The Game He Didn't Play

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NFL Hall of Famer Ollie Matson died yesterday and, as John Crumpacker of the San Francisco Chronicle observes, he may have been "as well known for one game he did not play as for those he did."

Mind you, the games he did play between 1952 and 1966 were spectacular enough — or so I've heard. I was a mere child when he retired. I hadn't even begun collecting football cards yet (that was something I probably started doing in the third or fourth grade).

He won a couple of medals at the 1952 Summer Olympics in Helsinki, then he embarked on a pro football career that included six Pro Bowl selections, seven All–Pro selections and being named to the 1950s All–Decade Team by the voters of the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

So what about that game he did not play?

Well, in 1951, Matson was part of the University of San Francisco's football team. It was a good team. Some say it was the best ever. But San Francisco, as Crumpacker writes, "was snubbed by postseason bowls, apparently because two of its players — Mr. Matson and Burl Toler — were black."

If that sounds improbable to 21st century ears, it should be noted that this was in the middle of the 20th century. Integration was happening slowly in professional sports — and even more slowly in collegiate athletics. Most of the postseason bowls at that time were played in the American South, and most Southern colleges and universities would not start fielding black athletes for a couple of decades.

Heck, most of those schools had no black students at that time — let alone student–athletes.

Any of the bowls would have been happy to invite San Francisco to come and play. Any of the nearby hotels would have been pleased to accommodate the members of the team and their coaches. Any of the restaurants in the area would have been thrilled to serve breakfast, lunch and/or supper to anyone on the team.

As long as the two black players didn't come along.

The rest of the San Francisco football team wasn't going to go along with that.

Attitudes were decidedly different, but things really started to change in the 1950s — just not fast enough for Matson and Toler to enjoy a reward for their achievements on the college gridiron in 1951.

They say Matson suffered from dementia for several years before his death yesterday.

You could say that the bowls suffered from society–induced dementia half a century ago.

Fortunately, the bowls got better.

Remembering Dale Earnhardt

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There are many interests, many tastes that I share with others in my native region.

But, in some ways, I guess I am out of step with the majority of my fellow Southerners. I have never particularly cared for iced tea, for example, and I have never been a fan of NASCAR.

That doesn't mean, however, that I don't respect those who do like iced tea or watch NASCAR.

My friend Phyllis, who died last year, became a NASCAR fan in the last years of her life, and she tried — with little success — to educate me in the finer points of the sport. We had lost touch, then got back in touch a year before she died. We communicated frequently by e–mail and via "chats" on Facebook during that final year.

It was like old times. I often thought, when Phyllis and I wrapped up one of our Facebook chats, that we were kind of like Forrest and Jenny in "Forrest Gump" after they were reunited as adults.

Phyllis and I were like peas and carrots. And it was over far too soon.

Considering how much I have written about Phyllis in the months since she died, there should be no doubt about my admiration for her. And, if she had lived, I probably would have tried to watch some races — if only to be able to discuss them intelligently with her.

But I doubt that she could have persuaded me to become any kind of regular NASCAR follower.

(Now, let me remind my readers that I worked for many years on newspaper sports copy desks, but I have never regarded auto racing as a sport. In my mind, "sport" implies athletic ability, and I see nothing particularly athletic about sitting behind the wheel of a car.

(It is a competition, but it is not athletic.

(I recall saying that once to Phyllis, and she vehemently disagreed with me — but she preferred to use the word "skill," not "athletic ability.")

I have missed Phyllis frequently in the six months since she died, and today is one occasion when I would have liked to have heard her thoughts.

Today is the 10th anniversary of the death of Dale Earnhardt Sr. in a crash at the Daytona 500, and I honestly wish I could ask Phyllis for her thoughts about an article by Liz Clarke in yesterday's Washington Post.

Not long before Phyllis died, she started a blog about NASCAR. She only made one entry — she may have been in a lot of pain when she wrote it, and I know she went into the hospital for what turned out to be the final time a few weeks later — but I had the distinct impression when I discovered the blog sometime after her death that she always intended to do much more with it. She just ran out of time.

But if she hadn't died, I imagine Phyllis would have had some interesting things to say about this anniversary.

At the end of her life, she liked to joke about herself. She called herself a "redneck," for example, even though those closest to her always knew that would never be true.

And I would have been the first to stand up and argue with anyone, even (or perhaps that should be "especially") Phyllis herself, who suggested that she might be "ignorant."

Phyllis was one of the most intelligent people I have ever known. Any competition that could capture her attention and retain her interest couldn't be as simple and dumb as some people contend.

Clarke writes that "for many, stock–car racing's soul died that day" in 2001 and asserts that NASCAR hasn't recovered.

"Attendance and TV ratings have slipped," Clarke writes, "a product of the malaise affecting the economy at large but also, in the minds of some, the result of a number of missteps made by the sport in reaction to Earnhardt's death."

That seems like an awful lot to pin on the influence of a single event — or a single death — but Earnhardt's death was a seismic experience for many people.

And, lest we forget the kind of impact a single event — or a single death — can have on people, let's remember things like the celebrations that followed the rescue of baby Jessica from the well in Texas more than 20 years ago — or the global grief after Princess Diana died in a car crash a decade later.

"[T]o millions of sports fans, NASCAR is simply an annoyance," writes Clarke. "They stumble on a stock–car race on TV and see nothing but cars going around and around to nowhere.

