Category Archives: 1940s

1944 technology

The NFL is so high tech now that you can forget how primitive things used to be. So here’s a reminder: a screen shot of Bears assistant Luke Johnsos, phone pressed to his ear, giving instructions to the bench during a 1944 game against the Cleveland Rams at Wrigley Field.

Johnsos isn’t sitting in a coaches box, either. He’s perched in the front row of the upper deck. To his left is a Navy man, presumably on leave. Behind him is a fan consulting what appears to be a game program. (In 1944, when most of the league was away at war — and teams were suiting up anybody with four working limbs — you definitely couldn’t tell the players without a program.)

Johnsos was one of the first “press-box coaches,” as they were called (because they were sometimes seated among the newspaper guys). But the practice goes at least as far back as the 1934 title game between the Giants and Bears – the famed Sneakers Game. In its story the next day, The New York Times reported:

With Lou Little, Columbia’s coach, sitting up in the stands and phoning to the bench, Steve Owen directing down there and [Ken] Strong playing one of the greatest games any back has turned in, the Giants came back to win.

Assistant coach Luke Johnsos supplying the Bears sideline with intelligence in 1944.

Sources: YouTube, pro-football-reference.com

The perils of Wrigley Field

While we’re sitting around playing solitaire, waiting for the NFL’s annual Free Agent Madness to begin, I thought I’d post something for your amusement.

In the first half of their existence (1921-70), before they moved to their current stadium/spaceship, the Bears played their home games at Wrigley Field. The place was built for the baseball, though, which made a football field a tight fit.

Close behind one end zone was the brick outfield wall. Close behind the other was the visitors’ dugout. Actually, the dugout was more than close behind; it intruded on the left corner of the end zone and made it shallower than the standard 10 yards.

In 1938 Dick Plasman, the last man to go without a helmet in the NFL, ran into the wall trying to catch a pass. He suffered a broken wrist, a cut-and-bruised head and who knows what else. (He also met his future wife — one of his nurses — in the hospital, so it wasn’t a total loss for him.) Here’s an AP photo of him being carried off:

The dugout could be dangerous, too. A few years ago, Harlon Hill, a star wideout for the Bears in the ’50s, told the Chicago Tribune he once “hit a part of it” while scoring a touchdown. “It really hurt,” he said. “I tried to stop and I went half way over into the [box] seats.”

If you’re wondering what the end zone looked like with a dugout jutting into it, this screen shot from a 1944 Bears-Cleveland Rams game gives you a rough idea:

Finally, here’s the video of the play leading up to the screen shot. The target is the Rams’ Jim Benton, one of the top receivers in those years — and a guy you could make a decent Hall of Fame case for. Unlike Hill, his momentum didn’t carry him into the dugout (which looks like it was covered with either canvas or thick plastic). But as you can see, he had to slam on the brakes to keep from falling into the stands.

OK, back to solitaire.

Helmetless players on parade #2

As you may already know, one of my hobbies is gathering photos of early NFL players plying their trade without a helmet. I do this because (a.) they were nuts; (b.) it serves as reminder of how far the game has come.

Back in November I posted a shot of Link Lyman, the Bears’ Hall of Fame tackle, standing bareheaded on a goal line play. Today — thanks, once again, to The New York Times — we have Redskins tackle Jim Barber (15) running around, sans headgear, against the Giants in 1939. (Barber, by the way, was a first-team all-pro that season.)

What I’m not sure of is whether Barber played without a helmet all the time or just occasionally. Some guys would shed their headgear if it was a really hot day — clearly not the case here (it was December 3) — or if the action on the field got particularly contentious.

The legendary Ernie Nevers was famous for the latter. It was his way of saying, “All righty, then. Let’s get down to business!”

“Bullet” Bill Dudley returns

Saw an interesting note in The Dallas Morning News the other day about DeMarco Murray’s impending free agency:

Should Murray suit up in a different uniform next year, he would become the first player since Bill Dudley to lead the NFL in rushing and start the following season with another team. Dudley moved from the Pittsburgh Steelers to the Detroit Lions in 1947.

Sixty-eight years. Now that’s a long time.

