The Glory Game: How the 1958 NFL Championship Changed Football Forever

by Frank Gifford; Peter Richmond

  'My damned arm doesn't feel right,' he said. Then he went back in and played a couple of series. Then after that the doctor says, 'Let me look at it,' and it's broken. Pellington was just intense."

  Wellington's early play mirrored all of the Colts' performances so far; it felt as if the Colts were playing at a different speed. As we punted the ball back once again, more than halfway though the quarter, I wrapped myself in a jacket, took a seat on the bench, and wondered how we were going to turn this thing around. I didn't have long to wait for the answer. Our special teams gave us a gift, and put us right back in the game.

  The Colts' punt returner, a rookie out of Florida named Jackie Simpson, thought about making a fair catch. Then he thought about making a big play. He didn't think enough about Buzz Guy, one of our backup linemen, and Billy Lott, our rookie backup fullback, bearing down on him. Simpson caught the ball just as both of our guys slammed into him, and the ball popped loose. Lying on his stomach, Simpson groped for the ball, and was gathering it back in-and then Rosey Brown landed on him. The ball popped loose again, and Rosey pulled it in.

  Simpson loped off the field, trying to keep his head up. "I'm thinking, If we lose this ball game I don't know what I'm going to do," Jackie told me. "Weeb didn't give me another chance on punts that day-Lenny was back there. So all I could think about during that game was If we do lose, all the guys are going to be mad at me. The people back in Baltimore-what are they going to do to me? "

  He didn't have to worry. After our defense had held, after our special teams had risen to the occasion, with our team poised ten yards from the Colt end zone, I was about to give it right back.

  Again.

  The truth is, in my career, I fumbled a lot, a problem that stemmed from the way I carried the ball my entire career-high school, college, pro. I used the ball for balance, as a lot of backs did, and do, and for a back to change his running style is really tough-for some, impossible. Ironically, after fumbling nine times in the '57 season, I'd fumbled only three times the entire '58.

  Do the fumbles haunt me? Not really. I recognized from day one that if you were going to play the game, and you were going to give it as much as you possibly could on every play, you were going to fumble it. Everyone fumbles. Even Jimmy Brown, who rarely fumbled, had given up the ball in our play-off game.

  In any event, I fumbled the ball enough for both of us that day.

  We had the ball on the Colt 10. The special teams had done their job. The defense was doing their job; they'd given up just seven points in the first twenty-five minutes.

  We could take the lead back with one play. Charlie came right back with me. Maybe he wanted to give me a chance to make up for my first fumble. More likely, he knew that a pitchout, with me sweeping left, could get the whole ten yards if we blocked it well.

  He also knew that, with Sanford out and Myhra playing outside linebacker, this was a point we should attack.

  This time we didn't line up in our usual sweep formation. Instead of putting Kyle split out left, in what we called a "strong left" formation, we put Alex out there, to occupy Milt Davis. We had Kyle in tight on left end, on Rosey's outside shoulder, as an extra blocker.

  Great field position. A good play called. A good formation.

  The crowd going crazy. And number 16 about to give it all back.

  This time, the speed of the Colt defense didn't force the turn-over; their smarts did. At the snap, Rote blocked in on Joyce, and Rosey pulled around him, coming out to clear me a lane. But out at the sideline, where Milt Davis was lined up opposite Webster, something about the formation told Milt we weren't going to pass.

  Something told Milt what was coming.

  "Milt was kind of like a professor," Braase says now. "He'd like to sit there and think out loud. He knew the offenses. He studied them. He knew everyone's capabilities."

  "They tipped it off," Milt told me. "I can't exactly say why, but to me, the lineup was not showing pass. So I had to make a choice.

  Do I cash in and bet on the run, or stay back with Webster? I knew that Nelson would be back there to protect me if it was a pass-he was a smart guy. So I took a step in, toward the line, and another.

  You know what's funny-I remember this like it was yesterday-just at that moment, the sun comes out. I remember the sun."