"But to Dale Earnhardt, NASCAR led past the textile mill's gates and farther than he ever dreamed. And with every high–banked, hair–raising turn he made in that black No. 3, he took legions of fans along for the wild ride."

Roy Lang III of the Shreveport Times says kind of the same thing. Lang observes that Earnhardt's crash led to some revolutionary safety changes in NASCAR, but his loss has hurt NASCAR in other ways.

"NASCAR has learned how to make the sport safer," Lang writes. "And the benefits are immeasurable. However, in the same period of time, we've learned Earnhardt was irreplaceable."

I don't know if Phyllis became a NASCAR fan before or after this day in 2001. Consequently, I don't know how much influence Earnhardt may have had on her.

I do know she was a fan of Jimmie Johnson, and, while I know little about stock–car racing, I know that Johnson was about half Earnhardt's age 10 years ago. His career was just getting started when Earnhardt's life was ending.

But, even if Phyllis became a NASCAR fan after Earnhardt died, I'm sure she would have had an opinion on where it was and where it was going. She just might not have had the perspective that came with watching Earnhardt compete in the years before his fatal crash.

I think Phyllis would agree, though, that Johnson, as successful as he has been, hasn't been able to fill the void that was left by Earnhardt.

Just as I doubt that anyone will ever be able to fill the void that was left by Phyllis. She was irreplaceable, too.

Don't Skip Your Senior Year

I come from a family of educators.

My mother was an elementary school teacher for much of her adult life. My father taught religion and philosophy on the college level, like his father before him.

And my father's mother taught English for awhile when she was young.

I was raised with an appreciation for education, and I have often told friends that I do not think a student who has been given an athletic scholarship should be allowed to skip his senior year. I see a scholarship as being a binding commitment, like a contract.

Now, I understand about students leaving college for one reason or another. I had friends who left college when I was still in school. But none of them had been given a scholarship.

And, as far as I know, none ever went back to get his degree.

You're only young once, and people tend to get tied to life's other commitments as they get older. I'm not married, and I have no children, but I realize that it gets harder and harder to go back to school when you have children to clothe and feed and house payments to make; by the time those obligations are behind you, the spirit may still be willing but the flesh may be decidedly weak.

Prominent athletes have never asked me for advice on this topic (or any other, for that matter), but, if they did, that advice usually would be to stay in school.

It's been my observation that those who leave college early usually don't return. I will admit that there have been some exceptions to that rule, but they have been rare — almost as rare, it seems, as athletes who decide to stick it out for their senior years.

I can understand the temptation of the money and the fame — and the fear of the very real possibility that it could all be taken away in the wink of an eye. But that is a constant risk in life, is it not? Even those whose talents are not likely to make them either rich or famous run such risks wherever they are and whatever they are doing.

Athletes who leave school early to turn pro (or those who support that decision) frequently say — and with some justification — that their window of opportunity is short.

But that window might not even be open this year.

The NFL is currently in the midst of talks about its collective bargaining agreement that, so far, have been unproductive.

If a collective bargaining agreement is not in place, it is hard to see how anyone, rookie or veteran, can get a contract. And some people believe a work stoppage in the NFL could easily wipe out the 2011 season.

It seems to me that college athletes who have been in college for three years have a tough choice to make — if they haven't already made it. Should they stay in school? Or should they turn pro?

Given the uncertainty surrounding the collective bargaining agreement that is due to expire in 2½ weeks, a football player who skips his senior season to turn pro might not play in another game of football for more than a year. He'd need to find a source of income, and he would have to find a way to stay in shape until 2012 — or whenever the NFL resolves the conflict.

If he stays in school, though, he can continue to polish his skills with the school picking up the tab. He would still run the risk of getting hurt — but he could be injured driving his car or walking up (or down) a flight of stairs.

I'd stay in school. You can get your degree, and you can continue to play football ... which is a sure thing in college but a far less sure thing on the next level.

At least this year.

Bellard Was a Latter-Day Texas Pioneer

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I have had several thoughts about Emory Bellard since I heard of his death at the age of 83 yesterday.

And I have come to the conclusion that he rarely received the credit he deserved.

That may be hard for some football enthusiasts to accept. Bellard was a pioneer in Texas, a football coach who revolutionized the sport at the University of Texas with his wishbone offense. Well, that is what they say.

Bruce Weber of the New York Times calls the wishbone Bellard's "signature contribution" to the game.

In some ways, I guess that is true. It certainly changed things at the University of Texas, which had been struggling until the Longhorns' head coach, Darrell Royal, came to Bellard, an assistant at UT, in 1968 and asked him to come up with an offense that would shake things up.

He answered that challenge with the wishbone formation, which was designed to operate a triple option with a lead blocker. It sure changed things at Texas. In the next four seasons, the Longhorns were 38–5–1 with one national title (almost two), a perfect season (almost two), a 30–game winning streak and four Cotton Bowl appearances as Southwest Conference champions.

Then, in 1972, Bellard took the head coaching position at Texas' arch rival, Texas A&M. In so doing, he embodied the civil war that has been fought in generations of Texas families that have counted graduates of both UT and A&M among their ranks.

After Bellard's departure, Texas continued to thrive, winning two more SWC titles before going into a tailspin in Royal's final year at the helm in 1976.