It’s also a story — Dudley’s escape from the Steelers to the Lions — that’s worth telling. “Bullet Bill” is, after all, a Hall of Famer. On top of that, there was no free agency back then, and it was rare that a player muscled his way off one club and onto another, as he did.

But let’s backpedal a bit and start at the beginning. In 1947 Dudley was coming off an extraordinary season, one that saw him win the MVP award playing for a .500 team. Not only was he the league’s rushing leader, he also, well, check out his numbers:

BILL DUDLEY’S 1946

[table width=”500px”]

Category,Details

Rushing,146 attempts* for 604 yards* (4.1 average) and 2 touchdowns

Passing,32 completions in 90 attempts for 452 yards and two TDs

Receiving,4 catches for 109 yards and 1 TD

Punt returns,27* for 385 yards* (14.3 average*)

Interceptions,10* for 242 yards* and 1 TD*

Punting,60 for a 40.2 average

Kicking,2 field goals\, 12 extra points

[/table]

*led league

For all-around excellence, you won’t find many seasons like it. There was only one problem: Dudley didn’t feel like he was built for such heavy use. He was only 5-10, 182 pounds, you see, and the Steelers’ single-wing attack was a punishing, grind-it-out style of football. Remember, too, that this was the era of two-way players, so he got beat up playing defense as well as offense.

To make matters worse, the team’s coach, Jock Sutherland, was a legendary taskmaster. Sutherland’s training camps were hell, and even his in-season practices could test a man’s limits. (“There will be only two kinds of men on the Pittsburgh Steeler[s] roster this fall,” Bob Drum of the Pittsburgh Press wrote during camp, “– those who are in shape and those who are dead.”)

After the season, Dudley announced his retirement, but it was just a ploy to get the Steelers to trade him to a T-formation team, one that wouldn’t make him carry so much of the load. As he later explained: “I felt playing 50-to-55 minutes in just about every game did not give a man a chance to give his best. It’s detrimental physically.”

You can imagine how receptive the NFL was to this kind of thinking in 1947. Self-preservation? The very idea! So the Steelers shipped him to the Lions for two backs (Bob Cifers and Paul White), the rights to another (Bob Chappuis, the 26^th selection in that year’s draft, who never played for Pittsburgh) and Detroit’s No. 1 pick in ’48.

After the deal was done, Sutherland gave his version of events — and savaged Dudley in the process. “I know for a fact a few of the boys would not have returned to the squad if Bill had rejoined us this year,” he told the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. “When they heard the news that he had signed with the Detroit Lions, one of them remarked, ‘Well, Detroit got itself another coach.’”

During the ’46 preseason, when Sutherland was working his players to death (and putting oatmeal in the water so it wouldn’t taste as good and they wouldn’t drink as much), Dudley complained to the assistant coaches, according to Jock. “[He] went too far in his remarks to my assistants, and when I say too far I mean just that. I heard what he said to them, and I reprimanded him in front of the full squad as I would have with any other player. He didn’t like it, of course, but said, ‘Yes, sir,’ and I thought the matter was dropped.

“That night he wanted to leave the camp. There was a conference and he changed his mind. No more was said about it during the season, and he did everything asked of him, although some of the players to the end resented his bossy attitude.”

Can you imagine a coach today unloading on a former player like that? And again, this is a Hall of Famer he’s talking about. Dudley had played two full seasons in the NFL and been the league’s top rusher both years.

Besides, it’s not like Dudley didn’t have a point. The single wing did take more of a toll on you (never mind the toll extracted by Sutherland’s maniacal training methods). The Bears’ George Halas, one of the fathers of the modern T, tried to impress this on Steelers owner Art Rooney a few years later. “The single wing takes too much out of your players, Art,” he said. “You do kick the hell out of the opposition physically, but the opposition is still getting the points and beating you. Remember, the other team takes that beating once; your team takes it every week.”

To twist the knife a little more, Sutherland told the Post-Gazette, “Dudley begged to rejoin the Steelers when he heard a deal was being made for him with [struggling] Detroit. He was sorry over what happened and wanted to come back in the worst way, but I think it is better for all concerned the way things are now.”

