Thanks For the Memories, Earl

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I guess everyone knows about the 1972 Miami Dolphins — the only team in modern pro football history to go undefeated through the regular season and the postseason.

Fewer people remember that more than half of those wins were accomplished without the Dolphins' star quarterback, Bob Griese, who went down with a broken leg and dislocated ankle in the fifth game of the season. He was replaced by backup Earl Morrall, who had recently been picked up on the waiver wire after being released by the Baltimore Colts.

Miami's coach, Don Shula, had been Morrall's coach for a time in Baltimore. They had been in Super Bowl III, which the Colts lost to the New York Jets. Shula knew precisely what he was getting when he picked up Morrall. Possibly no backup quarterback has ever stepped in as the substitute for the starter better equipped to run his coach's offense and succeed.

In fact, Morrall wound up leading the AFC in passing, just as Griese had the year before — in spite of throwing only one pass in the first four games.

He started the last nine games of the 1972 regular season and the first two games of the playoffs while Griese recovered. It wasn't always as easy as it may seem today; they struggled at times, but the Dolphins won all those games.

They hung on to beat Buffalo by a single point the week after Griese went down. They beat the Jets by four points in the 10th game, and they barely got past a mediocre Cleveland Browns team in the playoffs. Griese returned to the lineup in the second half of the AFC championship game, then led the Dolphins to the Super Bowl title.

He was on a third Super Bowl team as well. He was still on Miami's roster the next year when the Dolphins defended their title in Super Bowl VIII.

I remember having Morrall's football card and not knowing who he was. There were some players who were like that. I only knew their names because I had their cards. It wasn't until years later that I learned Morrall had been the quarterback of the Colts team that lost to Broadway Joe Namath and the Jets. I knew who Namath was, of course. Who didn't?

That was a good Colts team, too. Before facing the Jets, the Colts lost only one game. In a year when most teams were equally balanced between the run and the pass, Morrall completed more than 57% of his passes for nearly 3,000 yards.

Anyway, Morrall died Thursday at the age of 79. The news was confirmed today. From what I have heard, he had been in poor health for awhile.

He played pro football in relative obscurity for more than two decades. In those two Super Bowl seasons, with the sports world watching his every move, he led his teams to a combined record of 24–2.

He died in relative obscurity, too. I'm sure there were many young people across the country who didn't know who he was when they heard of his death.

The historian in me would like to think that someday football fans will re–discover the rich history of their sport — and Morrall's contributions to it.

But the realist in me doubts that will ever happen.

Bubba Smith Dies

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Hearing the news today that Bubba Smith is dead brought back a childhood memory.

And it isn't a memory of his role in the "Police Academy" movies — which, actually, came along after I graduated from college.

The Associated Press quoted authorities as saying the death did not appear to be suspicious, but the cause is not yet known. Smith was 66.

When I was a child, Smith may have been the most feared defensive player in football. At 6'7" and 265 pounds, he was often the example that was cited whenever someone wanted to make the most extreme comparison someone could make regarding size (i.e., "He's as big as Bubba Smith").

Those are impressive numbers today, but even a casual football fan could probably name, off the top of his head, several current players who are both taller and heavier. Size and talent do not always go hand in hand, and not all of them would be All–Pro players, but Smith was.

Don't get me wrong. Size has always been important in football, but before Smith came along, teams actively sought more of a balance between athleticism and size in their linemen.

Smith played in something of a transitional period. He was a blend of immovable object and irresistible force when more and more linemen — on both sides of the ball — were content simply to be immovable objects.

My childhood memory is of something of an offhand joke that my father made when I was in my football card collector period. One afternoon, I had purchased a couple of packs of football cards (I guess I would have been about 9 or 10).

I opened them in the car on the way home, and a card of Bubba Smith was in one of them. I told my father.

"I got Bubba Smith!" I exclaimed (or something similar).

"Do you get two cards for him?" my father asked and chuckled at his own joke.

You had to be crafty to play the line in those days. You couldn't just get away with being big. You had to be clever. And you had to have a lot of confidence in yourself.

I was reminded today of a great story about Smith from back in the days when the college all–stars played the defending Super Bowl champs in the game that kicked off the NFL's preseason schedule.

As an All–American at Michigan State, Smith played against Bart Starr and the Green Bay Packers in that exhibition game on Aug. 4, 1967. Early in the game, he burst through the line and tackled Starr in the backfield (I'm not sure if they were calling that a "sack" yet).

When the play was over, Smith said to Starr, "All night long, old man, all night long. Big Bubba's gonna be right here on top of you all night long."

Actually, Green Bay offensive lineman Jerry Kramer recalled in his account of the 1967 NFL season, Smith never got to Starr again. Kramer wrote that he was impressed with Smith's quickness but said he had trouble using his hands and, once Kramer adjusted, Smith posed no problems for him.

Smith was just a college player at the time, though, and it wasn't long before, as a member of an astonishingly talented Baltimore Colts team, he played in the Super Bowl himself, losing to Joe Namath and the New York Jets.

Two years later, he was a member of the Colts' only Super Bowl–winning team in the 20th century, but he refused to wear the ring he received for participating in Super Bowl V. The game was so sloppy (nearly a dozen turnovers) that he felt embarrassed to wear it.

(It is ironic, I suppose, that, on the 40th anniversary of that game last January, I wondered on this blog if Smith's survivors would put the ring on his finger before he was buried. Maybe the only way we will know is if the ring surfaces on Ebay or something like that.)

Smith is enshrined in the College Football Hall of Fame, but he is not in Pro Football's Hall of Fame. Perhaps one day he will be.

One of his teammates on those Baltimore Colts teams, tight end John Mackey, was inducted into the Hall of Fame nearly 20 years ago and, ironically, died just last month.

There aren't many tight ends in the Hall of Fame, but one, Shannon Sharpe, will be inducted this weekend.

In all, seven individuals will be inducted into the Hall of Fame. Some of them, like Sharpe, will be quite familiar to modern fans; others (Les Richter and Chris Hanburger) are remembered by few. At least one (filmmaker Ed Sabol) never played the game.

Bubba Smith will not be one of the inductees — but, if there is any justice, one day (perhaps one day soon) he will be.

He just won't be around to see it.