Bellard's Aggies, meanwhile, struggled, losing their annual showdown with the Longhorns three straight times. It wouldn't have been fair to blame Bellard for that, though. The Aggies had lost to the Longhorns in most of their previous 20 meetings, including the four before Bellard arrived in College Station.

But he turned things around in 1975, winning the annual Thanksgiving showdown and coming within a single victory of taking the Aggies to the Cotton Bowl.

Bellard was never a head coach in the Cotton Bowl, only an assistant. He left A&M in the middle of the 1978 season after the Aggies lost consecutive games to Houston and Baylor.

While Bellard gets credit from a lot of people for developing the wishbone, there is some doubt about that. Former Oklahoma coach Barry Switzer insists that a coach at a high school in Fort Worth actually developed the wishbone in the 1950s. Perhaps Bellard modified something he had seen as a high school coach in the 1950s and early 1960s for use on the college level.

If he did, though, he also applied elements of the veer offense that was being run at the University of Houston and the variation of the triple option that was being used by Gene Stallings at A&M.

So perhaps the wishbone was not strictly Bellard's revolutionary innovation.

But Richard Justice of the Houston Chronicle reminds us of something that was Bellard's innovation — the integration of the A&M football program.

"In 1972, we had one black player on scholarship," R.C. Slocum, one of Bellard's assistants at A&M, said. "Now you can imagine the reputation of Texas A&M at that point. Not just A&M, but pretty much everybody in the Southwest Conference.

"Not many people appreciate what a bold step that was, to bring in nine black players to a place that had virtually no blacks. The deeper story is trust. It's the kind of man he was. Parents trusted him to do the right thing."

Earlier this week, Justice reports, two of those black players came to see Bellard on his deathbed and thank him for what he had done.

As Justice observed, the integration of the Aggie football program was Bellard's true legacy. Integration undoubtedly would have come eventually. Bellard just saw to it that it arrived that much sooner.

Winning One For Vince

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Two days ago, I wrote of my surprise that few people had mentioned Vince Lombardi in the buildup to yesterday's Super Bowl between the Green Bay Packers and the Pittsburgh Steelers.

There were a few articles that mentioned Lombardi, but none (that I know of) acknowledged the fact that Lombardi died 40 years ago last September.

Perhaps that was due to the fact that yesterday was the 100th anniversary of the birth of Ronald Reagan. That got a lot of attention — maybe deservedly so.

While the Super Bowl matched two of the most storied franchises in NFL history, mentioning two such anniversaries on the same day might have been a bit confusing for some people. It was probably fitting to yield to a former president.

Well, Reagan's 100th birthday has come and gone. The Packers emerged triumphant over the Steelers, and they will be the "defending Super Bowl champs" until someone else wins a Super Bowl — perhaps, when you consider the current state of discussions over the NFL's about–to–expire collective bargaining agreement, that should be if someone else wins one.

Oh, sure, someday someone else will win a Super Bowl. But, at the moment, it seems far from certain that next season will be played so the Lombardi Trophy may remain indefinitely in Green Bay.

And, for a pro football traditionalist like me, that's as it should be. If there is a work stoppage in the NFL that does what the baseball strike of 1994 did to the World Series, the next scheduled Super Bowl may be a casualty.

Not too many folks seemed to be thinking about that yesterday. Fewer mentioned it, even if they were thinking of it. But others — Packer fans like myself, Steeler fans like some of my friends — chose to leave such thoughts to another day. If Lombardi crossed our thoughts yesterday, it was in connection with the game being played at the time.

And that was as it should be.

Mike Lopresti of USA Today was thinking of Vince that way.

His postgame column may have been written after the game or while it was still being played, but it was in the form of a letter to Lombardi's spirit.

Speaking of the game, Lopresti said, "You would have loved it. ... It was a fight to the finish. ... You'd have loved the sheer will. ... You'd have loved [Aaron] Rodgers. ... You'd love the teamwork ... You'd love ... how this was a game that had to first be taken, and then saved, leaving the losers disconsolate."

It was Lombardi's kind of game. The only thing that might have been better, as far as he was concerned, would have been if the two squads could have slugged it out in some of the ice and snow that gripped the Dallas area last week.

If Lombardi still lived, he would be 97. In a few years, if the Packers are in the Super Bowl, perhaps a big fuss will be made about the centennial of Lombardi's birth and how the Packers want to win for the occasion.

I get the sense that wouldn't matter so much to Lombardi.

But winning mattered to him. Winning isn't everything, he said. It is the only thing.

That ... and claiming the Lombardi Trophy.

The Most Compelling Super Bowl Story Line

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"If you don't think you're a winner, you don't belong here."

Vince Lombardi

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I've heard a lot of story lines surrounding this year's Super Bowl between the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Green Bay Packers.

Considering that the Packers are one of the teams competing in the game, I've been kind of surprised by the fact that no one has mentioned that last September was the 40th anniversary of the death of Vince Lombardi, the man who coached the Packers to victory in the first two Super Bowls and whose name is on the trophy for which the teams will be playing.

That doesn't include a report that Packers coach Mike McCarthy wants to bring the Lombardi Trophy back to Green Bay. I didn't include it because it doesn't count. Mike Holmgren used to say the same thing when he was coaching the Packers in the Super Bowl in the 1990s.

In fact, any Green Bay coach would be expected to name that as his goal. If he didn't, he ought to be run out of town.