  After that, he didn't have time to think-"the professor" relied on instinct. At the snap, Milt ignored Webster and slipped into the backfield before Rosey could swing out and get in front of me. As soon as I turned upfield, still a few yards behind the line of scrimmage, Milt met me. Just as I was trying to cradle the ball into my left hand, he lowered his left shoulder and hit my arm. The ball popped loose.

  Just like the last time, Don Joyce showed up, this time just in time to recover the fumble.

  The Colts had it back, with nearly five minutes left in the half-more than enough time to put a drive together. I walked off the field, trying to bury the anger. Sam was probably restraining the impulse to rip me a new one. The crowd was quieted, stunned. No one was booing, of course-not back in 1958. I wouldn't have heard them anyway: I was too caught up in my own thoughts.

  Knowing that the Colts had terrible field position wasn't any sort of consolation. We'd been ten yards away from retaking the lead.

  The defense trotted back on, to save our butts once again-a role most of them were accustomed to. Most of them, but not our new defensive tackle. Frank Youso just hoped he could remember where a defensive tackle was supposed to line up. Youso, the big second-round pick out of Minnesota, was scared to death.

  "We knew Rosie was hurting," Huff says now. "But we had no one to take his place-we had no backup tackle on defense. But they had to make a change. They brought in Youso. And Youso was no Roosevelt Grier."

  Youso told me he had endured an interesting baptism under fire: On his first day as a Giant back in early August, he'd flown into San Francisco for an exhibition game the day after he'd played in the college all-star game, and showed up at the stadium without any cleats.

  Jim Lee put him in anyway. He had to block the legendarily tough and intense 49er tackle Leo Nomellini-in street shoes. ("How ya doin', Leo?" Youso greeted Nomellini at the line. Leo threw him to the ground. End of conversation.) After that, you'd think nothing would surprise Youso. But Frank was as shocked as anyone when Jim Lee started looking up and down the bench for someone to replace Grier.

  "He didn't have any other defensive tackles," Youso told me. "Apparently he liked my size, so he saw this big offensive tackle-me-and said, 'You're in on defense.' I said, 'I don't know how to play defense.' Jim Lee said, 'I can't help it. I got no one else. Do what Sam says.' So I go over to Sam and say, 'What do I do?' Sam said, 'I'll pat you on the right cheek if you're going right, your left cheek if you're going left, and if I don't pat you, hang on, 'cause they're coming right at us, and you're on your own.'

  "I got tired of Sam patting my ass," Frank told me with his characteristic laugh. "But I got real worried when after a while it started to feel good."

  Powerless to do anything, I stood next to Charlie and Kyle on the sidelines, hoping that my second fumble wouldn't turn into a 14-point turnaround. The Colts turned in some impressive-well, some immortal-long drives that day. Including the one that came next-an 86-yard march drive, and pure Unitas.

  Our pass rush had been weak enough, and now we had a rookie in. So Johnny went long to the running back Dupre-a real surprise call, considering that no one thought of L. G. as a deep threat; the longest of his thirteen receptions that year was twenty-two yards out of the backfield. Johnny had all the time in the world on this one, but Lindon was all over Dupre. Johnny smartly overthrew it to avoid the interception. On third down, Johnny faked a handoff to Dupre over the left side. Youso bit, Mo bit, the TV cameras bit-and Johnny turned to his right, flipping a screen to Ameche. It was good for ten.

  Now, away from the shadows of the end zone, the Colts went to work on Youso. Johnny called four straight running plays to the
left side: to Lenny for nine, to Ameche for five, to Lenny for three, to Ameche for three, bringing the ball up to midfield. On each play, they were running right at Youso.

  By now, Frank wasn't just confused, he was bleeding: "My left hand was butchered. See, I was used to always getting my hands off the ground right away on offense," Youso recalled. "That first play, I figured I want to stay low, so I still have my hands on the ground.

  Before I could get up, someone stepped on my right hand. Two fingers were crushed. My middle finger was torn wide open, upper knuckle to the bottom; the blood is squirting out of my hand.

  "I go off, Doc Sweeny put a tongue depressor on it, and wrapped it up, and sent me back in." A rookie defensive lineman was bad enough. With one hand, it was worse.