The Steelers went 8-4 without Dudley the next season, tying for first in the Eastern Division. (The Eagles beat them in a playoff to advance to the title game.) But their success was short-lived. Sutherland died of a brain tumor the following spring, and the franchise scuffed along until the late ’50s, posting a winning record just once.

As for Dudley, he was right to dread going to Detroit. In his three years there, the Lions won just nine games (though he remained a valuable and versatile player). He tried to return to Pittsburgh as a backfield coach in 1952 — after spending two seasons with the Redskins — but Washington owner George Preston Marshall, unconvinced Bullet Bill would stay retired, wanted too much in compensation. (And sure enough, Dudley returned to the game, primarily as a kicker, after sitting out a year.)

This brings us to the final, delicious part of our story: the first-rounder the Steelers got from the Lions for Dudley. It wound up being the third pick in the ’48 draft, and they used it to select an All-American quarterback from Texas – a fella by the name of Bobby Layne. Alas, Layne didn’t want to play in Pittsburgh’s single wing any more than Dudley did. So, rather than risk losing him to the rival All-America Conference, the Steelers sent him to the Bears for a player who better fit their offense, Kansas tailback Ray Evans.

Evans showed promise as a rookie, but that was the extent of his NFL career. To the Steelers’ shock, he turned his back on a $20,000 salary and took a job with a Kansas City bank. The probable reason, the Post-Gazette reported, was that he’d recently been “married to Edith Marie Darby, daughter of Harry Darby, wealthy Kansas City industrialist and Republican National Committeeman for Kansas. It is thought his wife may have objected to his pro grid competition.”

Layne, of course, went on to lead the Lions to two titles en route to the Hall of Fame. (What might have been.) He did finish his career with the Steelers, but he was in his 30s by then and didn’t have nearly as much talent around him.

So ends the tale of The Last NFL Rushing Champ To Start The Following Season With Another Team. DeMarco Murray can’t possibly top this, can he?

Early “analytics”

Pro football has always been a bit behind in the Numbers Racket. No joke: Recordkeeping was so slipshod in the late ’30s that the NFL didn’t even know who its all-time leading rusher was. (It just thought it did.)

But that’s a story for another day. Instead, let’s talk about a couple of early attempts to swim against the tide, to look at statistics — and the game — in a different light. The first is from the Dec. 4, 1927, Syracuse Herald. The day after a neutral-site battle between Red Grange’s New York Yankees (the “home” team) and the Providence Steam Roller, the newspaper ran this graphic:

How cool is that? It’s 1927 — 1927! — and you’ve got a paper keeping track of the distance passes traveled in the air and how far receivers ran after the catch. Yards After Catch didn’t really enter the football lexicon until the 2000s, but here’s the Herald charting it in the Red Grange era. It’s a shame we don’t know who dreamed up the idea. The guy was way ahead of his time.

(This, by the way, was the year before the Steam Roller won the NFL title. “Conzelman” is Hall of Famer Jimmy Conzelman, their player-coach, who later coached the Chicago Cardinals to the 1947 championship.)

We move ahead to 1941 — and a box score that appeared in the Pittsburgh Press after the Giants whacked the Steelers, 37-10. Many papers back then just ran basic information (who started, who substituted, who scored, who officiated, etc.). But the Press went above and beyond. Take a look, and then we’ll discuss it.

A couple of things jump out — the “Ball lost on downs” category, for instance. Even today’s box scores don’t include that. So it’s interesting that, in a period when stats were hard to come by, it was part of the Press’ package. But, hey, why shouldn’t it be, then or now? Fourth-down stops can be some of the biggest plays in a game.

Even more intriguing, though, is “Net yards gained, rushing, passing, intercepted passes, kick returns.” Can’t say I’ve seen that anywhere else. What it looks at, essentially, is how far a team advanced the ball — by any and all means (except fumbles, for whatever reason).

As you can see, the Giants came out ahead here, too — 433-323. But it’s debatable how useful or revealing a statistic it is. After all, a club that’s getting smoked can rack up a lot of yards returning kickoffs.

Still, you can appreciate the Press’ willingness to depart from the norm and give readers a little extra. Especially when the esteemed New York Times was casually reporting (in 1936): “[Tuffy] Leemans gained 117 in 20 tries to bring his yardage for the season to 502. At the rate he is going he bids to surpass Beattie Feathers’ league record of slightly more than 1,000.”