To look at Lombardi was to see football personified in a single man.

He was truly a block of granite, a nickname he earned as a lineman at Fordham — stocky with an angular face that resembled a block, stern, unyielding, dedicated to a goal.

His name spoke of epic duels waged in the snow and the rain and the mud, of a relentless quest for perfection.

The first time he met with his players in Green Bay, Lombardi warned the Packers, in fact, that they would do precisely that, "knowing full well that we will not catch it." But, he said, "We are going to relentlessly chase it, because in the process we catch excellence.

"I am not the least bit interested," he said, "in just being good."

Unfortunately, far too often in the four decades that have passed, the Packers seem to have been willing to settle for "just being good," for not constantly striving to meet Lombardi's standards. A quarter of a century after Lombardi died, the Packers still had not returned to the Super Bowl.

The Packers have won only one Super Bowl since Lombardi's death. Their game with the Steelers will be only their third Super Bowl since he's been gone. Holmgren coached in the other two. This will be McCarthy's first.

If the Green Bay coaching staff is ever going to invoke Lombardi's memory for inspirational purposes, now is the time to do it. Given their history since Lombardi left the scene, it may be decades before they get another chance.

The Packers probably could use a Lombardiesque pep talk. They may be 2½–point favorites, but they have lost their last three games against the Steelers, and two of those losses were recent enough that many of the players on both of the current rosters probably participated in them.

That's bound to put a mental whammy on a team, no matter how well it has been playing — and everyone agrees the Packers have been playing pretty well of late. But they seemed to be hitting their stride when the playoffs began in January 2010, too.

In 2009, Green Bay won seven of its last eight regular–season games. The exception? A 37–36 setback at Pittsburgh. (Bucky Brooks at NFL.com says there are things today's Packers can learn from that experience.)

Before that, they met in Green Bay in 2005. The Steelers won that one, too, 20–10.

In 1998, they played for the last time in Pittsburgh's Three Rivers Stadium. Pittsburgh won on that occasion, 27–20.

The last time the Packers beat the Steelers was on Christmas Eve 1995. The victory clinched their first divisional title in nearly a quarter of a century.

Fifteen years is a long time to wait between victories against anyone. A lot can happen in that time. The Packers played in a couple of Super Bowls, the Steelers played in three. But, when they face each other on Sunday, I believe it will be the first time in the postseason.

Certainly, it will be their first–ever meeting in the Super Bowl.

From that perspective, it's a clean slate.

And, while the Packers may be the favorites on Sunday, that didn't keep Peter King of Sports Illustrated from predicting that Pittsburgh will win.

He acknowledged both teams' proficiency on defense. I guess there's no disputing that. Pittsburgh had the second–best total defense (in terms of yards allowed per game) in the NFL; Green Bay's was the second–best in the NFC. Green Bay's pass defense was fifth in the NFL (Pittsburgh's was 12th), and, although the run game probably won't be a factor, Pittsburgh's run defense was the NFL's best (Green Bay's was 18th).

All that, says King, will go out the window on Sunday. It's a fast track, indoors, protected from the elements.

If he is right, though, logic says that should favor the Packers. Green Bay was tied for third in the NFL in total offense, ranked fifth in passing (with the NFL's seventh–rated passer and its fourth–most productive receiver) and averaged almost exactly what Pittsburgh did on the ground.

Lombardi was far more inclined to run the ball, but that was a different era. In all the relevant areas, it seems like this year's Packer squad is a worthy heir to those teams Lombardi coached in the 1960s — a potent offense combined with a punishing, smothering defense.

Now, if only the desire can match the talent ...

Elway's Redemption

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Since the Packers are going to play in this weekend's Super Bowl, it seems only fitting to reflect a little on the career of the only quarterback to defeat Green Bay in one — John Elway.

I was never really sure how I felt about Elway the football player, but I know I didn't care much for him as a person through most of his playing career.

In a way, I guess, I felt that he was an elitist, a pretty boy, that he had always had things handed to him — and, when it wasn't handed to him, he pitched a fit until he got his way.

Put it all together, I suppose my conclusion was that he was overrated.

That wasn't fair, but consider my reasoning:

• He played his college ball for Stanford, one of the most prestigious private research universities in the nation.


• He was the #1 draft pick in 1983, but he didn't want to play for the team that picked him — the Baltimore Colts — so he was traded to Denver.
  
  He had lobbied for that trade, and the Colts capitulated.


• Many players have to toil for years in the NFL before they make it to a Super Bowl. Some never make it at all.
  
  Others are far more fortunate. They get that far early and often in their careers, and Elway was one of them. He played in three Super Bowls before he was 30.

But he lost all three, and each loss was more spectacular than the one before.

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Elway's first Super Bowl was against the New York Giants after he had led the Broncos in "The Drive," an epic 98–yard, game–tying drive in the fourth quarter of the AFC Championship game.

The margin of that Super Bowl was crushing (19 points), but the truth was that, of the two starting quarterbacks who played in that game, Phil Simms of New York was much better than Elway. How could anyone conclude otherwise? Simms completed nearly 90% of his passes.

You could debate which one had the better career — but, on that day, it was no contest.

But that was nothing compared to what awaited Elway and the Broncos the following year.

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Denver actually jumped to a 10–0 lead in the first quarter, but the wheels came off in the second quarter as the Washington Redskins scored five unanswered touchdowns and went on to win the game by 32 points.