  Still, we had a shot at stopping them; we had them third and seven when Unitas pulled another one out of his high-tops. He had all the time in the world. He pumped to Lenny, brought the ball back in, and took off to the left side, facing nothing but daylight.

  By the time Huff and Youso nailed him down, Unitas had gained sixteen, down to our 30.

  A penalty pushed them back, but they got 13 of it back on a square-out to Berry: a sign of things to come. On this one, Youso had finally beaten his man, and had a hand in Johnny's face. Johnny didn't even flinch.

  "Johnny's single greatest asset was his ability to concentrate when people were in his face," Jim Mutscheller, the Colts' tight end, told me from his insurance office in Baltimore. "It just never affected him. He never worried a bit about who was about to knock him on his ass."

  Now it was third and one, on our 21: a huge play. The two-minute warning was called. They came back out in short-yardage formation. We had to be figuring on Ameche up the middle. We lined up in short yardage: seven down linemen, and all four defensive backs playing like linebackers.

  Johnny surveyed our formation. He must have seen that the play he called was dead. So he changed it at the line. He handed off to his right halfback, Ameche-but going wide left. Everyone was caught inside. Berry had been lined up tight on the left, and blocked in on linebacker Harland Svare, completely sealing the lane. The only man who could have stopped him was the cornerback Karilivacz-and L. G. Dupre took Carl completely out of the play with a terrific block.

  The Horse went for six before Jimmy Patton dragged him down at our 15. Now the Colts were knocking on the door again, and honestly, it seemed as if we had no idea what to expect.

  Looking back, I think every play Johnny called on that drive was put in because of something they'd picked up on our defense.

  With the extra week to study, they'd studied Tom's defense, and knew it well. Like I said, Landry didn't change a thing from the first time we'd played them. But he didn't believe in changing things. He believed in his 4-3 defense, in his keys, in his percentages. And he wasn't about to leave them. Those beliefs may have hurt us that day, but those same beliefs, refined in later years, would earn him a Hall of Fame career as the coach of the Dallas Cowboys.

  Right now, it looked like they'd put in a whole new offense, stuff we hadn't seen. The last play of the drive was the most brilliantly called and executed play of the half.

  It was first and 10 from the 15. Berry lined up tight again, on the left side, signaling a run. At the snap, Raymond blocked down on Svare. Karilivacz read that as a run, and came up on the outside, just as John put the ball in Ameche's belly-and then took it back out. Great fake.

  In the meantime, Berry dove under Svare, with his hands on the ground, as if he were going to block, then got up again and took off downfield. It's the kind of play you can call only if you know you'll have plenty of time in the pocket, and Johnny had plenty of time. Carl had bitten on the run. Neither safety had a chance.

  Johnny, with the play-fake, then the drop-back, faced no pressure.

  Raymond was wide open in the end zone between Em and Patton. Fifteen yards, six points, and a 14-3 lead. Thirteen plays, eighty-six yards. Four passes and seven runs-and just about everything had worked. The whole thing had been painful to watch-especially for me. They'd exploited our weaknesses. They'd exploited our predictable tendencies. They'd outsmarted us. They'd outhustled us. They'd taken advantage of the breaks-two big ones provided by me.

  About the only good news was the time remaining: less than a minute and a half remained before halftime, certainly not enough time for us to unravel any further. But believe it or not, Mel botched another kickoff. It was another low bouncer, and it clanked off his hands-but thankfully, the ball ricocheted backward, over Maynard's head, and out of the end zone.

  The first half ended, mercifully for is, in typically ugly fashion.

  Charlie faded back on first-and slipped to the hardening turf. On the last play of the half, Alex was pulled down on a sweep-and the ball popped loose. But the whistle had blown, and time ran out on the worst half of football we'd played all year.

  CHAPTER 5 HALFTIME

  No one threw helmets in the locker room. No one cast blame.

  No one felt like arguing. No one had to say anything. And other than the coaches, no one did.

  The idea that a team can turn itself around during the half time break-with a fiery speech, with an intense session of strategy, with a coach who can dissect the previous thirty minutes of football, revise the game plan, and send a team out with a new, improved attitude-that's a myth. For a professional team playing its twentieth game in twenty weeks, the halftime is a chance to rest, to regroup, and to stay calm. And that's what we did.

