnin' Lou

On November 16th 1940 two undefeated teams met at Fenway Park before a crowd of more than 20,000 expectant observers. Boston College and Georgetown both sat at 9-0 and were ranked 8th and 9th respectively in the AP poll. Grantland Rice and Amos Stagg were among the spectators and both commented on the innovative offenses showcased in the new T-formation. In addition to shifty and dynamic backfields the Jesuit rivals possessed possibly the two strongest lines in the country, including BC’s bruising 250lb All-America center Chet Gladchuck. Jack Haggerty’s Georgetown program was steadily improving and Boston College's head coach Frank Leahy had led the Eagles to their first bowl in his rookie year. Both schools hoped to challenge Notre Dame as the nation’s top Catholic football school.

A thrilling game finished in a 19-18 BC win after the Eagles took an intentional safety on an end-zone punt in the dying minutes, leaving Georgetown insufficient time to reach field goal range. An exciting game shifted in momentum several times. The Hoyas jumped out to a 10-0 first quarter lead before BC posted sixteen unanswered in reply. Huge runs and an unusually large number of downfield passing plays allowed a Boston College backfield that was gaining national recognition to shine.

Eagles greats quarterback “Chuckin’ Charlie O’Rourke, and fullback (later head coach) Mike Holovak led the lineup, but many felt the Eagles’ best player in Leahy’s squads was a little 5’7” halfback named Lou Montgomery. With time expiring in the second quarter and BC on the Hoyas' twenty-two Leahy outmaneuvered Haggerty and seized momentum with a trick play. O’Rourke threw a backfield lateral to Montgomery, as BC often did to get their runner into open space, but the halfback rolled out to his right, drawing defenders up, and threw a touchdown pass to tight end Woronicz. Despite a fourth quarter Georgetown surge, that touchown effectively gave the Eagles control of the game's momentum.

BC’s official roster did not list “Lightnin’ Lou” as a starter, despite his significant playing time in three varsity seasons from 1938 to 1940. The 160lb slashing back was a famed open field runner and drew much attention from scouts of future opponents. He suffered no serious injury problems, always had the right attitude, and never faced a defense that bested him. Despite all that, Montgomery spent several crucial games watching from the sidelines and did not participate in the 1940 Cotton Bowl or 1941 Sugar Bowl. Montgomery lost so much playing time and was never allowed to fulfill his true potential as a college athlete because he was black.

Boston College football stood at a cross roads in the late 1930s. BC had played varsity football since 1893 but had never attained national significance. Before WWI the Ivy League dominated East Coast football and Knute Rockne’s Notre Dame stood without rival or peer above all Catholic colleges. But as the 1920s gave way to the 30s Ivy League schools began to deemphasize football, fearing the sport was eclipsing academic priorities, and Notre Dame suffered declining fortunes during the post-Rockne era. After decades of struggling to earn respect as an Eastern Independent, athletic administrators at BC saw an opportunity to increase the prestige of their institution by succeeding in football.

College President Father William Murphy and graduate director of athletics John Curly hitched the program's fortunes to the young Frank Leahy in 1938. Leahy felt that BC needed to improve the caliber of their opponents if they were to command national attention. Murphy and Curly saw that step as vital to increasing lucrative ticket revenues. Games against St. Anselm, Providence, McDaniel College (MD), New Hampshire and the like carried little weight with wire service pollsters. For BC to gain the attention of bowl selection committees they needed to play inter-sectional games, and especially against teams from areas that hosted bowls. Since trips to the west coast were out of the question in 1940, this meant southern schools.



From 1938 to 1940 series with Florida, Auburn and Tulane put the Eagles on the southern football map and earned Cotton and Sugar Bowl bids. Ticket sales at Fenway Park rocketed, BC claimed a share of the 1940 national title, and Frank Leahy lost only one regular season game in two years. This record lifted him to the top of the candidate list for the head coaching job at his alma mater – Notre Dame.

The change in scheduling philosophy did not work so well for Lou Montgomery. In the 1940s southern schools still retained “Jim Crow” clauses with the NCAA that prohibited black athletes from taking part in any event involving their teams, regardless of venue. BC travelled to New Orleans to face Tulane in September 1939, but all four of the games against Auburn and Florida during his playing career took place in Boston. Lightnin’ Lou sat every minute of every one of those games out. He also suffered a loss of playing time in the preceeding weeks preceding as Leahy tested formations without him in the line up in preparation. The Eagles needed the work as Leahy’s offense clearly lost a step without Montgomery. The team’s only loss in 1939 came against an uninspiring Florida team that went on to finish 5-5-1. BC generated very few yards against the Gators and lost by the pitiful score of 7-0. Boston newspapers howled that Lightnin’ Lou would surely have proved the difference.

When the Eagles headed south for Dallas on December 26th 1939 Montgomery stood on the train car with the team and received personal applause from the large crowd. They knew he would not be going along. Before the train pulled off he stepped off the team car and watched as the Eagles went to face Clemson without him.

BC lost a narrow contest 6-3. Sportswriters noted the strong line play on both sides and the shortage of vertical running yards. O’Rourke’s passing attracted attention as he threw both downfield and laterally. But dropped passes and lack of speed hurt the Eagles. BC penetrated Clemson’s twenty yard line several times but even a first-and-goal with three minutes to play proved useless. The Tigers ground O'Rourke's drive to a halt.