Once again, it was another quarterback who had the better day by far — Doug Williams of the Redskins.

Denver didn't return to the Super Bowl the next year, but the Broncos were back the year after that. I remember thinking during those playoffs that, if Elway did return to the Super Bowl, it couldn't possibly be any worse for him on that day than it had been against the Giants and the Redskins.

But I was wrong — because waiting for Elway and the Broncos was none other than the juggernaut of the 1980s, the San Francisco 49ers and their all–everything quarterback, Joe Montana.

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Montana surgically took apart the Broncos and handed them the worst Super Bowl setback ever.

I remember watching that game and actually admiring Elway's gumption.

Have you ever noticed how some players cease to become factors in the game when something goes wrong? On that day, I saw several Broncos who seemed to check out mentally as the avalanche began.

Many of them had been through those losses to the Giants and Redskins, and they were conditioned for defeat on the big stage. When signs of it seemed to be popping up, they accepted their fate.

That isn't how Elway was wired.

Long after it was clear to just about anyone who had eyes to see that the game was done, he was giving everything he had — as if the Broncos still had a chance to win.

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By that time, I had mostly given up on the game and I remember watching the commercials with a lot more interest. An ongoing commercial theme that day centered on a small town in Alaska. The residents of the town, as I recall, had been divided into 49ers supporters and Broncos supporters by McDonald's, which had promised special prices on its hamburgers to the winners.

It was all a gimmick, of course, intended to promote temporary hamburger prices. But there was nothing temporary about the wandering in the wilderness that Elway and the Broncos did for the next eight years.

I am not a Broncos fan, and, I must admit, I seldom gave Elway much thought in those years. But, when I did, I tended to wonder if he would ever return to a Super Bowl.

He came close a few times. But he didn't return until Jan. 25, 1998, when he was 37 years old and everyone watching the game knew he was nearing the end of his career.

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Elway had quite a challenge facing him that day — the defending Super Bowl champion Green Bay Packers, who were led by one of the younger breed of quarterbacks in the NFL.

Elway was part of the old guard, and this, many people felt, might be his last chance. He was determined not to waste it, and he showed his desire on a scamper near the end zone late in the game. He didn't score on the play, but he got the first down, and the Broncos went on to score shortly thereafter — and won the game.

(Ain't it funny how things turn out? That wasn't Elway's last Super Bowl after all. But it did turn out to be the last one for that young gunslinger for the Packers, Brett Favre.)

Elway returned to the Super Bowl the following year, leading Denver to another triumph, securing his only Super Bowl MVP Award and capping a memorable career. He retired a few months later, leaving behind a considerable legacy.

In addition to his many single–season and career achievements:

• He is the only quarterback to start in five Super Bowls.


• He is one of only two men to score rushing touchdowns in four different Super Bowls.


• And Elway, who was 38 years old when he played in the 1999 Super Bowl, holds the record for being the oldest quarterback to win one.

I probably wouldn't have said this when he was still playing, but he showed me a lot during his career.

He showed me that he was more than a pretty boy. He was a talented quarterback who wanted to win but didn't always have all the weapons he needed.

I don't think Elway was the greatest quarterback ever to play the game. There are a few others I would pick before I would pick him.

But he deserves to be mentioned in the conversation.

A Rivalry Like No Other

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This year's Super Bowl is a little more than a week away.

The Super Bowl has been played every year for nearly 50 years, usually in southerly, sun–splashed climes. It's been played often in California, New Orleans, Miami, and it is not a complete stranger to Texas. It was played in Houston twice.

This year, however, it will be played in Dallas — for the first time.

Lately, the folks in Irving and Dallas have been unrolling all their new facilities and vehicles and gadgets that are intended to accommodate the needs and desires of visitors in town for the big game — and earn local entrepreneurs a neat profit in the process.

Back in the summer and into the early fall, North Texans harbored hopes that the Dallas Cowboys might host their own Super Bowl, but those hopes were dashed rather rapidly.

I figure that, in the long run, that will be good news for local merchants, who are counting on the revenue from visitors from two cities. If the local team had made it to the Super Bowl, logic tells me that approximately half of the out–of–town visitors would have been eliminated.

So it's a good thing for all those folks who want to make money from this — especially the ones who run the hotels and the motels, who would have lost the income from all those out–of–towners who will need rooms for several days.

People are always going to have to eat, even if they're from a nearby community and only in town on the day of the game, so restaurateurs wouldn't have been affected quite as severely, but they, too, would have had to lower their expectations.

But the Cowboys went into a tailspin early. Between the Cowboys' and the Longhorns' declines, football dropped from sports fans' radars around here, and, remarkably, the sports talk in this area in October did not focus on football but on baseball, as the Rangers advanced to their first–ever World Series.

I grew up in Arkansas. I have lived in this area for most of the last 25 years. Until a few months ago, I never thought I would see a time during football season when baseball was the leading topic of conversation, but that is exactly what happened here.

It was gratifying for baseball fans, but it often felt, to me, as if the natural order of things had been disrupted.

There have been times when it's felt like one of those alternate reality episodes from the Twilight Zone. It was astonishing to witness the vacuum that was created when the Cowboys and the Longhorns crashed to earth. Talk about tumbling into a black hole.