Slightly more than 1,000. That’s where the NFL was in those days — and change was slow in coming. But some folks, at least, were trying.

Beattie Feathers, behind the block of Bronko Nagurski (3), rushing for some of his "slightly more than 1,000 yards" in 1934.

Beattie Feathers, with Bronko Nagurski (3) leading the way, rushed for “slightly more than 1,000” yards in 1934.

Punters throwing postseason TD passes

Sorry to be bringing this to your attention so late. Things get a little backed up sometimes at Pro Football Daly. Still, I hope you’ll be amused.

In the NFC title game, you may recall, Seahawks punter Jon Ryan threw a 19-yard touchdown pass to tackle-eligible Garry Gilliam — on a fake-field-goal play, no less — to kick-start Seattle’s comeback from a 16-0 deficit. Many news outlets reported, as ESPN.com did, that the TD toss “was the first by a punter in NFL postseason history.”

Oh, please. In all of NFL postseason history? All 83 years of it? You might want to do a little more research on that.

Here’s a punter throwing for the game-winning score in the 1937 title game, won by the Redskins over the Bears, 28-21. It’s Sammy Baugh, who doubled as a punter-quarterback in those multitasking days (as did many others). Baugh booted five of Washington’s seven punts that afternoon — with limited substitution, it was often a shared responsibility — and also had three touchdown passes (measuring 55, 78 and 35 yards).

And here’s another punter throwing the last of his five TD passes — then a postseason record — in the Bears’ 41-21 mauling of the Redskins in the ’43 championship game. I’m talking about Sid Luckman, who also punted three times that day.

And here’s another punter throwing a touchdown pass in the 1960 title game. That would be the Eagles’ Norm Van Brocklin, a Hall of Famer like Baugh and Luckman (and the league’s MVP that season). Van Brocklin was second in passer rating (86.5) and fifth in punting average (43.1) in ’60 to lead Philadelphia to its last NFL championship.

I could go on — YouTube has some great footage of the Packers’ Arnie Herber and the Rams’ Bob Waterfield doing the same thing — but I just wanted to make a point. Yes, Ryan might be the first punting specialist to toss a TD pass in the postseason, but he’s far from the first punter.

Danny White, for goodness sakes, did it in eight different games for the Cowboys in the ’70s and ’80s. In the 1980 playoffs against the Rams, he threw for three scores and averaged 44.5 yards a punt. That’s better than Ryan’s 42.4-yard average. In the ’42 title game, Baugh had a touchdown pass and averaged 52.5 yards a punt, including a 61-yarder on a quick kick. In the ’50 championship game, Waterfield had a TD pass and averaged 50.8 yards a punt. These guys weren’t punters by default or something. They could really boot the ball.

By my count, eight NFL players threw a touchdown pass in a postseason game — and also punted — before Ryan became the “first” to do it. Moreover, these eight accomplished the feat a total of 27 times. (I’m excluding John Elway, Ben Roethlisberger and Tom Brady, who also pulled it off — in Elway’s case, on four occasions — but can’t be considered punters. Brady, by the way, did it on a night he fired six TD passes.)

Anyway, just wanted to clarify that. Congratulations, Jon Ryan. You made a nice throw, one that helped put your club in the Super Bowl. But don’t let anybody tell you an NFL punter had never done that before. Once upon a time, punters could walk and chew gum.

Source: pro-football-reference.com

Seahawks punter Jon Ryan heaves a TD pass in the NFC title game vs. the Packers.

Seahawks punter Jon Ryan lobs a TD pass in the NFC title game vs. the Packers.

Brady vs. Montana vs. Bradshaw vs. . . .

Tom Brady’s fourth Super Bowl win with the Patriots puts him pretty close to the top of the heap, championship-wise. After all, only four other quarterbacks have won four or more NFL titles — Hall of Famers Bart Starr (5), Joe Montana, Terry Bradshaw and Sid Luckman.

