A 6:40 kickoff in balmy Foxborough

One of these days, you figure, the NFL’s — and television’s — casual indifference to winter weather will catch up with them. By not giving themselves the flexibility to flip-flip the conference championship games — so that Sunday’s tilt in New England doesn’t kick off at 6:40 p.m. — they’ll get hit with the blizzard or ice storm they’ve been risking for years.

Or maybe that’s just a fantasy of mine. Maybe thermal wear is of such high quality now (read: NASA-level) that games can be played — and played well — in any conditions. If so, bully for pro football . . . and especially its TV ratings.

You wouldn’t want another situation, though, like you had after the Ice Bowl in 1967. So much nostalgia has grown up around that game between Vince Lombardi’s Packers and Tom Landry’s Cowboys that we tend to forget some of the comments that were made afterward. Those 60 frigid minutes might have been the definitive test of manhood, but they were far from the definitive test of football. And if you’re trying to determine your league champion, your Best Team, that’s a problem.

“It seems like I might be making excuses,” Dallas quarterback Don Meredith said, “but I just don’t think you can say this is a fair test of football or a football team in weather like this. It takes away all your diversification. We had a couple of things go wrong on us because we couldn’t use that quickness that we have.”

Cowboys president Tex Schramm could only shake his head. “When I saw the four bowl games [the next day],” he said, “which were truly beautiful and great tests of the relative strengths of the teams involved, it was sickening to me that the greatest game of all couldn’t have been played under the same circumstances.”

Later that week, Red Smith, following up on his original Ice Bowl column, wrote, “The Great North is no place to play outdoor games at this season and no place to watch ’em. . . . When the footing is treacherous and hands numb, the wide game is virtually eliminated, speed is neutralized, the passing attack is handicapped and every punt is fraught with suspense. . . . Except for the heroics at the end, it was a stinker.”

(Note: Red Smith, Green Bay born and bred, just called the Ice Bowl “a stinker”!)

More Red: “Human suffering aside, championships should be decided under championship conditions. Not even [commissioner] Pete Rozelle can command the seasons to turn backward, but he can insist that title contests be played where chances are best for playable conditions.”

Sure enough, Rozelle talked about that in the days that followed, told the Dallas Times Herald he’d been in favor of neutral-site championship games in warm climates “for several years.” He just hadn’t been able to gather the necessary 13 votes (out of 16 franchises). Too many owners were wedded to the old way of doing things, with one team having the home-field advantage and the game being accessible to the home team’s fans.

“I’ll work to get it moved,” Rozelle told the Times Herald. “Under the conditions it was played last Sunday, the game is unfair to both teams.”

Browns owner Art Modell, meanwhile, assured the newspaper the matter would “be discussed in no uncertain terms at our February meeting. I personally believe it should be moved to a neutral, warm-weather spot. It was zero today in Cleveland. I wouldn’t like to have the game [in] Cleveland at 5 degrees or 5 below.”

Modell said he planned to push for the next two NFL championship games to played in one of the league’s southern cities as “a two-year test.” But not enough owners could be swayed. The 1968 title game wound up in Cleveland (wind chill: 13 degrees) and the ’69 game in Bloomington, Minn. (wind chill: minus 6).

All this has been lost in the historical glow of the Ice Bowl. And here we are, decades later, awaiting a Jan. 18 game, with a 6:40 p.m. kickoff, in Foxborough, Mass. (Date of the Ice Bowl: Dec. 31.) You just hope the weather cooperates — there’s a chance of snow — and the Colts and Patriots can give us a reasonable facsimile of pro football. But if they can’t, and the conditions turn out to be better earlier in the day, well, you’ll know who to blame.

There’s a chance of snow Sunday in New England, just like there was in the Tuck Rule Game in the 2001 playoffs.

The Packers’ daunting odds

The defending NFL champions host the conference title game Sunday with a chance to go back to the Super Bowl. Which makes you wonder: Have the champs ever lost in this situation?

Answer: Once in 48 years.

It’s something for Wisconsinites to think about as the Packers head to Seattle for the NFC championship game. Yes, the Seahawks won it all last year, and yes, they have the home-field advantage. But a Green Bay victory wouldn’t be unprecedented — just almost.