Only recently, it seems, have people around here remembered that they were going to have a Super Bowl here in early February. It is almost as if the plan to host a Super Bowl locally depended upon whether the Cowboys would be in it — and, when it became clear that the Cowboys would not be in the playoffs, the right to host the Super Bowl defaulted to some other city.

It's probably going to be a good thing for the economy that Cowboys Stadium (known locally as Jerry World for Cowboys owner Jerry Jones) will host two cities, but I can't help thinking of what might have been.

Assuming that everything else would have been unchanged — if the Cowboys had been the NFC's representative in the Super Bowl, who would have been waiting for them from the AFC? None other than the Pittsburgh Steelers — and, if you've been following football as long as I have (or longer), you know what magic that matchup conjures up in one's mind.

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There are all sorts of rivalries in football, but the Dallas–Pittsburgh rivalry in the Super Bowl is unique. I guess you could say it's been a rivalry of milestones.

It began 35 years ago, on Jan. 18, 1976, when the teams met in Super Bowl X. The Cowboys, as I mentioned earlier this week, became the first wild–card team to play in a Super Bowl on that day, but the Steelers won the game, 21–17.

Even if you aren't old enough to remember that day, if you've watched any Super Bowl highlights shows in the last 35 years, you're all but sure to have seen Lynn Swann's amazing acrobatic catch from that game.

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Some folks will tell you it was the greatest catch ever made in pro football.

Then, three years later, on Jan. 21, 1979, the teams met in the first–ever Super Bowl rematch.

Superstitious people tend to be wary of the number 13, but Super Bowl XIII was far from unlucky for football fans. Not only was it the first rematch of a Super Bowl, but it would also mark the first time that a team won its third Super Bowl title, no matter who won the game.

Once again, the Steelers were victorious. The final score was 35–31, and, as one weekly newsmagazine declared in its headline on its game story, "This one really was Super."

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Part of what made it super was a fantastic fourth–quarter comeback by Dallas that was brilliantly captured in NFL Films' wrapup, which can be seen above.

In hindsight, that game featured many of the greatest football players of my youth — Terry Bradshaw, Roger Staubach, Tony Dorsett, Franco Harris, etc., etc. But the play that will always stand out in my memory is of Jackie Smith, a tight end who played much of his career for woeful St. Louis Cardinals teams, dropping a pass in the end zone that could have altered the outcome.

I think everyone watching the game, whether they were pulling for the Steelers or the Cowboys, felt bad for Smith, writhing in agony in the Orange Bowl end zone after dropping that pass.

"Bless his heart," I remember an announcer saying, "he's got to be the sickest man in America."

It took nearly 20 years, but the Cowboys finally got their revenge in Super Bowl XXX, which was played 15 years ago today. It really wasn't a surprise. Dallas went into that game favored by nearly two touchdowns.

With that victory, the Cowboys pulled even with the San Francisco 49ers in total Super Bowl victories with five. At that time, the Steelers had won only the Super Bowls in which they played in the 1970s — their two wins over Dallas along with wins over Minnesota and Los Angeles. Pittsburgh has won two Super Bowls since that time and now leads all other teams in that category with six Super Bowl titles.

It was also the first time that a football team won its third Super Bowl in four years. That's an accomplishment that has been matched only by the New England Patriots.

Steeler fans probably don't like to think about that game too much. Pittsburgh has been to seven Super Bowls, more than any other team, and the one they played in 15 years ago today was their only loss — so far.

As a Packer fan, I hope that will not still be the case a week from Sunday.

Wide Right

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In terms of food consumption in America, only Thanksgiving tops Super Bowl Sunday.

And that makes sense, when you consider how many Super Bowl parties are held every year all across the country. People get together and eat chips, dip, wings, burgers, pizza, brats, nachos, you name it. One year, I went to a co–worker's house to watch the game, and he served brisket to his guests. Man, was it good!

For some people, Super Bowl Sunday really is about crowning a pro football champion. But for many, I fear, it has become a de facto holiday for gluttony.

Only two cities are directly involved in a Super Bowl, of course, but the game has transcended the boundary of sports championship and become an event.

I know some people who don't care for football, but they watch the Super Bowl for the commercials. I even have one friend who records the game every year. He and his wife go out for dinner, maybe see a movie, while the game is being played. Then, after they return home and the game is over, he fast–forwards through the game and watches the commercials.

How many other things can you think of — for that matter, is there anything else — that some people watch strictly for the commercials?

I'll have more to say about the Super Bowl, I'm sure, when this year's edition, in the still–so–new–you–can–probably–still–smell–the–paint Cowboys Stadium in nearby Arlington, is about to kick off.

But today I just want to reflect on one — the Super Bowl that was played 20 years ago today in Tampa Stadium, known as "The Big Sombrero" for its shape, which was demolished more than a decade ago.

(I say that, incidentally, just to give you an idea of where the game was being played. The location doesn't really play any other kind of role in this story.)

I don't know when the Super Bowl became the occasion for massive social get–togethers that it has become. Until I was in high school, I watched most Super Bowls at home with my family, sometimes with a few neighborhood friends. Since my college years, I have been to a few Super Bowl parties.

There have been several reasons why I haven't been to very many Super Bowl parties in my life.

In some years, I didn't go to Super Bowl parties because I was working on the sports staff of a metropolitan newspaper, and most of us had to work on Super Sunday.