Here’s how Brady’s championship-game numbers compare to theirs. I included Otto Graham because he just seems to belong in this group. Graham played in the title game in all six of his NFL seasons (1950-55), and he might have played in more if he hadn’t spent his first four years in the rival All-America Conference.

BRADY VS. THE GREATS (CHAMPIONSHIP GAMES ONLY)

[table]

Span Quarterback\, Team,W-L,Att,Comp,Pct,Yds,TD,Int,Rating,High,Low

1981-89 Montana\, 49ers,4-0,122, 83,68.0,1142,11, 0,127.8,147.6,100.0

1974-79 Bradshaw\, Steelers,4-0, 84, 49,58.3, 932, 9, 4,112.8,122.5,101.9

2001-14 Brady\, Patriots,4-2,247,164,66.4,1605,13, 4, 95.3,110.2, 82.5

1960-67 Starr\, Packers,5-1,137, 79,57.7,1026, 8, 2, 94.7,130.9, 54.7

1940-46 Luckman\, Bears,4-1, 76, 41,53.9, 680, 7, 4, 93.1,135.6*, 9.7

1950-55 Graham\, Browns,3-3,160, 86,53.8,1161,10,12, 66.7,122.2, 0.0

[/table]

(Note: “Span” is the span of seasons they played in title games, not the span of their careers. “High” and “Low” are their best and worst passer ratings in those games.)

In Starr’s case, the first four games were NFL championship games and the last two were Super Bowls against the teams that won the AFL title. Interestingly, if you exclude the two Super Bowls — against a lesser league — and count the 1966 and ’67 NFL championship games against the Cowboys instead, his rating actually goes up. This is what his revised line would look like:

[table]

Span Quarterback\, Team,W-L,Att,Comp,Pct,Yds,TD,Int,Rating,High,Low

1960-67 Starr\, Packers,5-1,142,83,58.5,1069,11,1,105.0,143.5,54.7

[/table]

A 105 rating, of course, would move him ahead of Brady and not far behind Montana and Bradshaw. Starr was a gamer, all right.

As you can see in the chart, Montana and Bradshaw never posted a rating below 100 in a Super Bowl. Amazing. Brady hasn’t been able to match that, but he has topped 100 three times. The other three QBs all had at least one game where they stunk it up (or played well below their standards). Check out this game by Graham (a rating of 0.0!) and this one by Luckman (9.7). Yikes.

Keep in mind: We’re looking only at passing proficiency here. We’re not taking into account weather conditions, other abilities the quarterbacks might have (e.g. Graham’s running), the quality of the defenses they went up against or the rules they played under. All that would make for a much longer — if not endless — discussion. You have to admit, though, Brady measures up well against the legends, and he might not be done collecting rings.

*Luckman had a 156.3 rating in the 73-0 obliteration of the Redskins in 1940, but he attempted only four passes. So I went with his 135.6 rating against Washington in ′43, when he threw 26 times.

Source: pro-football-reference.com

The Patriots’ Tom Brady is fantabulous, but Joe Montana put up better numbers in the Super Bowl.

Payback for all those 1-yard TD passes

There were 66 1-yard touchdown passes in the NFL this season. I know this because I just researched it at pro-football-reference.com. Sixty-six 1-yard TD passes is enough of an abomination in this he-man sport, but this next statistic is even worse: Until Malcolm Butler saved the Super Bowl for the Patriots by picking off Russell Wilson’s throw in the final minute, the defense hadn’t intercepted a single pass in that situation.

As we all know, pro football is out of whack. The offense-defense balance has been lost, probably forever, thanks to a succession of quarterback-friendly rule changes. And few things represent this out-of-whackness better than the 66 1-yard touchdown passes QBs tossed this season. Heck, it’s practically taunting when a team dials up a 1-yard TD pass, especially when the receiver is somebody like J.J. Watt (two caught two of them this year).

Think about it: Against a spread offense, with pick plays and push-offs virtually legal now, how exactly are you supposed to defend a pass from the 1-yard line? Somehow, though, Butler did. If that isn’t reason to celebrate — the defense won for a change! — I don’t know what is.