Here are the nine previous times we’ve had this kind of matchup. Obviously, it isn’t easy to get the stars to align properly; that’s why it’s happened so seldom. You have to win the Super Bowl, of course, which is hard enough, but then you have to come back the next year and post the best record in your conference (except in one instance). In other words: no Super Bowl Hangover.

That’s why the teams on the following list are so recognizable. They were pretty special.

DEFENDING CHAMPIONS WHO HOSTED THE CONFERENCE TITLE GAME

Year	Team (W-L)	Conference Title Game	Super Bowl
1998	Broncos (14-2)	Beat Jets, 23-10	Beat Falcons, 34-19
1993	Cowboys (12-4)	Beat 49ers, 38-21	Beat Bills, 30-13
1990	49ers (14-2)	Lost to Giants, 15-13	DNA
1989	49ers (14-2)	Beat Rams, 30-3	Beat Broncos, 55-10
1982	Redskins (14-2)	Beat 49ers, 24-21	Lost to Raiders, 38-9
1978	Steelers (14-2)	Beat Oilers, 34-5	Beat Cowboys, 35-31
1975	Steelers (12-2)	Beat Raiders, 16-10	Beat Cowboys, 21-17
1973	Dolphins (12-2)	Beat Raiders, 27-10	Beat Vikings, 24-7
1967	Packers (9-4-1)	Beat Cowboys, 21-17	Beat Raiders, 33-14

(The 1967 Packers-Cowboys game — the celebrated Ice Bowl — was actually the NFL title game, the winner of which advanced to the Super Bowl against the AFL champ.)

As you can see, only the 1990 49ers failed to win — and they were going for a three-peat, so maybe we can cut them a little slack. In fact, seven of the other eight went on to take the Super Bowl, which bodes well for the Seahawks as they try to go back-to-back.

But again, you can’t rule out the Packers, historically speaking, because of this:

Here’s the longer version if you want to get the full flavor of the moment:

The moral: Difficult, but not impossible.

Postscript: Did you catch, by the way, that Lawrence Taylor was on the Giants’ field goal protection unit? Gotta love it.

Final Four quarterbacks

The NFL didn’t even have a Final Four until 1967, when it split the conferences into two divisions and added an extra playoff round. Before that, there was only a Final Two — the championship game. So when we talk about Final Four quarterbacks, we’re talking only about the Super Bowl era (which began in ’66).

In those 49 seasons, no QB has been to the Final Four more often than the Patriots’ Tom Brady, who’ll play in his ninth AFC title game Sunday against the Colts. In fact, Brady has gotten to the

Tom Brady

Final Four as many times as Hall of Famers Dan Marino, Bob Griese and Fran Tarkenton (3 each) combined.

It’s been an incredible run for him and the Patriots, especially since there’s free agency now, which is supposed to make it harder to sustain success. Terry Bradshaw, Roger Staubach and Ken Stabler never had to worry about losing a key offensive player to another team. Brady, on the other hand, has seen receivers Deion Branch (Seahawks) and Wes Welker (Broncos) and linemen Damien Woody (Lions) and Logan Mankins (Bucs) either take the money and run or get traded for salary cap reasons. Yet here he is again, going for another AFC championship.

Granted, it’s easier to make the Final Four these days with so many more playoff spots available (12 instead of the original eight). If you can just sneak in as a sixth seed, you’ve got a shot. But that doesn’t really apply to Brady and the Pats. Every time they’ve qualified for the postseason, they’ve done it as the division champs.

Anyway, here’s the company Brady keeps:

QUARTERBACKS WHO REACHED THE MOST FINAL FOURS, 1966-2014

Quarterback, Team(s)	Seasons	W-L	Total
Tom Brady, Patriots	2001, ’03, ’04*, ’06, ’07, ’11, ’12, ’13, ’14	5-3	9
Joe Montana, 49ers (6)/Chiefs (1)	1981, ’83, ’84, ’88, ’89, ’90, ’93	4-3	7
John Elway, Broncos	1986, ’87, ’89, ’91, ’97, ’98	5-1	6
Terry Bradshaw, Steelers	1972, ’74, ’75, ’76, ’78, ’79	4-2	6
Roger Staubach, Cowboys	1971, ’72, ’73, ’75, ’77, ’78	4-2	6
Brett Favre, Packers (4)/Vikings (1)	1995, ’96*, ’97, ’07, ’09	2-3	5
Donovan McNabb, Eagles	2001, ’02, ’03, ’04, ’08	1-4	5
Jim Kelly, Bills	1988, ’90, ’91, ’92, ’93	4-1	5
Ken Stabler, Raiders	1973, ’74, ’75, ’76*, ’77	1-4	5
Peyton Manning, Colts (3)/Broncos (1)	2003, ’06*, ’09, ’13	3-1	4
Ben Roethlisberger, Steelers	2004, ’05, ’08, ’10	3-1	4
Steve Young, 49ers	1992, ’93, ’94*, ’97	1-3	4
Troy Aikman, Cowboys	1992, ’93, ’94, ’95*	3-1	4
Daryle Lamonica, Raiders	1967, ’68, ’69, ’70	1-3	4

*Won Super Bowl.

Some other fun facts:

● Stabler played in the most consecutive Final Fours — five. This will be Brady’s fourth in a row, tying him with McNabb, Aikman, Kelly and Lamonica. Kelly played in five in six seasons;

Ken Stabler

Bradshaw and Staubach played in six in eight seasons.

● Brady’s nine Final Fours have come in a 14-year span (2001-14). That puts him second only to Favre, who played in five in a 15-year stretch (1995-2009).

● Griese (Dolphins) and Kurt Warner (Rams/Cardinals) were 3-0 in conference title games. Jim Plunkett (Raiders) and Len Dawson (Chiefs) were 2-0. (Dawson’s games, like most of Lamonica’s, were AFL championship games.) Elway was 5-1, Kelly 4-1.

● Aikman and Young faced each other in three straight Final Fours in the ’90s (1992-94). Troy won the first two games, Steve the last. Bradshaw and Stabler did the same in the ’70s (1974-76) — with the same result. Terry won the first two, Snake the finale. Finally, Elway and Bernie Kosar (Browns) squared off three times in four seasons in the ’80s (1986-87, ’89), with John taking all three games.

Footnote: As impressive as Bill Belichick’s Patriots have been in the 2000s, their nine conference title games in 14 seasons don’t quite measure up the 14 in 17 seasons by Tom Landry’s Cowboys (1966-82) or the nine in 11 seasons by Al Davis’ Raiders (1967-77). Of course, the Pats might not be through. Brady certainly doesn’t look like a quarterback who’s losing his edge, even if he is 37.

The last of Joe Montana’s seven Final Fours was with the ’93 Chiefs.

The NFL’s all-time worst rules

Now it’s the Process Rule that has NFL fans in Mob Mode. Not so long ago it was the Tuck Rule, which was burned at the stake — before a cheering crowd — in 2013.

I won’t attempt to explain the Process Rule, or the league’s rationale for it, because, well, who can understand it? It’s what you’d get if Jibberish had a one-night stand with Claptrap. (I considered Mumbo Jumbo as the second partner, but I thought it would be funnier if “clap” were part of the equation.)

Naturally, the NFL says it correctly enforced this misbegotten rule on the pass to Dez Bryant late in the Packers-Cowboys game. I say: Whatever floats your boat, Roger. I also say — in a futile attempt to calm the masses — there have been far, far worse rules in pro football than the Process Rule (or even the Tuck Rule, which Mike Shanahan called “the worst rule in the history of the game”).

The NFL, after all, has had some real doozies over the decades, especially in the early years. Here, for your entertainment, are 5 Rules That Were Even More Ridiculous Than The Process Rule (for my money, at least):

● If a pass into the end zone — on any down — falls incomplete, it’s a touchback.

There would have been a lot more pressure on Santonio Holmes in the '20s.

If this pass had been incomplete in the ’20s . . .

In the ’20s, before pro football’s founding fathers opened up the game, there were a number of rules that discriminated against passing. This was probably the most egregious. Imagine if Santonio Holmes had dropped that second-and-6 throw in the back-right corner in the last minute of Super Bowl 43. Under the old rule, the Steelers would have lost possession and the Cardinals would have walked away with the Lombardi Trophy.

● The ball carrier can get up after being after being knocked to the ground and try to gain additional yardage as long as his forward progress hasn’t been stopped.