Ordinarily, there isn't much else going on on Super Bowl Sunday, and we usually tried to transform the office into a modified football party. Folks brought in dip and chips, other snack foods, soft drinks, and we would watch the game. No cold beer, of course, which might have made the experience more memorable — or perhaps not.

But I remember attending a Super Bowl party on this day 20 years ago — and what was noteworthy about that occasion, what makes it stand out in my memory, is not the fact that I went to a party but the fact that it was one of the most exciting Super Bowls I've ever seen.

Of course, the company with whom I shared that experience was special, too. But what happened on the field is what everyone remembers today.

I've seen most of the Super Bowls, even going back to the time when they didn't call it the Super Bowl. Much of the time, unfortunately, the Super Bowl hasn't lived up to its hype. Most of the time, it's been over by halftime. There was just that formality of playing the final 30 minutes.

But a few Super Bowls have been exciting, and the one that was played on Jan. 27, 1991, certainly was.

I was in graduate school, and Kyle, my classmate, friend and co–worker at the local newspaper, invited me to a Super Bowl party at his house. He, his wife and a friend of theirs had invited me to join them in their annual ritual of predicting weekly NFL games that season, and Kyle's wife and I were tied for the lead going into Super Bowl Sunday.

(By the way, I don't think Kyle and I have ever watched another Super Bowl together, either before or since. But even though we're separated by nearly 1,000 miles now, we'll share a bond or two in this year's Super Bowl. We lived, worked and went to school a short distance from where this year's Super Bowl will be played — and our favorite teams are facing each other. Kyle, you see, is a Steeler fan, and I have always been a Packer fan.)

That party was a fairly intimate gathering, as I recall. Only a handful of us, really. Lynn served a multi–layer Tex–Mex kind of dip — one of those dishes with lots of beans and olives and onions and peppers and cheese and sour cream and salsa and all that tasty stuff — and we all nibbled on it while we watched the game.

Anyway, since we were tied for the lead, Lynn and I decided to use the Super Bowl as our tiebreaker. One of us would take one team, the other would take the other team.

Lynn asked me which team I wanted.

I decided to be chivalrous, and I told her to choose.

She took the Buffalo Bills, who were the seven–point favorites. That left me with the New York Giants.

I figured she would be on the winning side. A lot of people did. I don't think anyone — maybe not even the Giants themselves — believed they could stop the Bills' no–huddle offense.

And the Giants' offense, with backup quarterback Jeff Hostetler filling in for the injured Phil Simms, was suspect as well. They were often criticized for failing to score a touchdown in the NFC Championship game — but it was seldom mentioned that the Giants had to beat the two–time defending Super Bowl champions on the road in that game.

Five field goals had been enough to win on that occasion, and that was what it was all about. Winning.

It was ironic, really, that field goals figured so prominently in the Giants' victory in the NFC championship game — because a field goal attempt is what people always remember about Super Bowl XXV.

Buffalo's Scott Norwood came on to attempt a 47–yard field goal in the final seconds that would have won the game for the Bills. But he famously missed the kick and the Giants prevailed.

Last year, just before the Super Bowl, I wrote about an article that I had been reading in TIME about the top 10 Super Bowl moments of all time.

It mentioned Norwood's kick — and I agreed then (and I still agree today) that it belongs on such a list. But the author called it "a kick to forget."

I took issue with that.

"Unless you were a fan of the Buffalo Bills," I wrote, "I don't think I would say that Norwood's kick was one to forget. It was a dramatic moment. The snap was good. It didn't sail over the kicker's head or anything like that. The kicker made a clean kick. No one blocked it. It was long enough. It just didn't go through the uprights."

I can still remember ABC broadcaster Al Michaels exclaiming, "Wide right!" as Norwood's kick sailed a few inches outside the goal post.

That's about the size of it. I've watched replays of that kick many times in the last 20 years. I have yet to see anything that was amiss on that play.

The snap still looks good to me. The kick still looks normal. I haven't even seen anyone on the defense commit a penalty that could have allowed the Bills to try it again.

He just missed it. S**t happens.

I'm sure Norwood doesn't like to be reminded of that kick. He had other achievements in his career. He helped the Bills get to the Super Bowl for the first time. He became their leading scorer, eclipsing O.J. Simpson.

But he is remembered for that one field goal attempt in Tampa 20 years ago today. It truly lives in infamy.

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It has become a cultural flash point, of sorts. It served as the inspiration for an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond in which Raymond and Debra, while celebrating their wedding anniversary, decided to watch the video tape of their wedding — only to discover that Ray had accidentally taped over it.

He had taped Super Bowl XXV.

Debra sat there, stunned. "Did you hit something?" she demanded.

"No, it's still going," he replied.

"Then why am I seeing football?" she asked.

And a fight ensued that seemed to mark the beginning of the end for their marriage. But Ray wasn't giving in that easily.

To make it up to her, Ray went to elaborate lengths so they could renew their vows. Naturally, some people were curious about why they were renewing their vows, and Ray confessed that he had taped over their wedding video.

After the ceremony, Ray, the priest and most of the men sat down to watch the tape of the game. Some of them ranted about what a great game it had been.

As I recall, one of the characters — it might have been the priest — said he had never seen the ending. He had only heard about it, and he was excited to finally be seeing it.

The punch line was that somehow Ray's recording of the game stopped just before Norwood's kick — and the tape was showing the wedding footage again.