Once upon a time, the NFL scoffed at throwing such an itty-bitty pass. In 1942, when the Packers’ Cecil Isbell lobbed a 4-incher to Hall of Famer Don Hutson for a touchdown, the league thought it was so hilarious that it added it to the record book. Now, keep in mind: Nowhere in the book could you find the shortest TD run or shortest field goal or shortest anything else. But the shortest TD pass — I’m surprised it wasn’t labeled Biggest Wimpout — was right there on Page 21:

Here’s how Stoney McGlynn of the Milwaukee Sentinel described this not-so-great moment in NFL history:

Even better, the Milwaukee Journal ran a photo of the play — a terrific one. What are the odds of that? Check it out:

As you can see, Isbell, after taking the shotgun snap in the Packers’ single wing, released the ball from the Cleveland 9. (I’m guessing he faked a handoff before throwing.) I particularly like the X-marks-the-spot in the left corner of the end zone, which is where Hutson made the grab.

{Miscellaneous note: Dante Magnani, the Rams defensive back who “let Hutson get a step behind him,” had had a whale of a game, scoring on a 52-yard run and a 67-yard reception. But in those days, of course, you had to play defense, too.)

Anyway, Hutson’s “mark” stood for 18 years. Then Cowboys tight end Dick Bielski broke it by hauling in a 2-inch touchdown heave from Eddie LeBaron in a 1960 game against the Redskins.

The Associated Press’ account read thusly:

(Miscellaneous note No. 2: This happened in the third game in Cowboys history. They went 0-11-1 that first season, so Bielski’s TD must have been one of the high points of the year.)

Naturally, Dick’s feat was included in the record book, too, and the revised entry looked like this:

It wasn’t until 1971 that the NFL stopped listing the “Shortest Pass Reception for Touchdown” among its records. (Bielski and Hutson were still 1-2.) Maybe the league was just starting to lose its sense of humor. Then, too, by the early ’70s the short TD pass was no longer such a novelty. You have to remember: Until the ’30s, an incompletion in the end zone was ruled a touchback. The offense actually lost possession of the ball. That, as much as raging testosterone, is why teams didn’t throw much when they were close to the goal line. They didn’t want to risk a turnover. As it became more of a passing game, though, and as the rules loosened up, most of the risk went out of such a play.

But in Super Bowl 49, glorious Super Bowl 49, we had the proverbial Once in a Blue Moon. On second and goal from the New England 1, Wilson fired to Ricardo Lockette on a quick slant and, lo and behold, Butler broke for the ball and all but plucked it out of Lockette’s hands. Game over (except for some pushing, shoving and punching). Patriots 28, Seahawks 24.

Come to think of it, that would make a great title for the Super Bowl highlight film: Blue Moon Over Arizona.

I’ll close with this from the Aug. 13, 1962, Milwaukee Journal:

A decade between championships

Hall of Fame quarterbacks tend to win titles in bunches. Terry Bradshaw won his four in six seasons. Troy Aikman won his three in four. John Elway and Bob Griese won their two back-to-back. It looked like it might be that way for Tom Brady, too. He won three championships in four years (2001, ’03-04) and then . . .

Until Sunday night, that is. Against the defending champion Seahawks, the Patriots’ living legend finally got his fourth ring — a decade after No. 3. His 10-year gap between titles is the second-longest in NFL history for a quarterback. Indeed, only half a dozen QBs have had even a 5-year gap. The list looks like this:

LONGEST GAP BETWEEN TITLES FOR AN NFL QUARTERBACK

[table width=”500px”]

Quarterback\, Team,Won in,Next Title,Gap

Johnny Unitas\, Colts,1959, 1970,11 Years

Tom Brady\, Patriots,2004, 2014,10 Years

Norm Van Brocklin\, Rams/Eagles,1951, 1960,9 Years

Roger Staubach\, Cowboys,1971, 1977,6 Years

Tobin Rote\, Lions/Chargers,1957, 1963,6 Years

Bob Waterfield\, Rams,1945, 1951,6 Years

Sammy Baugh\, Redskins,1937, 1942,5 Years

[/table]

As you may have noticed, I slipped in a seventh quarterback — Rote, who won with the ’57 Lions and ’63 Chargers (when they were still in the AFL). Tobin even spent some time in Canada between those titles. Gotta love that. Also, Waterfield and Van Brocklin shared the quarterbacking for the ’51 Rams. But since they’re both in Canton, I thought they should be included.