The he-man NFL was trying to distinguish itself from the colleges with this rule, and occasionally a ball carrier would pick himself up and scramble for more yards. But the rule also fostered late hitting, piling on and other forms of carnage. The league finally got rid of it after the Bears brutalized Hugh McElhenny, the 49ers’ Hall of Fame running back, in 1954 and caused him to miss the second half of the season.

● The defense can hit the quarterback until the play is over, even if he’s gotten rid of the ball.

It wasn’t until 1938 that there was a roughing-the-passer penalty. Sammy Baugh: “Coaches told their players, ‘When the passer throws the ball, you put his ass on the ground.’ If you have to

One of the 1938 rule changes.

chase him for 20 yards, put him on the ground.’ Hell, they’d chase me back 25 yards or so. I’d complete a short pass, and the receiver would be running all the way downfield, 75 yards away from me, and I’d still be fighting [defenders] off. It looked so damn silly.”

● If the ball carrier runs out of bounds — or is deposited there by the defense — the ball will be spotted one yard from the sideline.

Before hashmarks were added in 1933, the ball was spotted where the previous play ended. Needless to say, this could put the offense in a real bind. It usually had to waste a down to move the ball back to the middle of the field so it would have more room to operate.

● A player who leaves the game can’t come back in until the next quarter.

Welcome to single-platoon football. During the war years, though, when manpower was scarce, the NFL began to experiment with unlimited substitution. The league permanently adopted it in 1949, paving the way for the highly specialized game we enjoy today.

● Dishonorable mention: A team taking an intentional safety retains possession of the ball.

Talk about a lousy rule. In 1925 the Giants were leading the Providence Steam Roller 13-10 with time running out when they decided to hand Providence two points rather than punt from their end zone. Who can blame them? According to the rule in those days, they didn’t have to free kick from the 20-yard line and sweat out the final seconds. Instead, they were given a new set of downs at their 30. They proceeded to run three more plays, kill the clock and lock up a 13-12 win.

I could go on, but you get the idea. As Jim Mora (the Elder) would put it: Process Rule? You kiddin’ me? Process Rule? There have been much more terrible rules than that.

This pass to the Cowboys’ Dez Bryant was ruled incomplete because . . . oh, forget it.

Belichick-Harbaugh and other coaching rivalries

Saturday’s summit conference between Bill Belichick and John Harbaugh might have been the best of their eight. The top-seeded Patriots twice trailed by two touchdowns and didn’t lead until Tom Brady threw the 23-yard game-winner to Brandon LaFell with 5:13 left.

There was even some intrigue. Harbaugh howled about the Three-card Monte game the Patriots played in the second half, using only four offensive linemen on several plays and confusing the Ravens about which receivers were eligible. His cries of “deception” and “illegal” — the league cleared the Pats of any wrongdoing — will only add more intensity to the next New England-Baltimore get-together (not that it needs any).

The Belichick-Harbaugh rivalry has become one of the NFL’s jewels (and somewhat surprising since they aren’t in the same division). Belichick holds a 5-3 edge, but they’re even in the postseason — Patriots 2, Ravens 2 — and let’s not forget, six of the games have been in Foxborough.

This gets me thinking about other great coaching rivalries over the years — Hall of Famer vs. Hall of Famer matchups (though Harbaugh still has some work to do in that area). Here are some of the more notable ones, listed by the number of occasions the coaches squared off:

● George Halas (Bears) vs. Curly Lambeau (Packers/Cardinals/Redskins), 1921-53.

Edge: Halas, 31-17-3.

George Halas, hunkering down.

Comment: The only time they met in the postseason was in a 1941 playoff to decide the Western Division title. (They’d finished tied with 10-1 records.) The Bears won, 33-14. Rivalries don’t get any more bitter than this one. During its span, Lambeau won six NFL championships and Halas five. In other words, they were always getting in each other’s way.

● Hank Stram (Chiefs) vs. Sid Gillman (Chargers/Oilers), 1960-74.

Edge: Stram, 13-10-1.

Comment: Both coaches had terrific duels with the Raiders’ Al Davis, too, but Stram-Gillman was longer lasting. Sid won seven of the first nine (while guiding the Chargers to five of the first six AFL title games); Hank took 11 of the last 15 (and won championships in 1962, ’66 and ’69).