  Not that we had much time to get lectured anyway-the break lasted about twenty minutes. Back then the NFL didn't ask the Rolling Stones to play a concert in the middle of a fireworks show. The telecast that day was about football, from start to finish-although I imagine that, at halftime, the NBC execs were hoping for a more professionally played and competitive second half of football; otherwise, their product wasn't going to win too many new viewers.

  Counting the time it took to slog off the field, then to come back on after our break, you could whittle our halftime down to fifteen minutes. That gave a quarter hour for the trainers to patch us up and for Jim Lee Howell to check his watch a couple of times. I didn't need any equipment repair. I probably could have used some sticky stuff on my hands, though.

  Out on the field, the bands and baton twirlers did their best to keep our disappointed fans happy. In the locker room, we couldn't hear the Colt fight song, or the noisy, oh-so-confident Baltimore fans.

  Our offensive stats? If they handed them out back then, the way they do now, I'd have read them and wept. Thankfully, I didn't get to see the numbers. Giant first downs? Two. Total yardage?

  Eighty-six. Total rushing yards-including my 38-yard run? Forty-seven yards. Don and Charlie had completed six passes in ten attempts for 39 yards. I didn't need statistics to tell me what had happened. Both of the fumbles had killed us. It hurt, but I had to get them out of my mind, and I did.

  We could console ourselves with the knowledge that we'd played terribly-and yet were still in it. Everyone knew that if I hadn't fumbled twice, this would be a whole different ball game.

  "We knew we were beating ourselves with mistakes," Webster says now. "Fumbles. Me falling down. Linemen missing a block. Charlie overthrowing it to Kyle on that first series. And we still weren't out of it."

  Their defensive front four was completely controlling our offensive line by overshifting to the strength of our offensive formation, into gaps we hadn't anticipated. Artie was sliding over to go head-up over Wietecha, like a modern-day nose tackle, which gave the Colt defense what amounted to a five-man line to the strong side of our formation.

  We'd also wasted three series with Heinrich. Even our home field had conspired against us, pulling Alex's feet out from under him, dragging Charlie down on a sackless sack. More significantly, we hadn't shown the Colts anything on offense they hadn't seen.

  We'd never used a lot of trick plays as a team, but we always had my option pass at the ready; two
weeks earlier, I'd thrown that TD to Bob Schnelker off the option against Cleveland, in the snow.

  We'd ignored the trick play we'd unveiled in the play-off game a week earlier, where I'd taken a reverse handoff from Alex, then pitched the ball to Charlie, trailing the play out on my right flank.

  He'd rambled in for the game's only touchdown, carrying a safety.

  ("Don't ever pitch me the ball again," Charlie told me afterward. He was half smiling.)

  We hadn't gone to the option today. In fact, we hadn't even thrown to Schnelker yet. We hadn't drawn on anything other than the catalogue of running plays that had always worked. And that was the trouble: the Colts were seeing everything they expected to see our 49 and 28 power sweeps, right and left, our 47 and 26 power plays off tackle, and our 41 and 20 quick traps up the middle.

  Nothing had worked with our passing game. The Colts had simply put too much pressure on Charlie.

  On the other side, our defense had played most of the half with ten men; because of his injured knee, Grier had been a complete nonfactor, and Youso had picked a tough game to make his debut at defensive tackle. As always, Landry was sticking with his basic 4-3, trusting the cornerbacks to cover two of the league's best receivers-which was next to impossible with no pressure on Unitas, and very little help from our safeties and linebackers.

  But the hard truth was that it felt as if the Colts wanted this game more than we did. Now we had fifteen minutes to turn this thing around. This wasn't going to happen with someone telling us how to do it, and neither coach tried. Every one of us knew what we had to do, and talking about it wasn't going to help.

  We spent the first few minutes of halftime doing what we always did, especially near the end of a season: trying to lessen the pain in knees and assorted other joints, fixing and adjusting special equipment, checking the tape jobs on wrists and ankles. Grier tested the knee, and knew he was done. Johnny patched up Youso's torn finger again.