Of course, we’re dealing with a pretty small pool here. It’s hard enough, after all, to win one championship, never mind two (or more). Unitas, by the way, lost two title games between 1959 and ’70 (1964 plus the ’68 Super Bowl as a backup), just as Brady did between 2004 and ’14 (2007, ’11). So they have that in common as well.

Source: pro-football-reference.com

The one and only Johnny U, getting ready to throw a long one.

Six title games in 14 seasons

What does it mean, historically, to do what the Patriots have done in the 2000s: go to six Super Bowls in 14 seasons? How rare is a run like that?

In the free agency era (1993-), of course, no other team has come close to it. You’d have to go back to the ’70s and earlier to find clubs that had better stretches than New England’s. See for yourself:

SIX NFL TITLE GAMES IN THE SHORTEST SPAN OF YEARS

[table]

Team,Coach(es),Title Years,Total (W-L)

1950-55 Browns,Paul Brown,1950-51-52-53-54–55,6 in 6 years (3-3)

1960-67 Packers,Vince Lombardi,1960-61–62–65–66–67,6 in 8 years (5-1)

1956-63 Giants,Jim Lee Howell\, Allie Sherman,1956-58-59-61-62-63,6 in 8 years (1-5)

1933-41 Giants,Steve Owen,1933-34-35-38-39-41,6 in 9 years (2-4)

1936-45 Redskins,Ray Flaherty\, 2 others,1936-37-40-42-43-45,6 in 10 years (2-4)

1937-46 Bears,George Halas\, 2 others,1937-40–41-42-43–46,6 in 10 years (4-2)

1932-41 Bears,Ralph Jones\, George Halas,1932–33-34-37-40–41,6 in 10 years (4-2)

1929-39 Packers,Curly Lambeau,1929–30–31–36-38-39,6 in 11 years (5-1)

1966-77 Cowboys,Tom Landry,1966-67-70-71-75-77,6 in 12 years (2-4)

2001-14 Patriots,Bill Belichick,2001–03–04-07-11-14,6 in 14 years (3-2)

[/table]

(Note: Championship seasons are boldfaced. Also, the Packers’ 1929, ’30 and ’31 titles were based on their regular-season record. The first championship game wasn’t played until ’32.)

As you can see, the two Bears entries from the ’30s and ’40s overlap. If you combine them, Chicago went to nine title games in 15 years (1932-46). It’s the same with the two Giants entries from that period. Combine them, and the Giants played in eight championship games in 14 years.

As for the Cowboys, they didn’t go to the Super Bowl in 1966 and ’67, but they did reach the NFL championship game both seasons. That’s why I included them – because they the second-best team in pro football (with all due respect to the ’66 Chiefs and ’67 Raiders, champions of the AFL).*

At any rate, the Patriots’ accomplishment is quite a feat given the limitations of the salary cap and the comings and goings of players. Their closest competitors in recent decades are the 1986-98 Broncos (five Super Bowls in 13 years) and the 1981-94 49ers (five in 14 years).

*The 1967-78 Cowboys also went to six title games in 12 seasons.

Source: pro-football-reference.com

Bears coach George Halas after winning the 1940 title over the Redskins by the slim margin of 73-0.

Bears coach George Halas after winning the 1940 title game over the Redskins by the slim margin of 73-0.

PRO FOOTBALL DALY

The whole 100 yards — and sometimes the end zones, too.

Category Archives: 1940s

1944 technology

The perils of Wrigley Field

Helmetless players on parade #2

“Bullet” Bill Dudley returns

BILL DUDLEY’S 1946

Early “analytics”

Punters throwing postseason TD passes

Brady vs. Montana vs. Bradshaw vs. . . .

BRADY VS. THE GREATS (CHAMPIONSHIP GAMES ONLY)

Payback for all those 1-yard TD passes

A decade between championships

LONGEST GAP BETWEEN TITLES FOR AN NFL QUARTERBACK

Six title games in 14 seasons

SIX NFL TITLE GAMES IN THE SHORTEST SPAN OF YEARS