(That was funny but bewildering — for a couple of reasons, which I will explore briefly. For one, most football games take more than three hours to play, and Super Bowls usually go longer because of the lengthy halftime shows and the additional commercial time that is sold. When was the last wedding ceremony you attended that went for 3½ hours?

(Second, it was never really explained how the recording stopped. Perhaps the writers should have had Ray say something like, "Oh, yeah, now I remember. So–and–so accidentally hit the button on the VCR, and it stopped taping just before Norwood's kick!")

I'm sure Norwood wishes he could erase the memory of that kick as easily. But he's linked to it forever now. I predict that, whenever he dies, the first paragraph of his obituary will say, "Scott Norwood, whose missed field goal in Super Bowl XXV cost the Buffalo Bills a world championship, died ..."

It will be that way even if he wins the Nobel Prize. That might not be mentioned until the second paragraph.

S**t happens. Kickers miss field goals. Some husbands accidentally erase wedding videos.

Deal with it. Have some dip.

Ditka's Disgrace

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Yesterday, I wrote about the 30th anniversary of the first wild card to win a Super Bowl — and I suggested that it might have been appropriate if the Jets had won the AFC title on Sunday because that would have put two wild–card teams in this year's Super Bowl.

But it might have been more appropriate if the Chicago Bears had beaten the Green Bay Packers for the NFC title.

(That isn't an easy thing for me to say, being a lifelong Green Bay fan. But hear me out on this one.)

It was a quarter of a century ago today that the Chicago Bears played in their first Super Bowl. Their opponents were the New England Patriots — and, while it is probably hard for the current generation to believe, that was the Patriots' first Super Bowl, too.

Football fans had rarely seen two teams playing in their first Super Bowl at the same time. Granted, the most recent such game had been only a few years earlier, when the San Francisco 49ers faced the Cincinnati Bengals. But it had only happened twice before that — when Broadway Joe followed through on his famous "guarantee" in Super Bowl III and in the very first Super Bowl (when it was a sure thing that both teams were making their first appearance).

There was never a chance of a team appearing in its first Super Bowl this time. But, until Sunday, there was a chance that the Bears might be able to celebrate the 25th anniversary of their first trip to the big game with a return trip.

It wouldn't have been the Bears' first trip back to the Super Bowl since that day in January 1986. They made it back to the Super Bowl a few years ago — and lost to the Colts.

Even so, it would have made an interesting story line — not that the Super Bowl ever lacks for interesting story lines. In fact, sometimes the story lines have been better than the games themselves.

For awhile, it was even possible that the Bears and the Patriots could mark the anniversary with a rematch. But that possibility ended when the Jets defeated the Patriots in the divisional round.

It remained possible — for a week — that the Bears could observe their silver anniversary with an appearance in Dallas. The odds of that happening dwindled rapidly after Jay Cutler went down with an injury.

But, really, how could you commemorate that anniversary? It was Walter Payton's only Super Bowl after a career of toiling for mostly bad Bears teams — but he really did nothing special when he got there. He didn't even score a touchdown.

That would be understandable, I suppose, if the game had been a defensive struggle. But the only defense that struggled that day was New England's.

I felt it was disgraceful that Payton didn't score on a day when the Chicago Bears set a Super Bowl scoring record with 46 points.

I guess you could call Payton the consummate professional. While no one could have known that Super Bowl XX would be his only Super Bowl, he had been in the NFL for a decade, and that is a long time for a running back.

Seems to me that any reasonable football fan would have to at least suspect that it would be his only one. And, in fact, Payton only played two more seasons after he went to the Super Bowl. The Bears made the playoffs both years, but they were one and done both times and Payton never scored a touchdown in either of his last two playoff games.

He should have scored a touchdown in Super Bowl XX.

The Bears were deep in New England territory late in the third quarter. Realistically, the game had been over for a long time. Chicago led New England, 37–3.

With the ball at New England's 1–yard line and what amounted to a five–touchdown lead, the Bears were imposing their will. But instead of calling for quarterback Jim McMahon to give it to Payton, coach Mike Ditka chose to go with the novelty act he had unveiled earlier in the season in a Monday night game — in which 300–pound defensive lineman William "The Refrigerator" Perry came in, took the handoff and made his roly–poly way into the end zone.

For a time there in the mid–1980s, the "Fridge," as he was known, became something of a cult hero.

But not to me.

I felt it was shameful that someone like Payton was denied the satisfaction of finally scoring in a Super Bowl. His team was about to do something no team had done before — exceed 40 points in a Super Bowl — and Payton's touchdown would have been the one that made that a reality.

Ditka told a Payton biographer that Payton was the greatest football player he ever saw but an even better human being.

It was too bad he didn't give him the ball from a yard out and let him get his name in the Super Bowl history books for doing more than averaging 2.8 yards per carry that day.

Payton achieved many things in his life, which ended far too soon. He was inducted into the Hall of Fame several years before his death. He ran for more than 100 touchdowns in his professional career, but he refused to celebrate when he scored; he just handed the ball to an official or a teammate and went back to the sideline in his quiet, low–key way.

He was over 30 when he got to the Super Bowl. He had given everything he could to help the Bears get there. He ran for more than 1,500 yards that season but stood back and allowed the others to take the credit.

There were many stars on that team, to be sure. And most of them were given their moment in the spotlight.

But not Payton.