When the team returned to Boston another large crowd met them at the station. Lou Montgomery rejoined his team and as he offered his encouragement and expressed pride in their effort someone shouted that BC would have won had he been allowed to play. He only shook his head with sadness and humility, saying:

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

But privately doubts were stronger. That same day at the train station Leahy commented quietly to his little halfback

“Louis, if they had let us bring you along we wouldn’t have lost.”

Montgomery accepted the praise, replying:

“I’m always going to believe that, coach.”

Leahy never treated Montgomery poorly or expressed any personal racism. He was happy to have black athletes on his team and probably did believe Montgomery would have made the difference in Dallas. He may also have had good reasons for feeling that he could not change the racial climate. But it is certain that the coach did not feel inclined to push the limits of inclusion and make personal, professional or financial sacrifices on behalf of his mistreated player.

A 2002 article in the BC student paper, The Heights, entitled “Ahead of their time,” recounts the history of the university's first black athletes. The article takes a positive tone [as student newspapers probably should] and praises Boston College for having never excluded black athletes. This pride is at least partially valid. Montgomery always said that his teammates treated him well and even initially opposed the idea of benching him for southern racism. But they soon gave way, especially when he urged them not to sacrifice the greater good of the team on his count. But it seems unlikely that he would not have gladly accepted their support had the team stood firm.

A 2005 Boston College M.A. thesis by Kevin Gregg is less optimistic than The Heights. Gregg concludes that the administration sacrificed fundamental Jesuit principles of brotherhood, equality and poverty for money and prestige. Gregg also found that while Boston’s black newspapers launched scathing attacks on the administration’s cowardice and hypocrisy, the city’s white press only seemed to care when the Eagles lost a game because of Lou’s absence.

This sad disparity became quite clear in 1940 when “the team of destiny” put together an 11-0 season and claimed a share of BC football’s only ever national title. After a strong showing in 1939 Leahy was able to strengthen his team. The 1940 Eagles were bigger, stronger and faster. And they could win without Montgomery, thus removing any cause for protest from the Boston Globe.


Lightnin’ Lou missed the team’s coming out voyage to New Orleans in September, when Leahy’s men knocked off southern power Tulane at home. Students at the Auburn Polytechnic Institute greased the rail lines running through their town, forcing BC’s train to stop and receive their applause for beating a hated rival. In the excitement no one really noticed the absence of a 160 lb halfback.

Montgomery did accompany the team to New Orleans for the 1941 Sugar Bowl. While his teammates prepared for their toughest test in Robert Neyland’s Tennessee Volunteers, he played for cash in a black college all-star game. They stayed sixty-miles outside of the city, away from distractions. Montgomery roomed in the heart of the city and took full advantage of the nightlife. But there is no doubt that he would rather have been with the Eagles, going against the Vols as a fully included representative of Boston College.

Lightnin’ Lou had been a Massachusetts all-academic prep star in 1936. He chose to represent his home state at Boston College, even though several other significant schools including UCLA offered him a scholarship. The greatest indicator of Lou’s true feelings during his BC years is that in his later life he openly stated in interviews that he would not make the same choice if given a second chance. This must be the one thing no college football fan ever wants to hear from an alumnus of his beloved program.

It is, of course, impossible to know whether BC could have broken the color line in the Cotton or Sugar Bowl in the early 1940s. What is certain is that Penn State and Wallace Triplett succeeded in desegregating the Dallas game in 1948. The Pitt Panthers and Bobby Greer accomplished the same for New Orleans in 1956. These dates preceded the general integration of southern college football by many years. Neither of these landmarks occurred because people at SMU or Georgia Tech were happy to play against integrated opponents. Indeed, in December 1955 Georgia Governor Marvin Griffin attempted to stop the game from proceeding and pointed in desperation at civil unrest surrounding a month-old bus boycott in nearby Montgomery, Alabama.

SMU accepted Wally Triplett because they and the Cotton Bowl wanted the best available opponent and Penn State had already taken a public stand against the Jim Crow clause. They could either back down or find a lesser foe, sacrificing prestige and revenue. The 1955 Panthers likewise refused to accept a bowl invitation without the inclusion of Greer. Georgia Tech students marched on the state capitol and burned Griffin in effigy not because they wanted general desegregation and loved black people, but because they wanted to see their Yellow Jackets play the best team available.

Perhaps similar resolve from Boston College in 1940 would have achieved such success. Perhaps four bloody years of fighting European fascism were necessary before Americans in the south could stomach such changes, even at the cost of losing a good football game. We will never know. We can only say for certain that the story of Lou Montgomery is not a bright chapter in the history of either college football or Boston College.

(Sources: Kevin Gregg, Tackling Jim Crow – unpublished M.A. thesis, Boston College 2005; Boston Globe, Lou Montgomery; The Heights, Ahead of their time; Reid Oslin, Tales from the BC sideline; Mark Purcell, 1940 BC vs. Georgetown – CFHS newsletter; DMN, 1940 Cotton Bowl; Wiki, 1956 Sugar Bowl)