● Don Shula (Dolphins) vs. Marv Levy (Chiefs/Bills), 1978-95.

Edge: Levy, 17-7 (3-0 in playoffs).

● Comment: Though Shula had Dan Marino at quarterback, Levy’s Bills clubs were better balanced and dominated the series, going to four straight Super Bowls from 1990 to ’93. None of their three postseason games was very close. Buffalo cruised 37-22, 44-34 and 29-10

● Joe Gibbs (Redskins) vs. Bill Parcells (Giants/Cowboys), 1983-2006.

Edge: Parcells, 14-9 (1-0 in playoffs).

Comment: No defense gave Gibbs’ two-tight-end attack more trouble than Parcells’ (starring Hall of Fame linebackers Lawrence Taylor and Harry Carson). The big thing was, Tuna won most of the close ones. His Giants were 6-2 vs. the Redskins in games decided by a touchdown or less.

● Steve Owen (Giants) vs. Greasy Neale (Eagles), 1941-50.

Edge: Neale: 10-9-1.

Comment: Neale’s Eagles replaced Ray Flaherty’s Redskins as Owen’s primary competition in the latter ’40s. Stout Steve had the upper hand early in the rivalry, but by the end of the decade Greasy was reeling off six straight victories and winning back-to-back NFL titles.

● Vince Lombardi (Packers) vs. George Halas (Bears), 1959-67.

Edge: Lombardi, 13-5.

“What the hell’s goin’ on out here?”

Comment: Lombardi made his NFL debut against Halas’ Bears — and beat them 9-6. The rest of their games went pretty much the same way. But in between Vince’s five championships, Chicago did win one last title for Papa Bear — his sixth as a coach — in 1963, when he was 68.

● Tom Landry (Cowboys) vs. George Allen (Rams/Redskins), 1966-77.

Edge: Allen, 9-8 (1-0 in playoffs).

Comment: What can you say? George was a fabulous regular-season coach — and by turning Dallas Week into such an obsession, he made the Redskins-Cowboys rivalry. His postseason win over Landry came in the 1972 NFC championship game, when Washington romped 26-3. Still, Dallas went to four Super Bowls in this period (1970, ’71, ’75 ,’77) and won two of them.

● Paul Brown (Browns) vs. Buddy Parker (Lions/Steelers), 1951-62.

Edge: Brown, 9-8. (Parker had a 2-1 advantage in the playoffs.)

Comment: I fudged a bit on this one because Parker isn’t in the Hall (though he belongs). Theirs was the premier rivalry of the ’50s, with Buddy’s Lions winning two of three title games against Paul’s Browns from 1952 to ’54. After Parker moved to the Steelers in 1957, Brown had more success against him, going 8-4.

● Steve Owen (Giants) vs. Ray Flaherty (Redskins), 1936-42.

Edge: Owen, 8-5-1.

Comment: Every year their teams battled it out for Eastern Division supremacy. What made it even more interesting was that Flaherty had played and coached under Owen. The Redskins won four of the seven division crowns in this stretch but, as you can see, The Master defeated The Pupil more often than not.

● Chuck Noll (Steelers) vs. Don Shula (Colts/Dolphins), 1969-91.

Edge: Shula, 9-5 (2-1 in playoffs).

Don Shula and Dan Marino confer.

Comment: Shula’s Dolphins edged Noll’s Steelers in the 1972 AFC championship game, the next-to-last step in their perfect season. That was easily the most memorable meeting of these two legends. When they crossed paths again in the ’84 conference title game, the crunching defense of the ’70s had been replaced by high-scoring passing attacks led by the likes of Marino (who threw for 421 yards and four touchdowns in Miami’s 45-28 victory over Pittsburgh).

● Bill Belichick (Browns/Patriots) vs. Bill Cowher (Steelers), 1992-2006.

Edge: Cowher, 8-6. (Belichick had a 2-0 advantage in the playoffs.)

Comment: Unlike Parker, Cowher probably isn’t Canton material (barring a comeback), but I’m including him because, well, 14 games is no small number. The breakdown goes like this: He was 7-2 vs. Belichick/Cleveland and 1-4 vs. Belichick/New England. The two playoff losses were particularly painful, coming as they did in Pittsburgh in the AFC championship game.

SOME OTHER HALL OF FAME COACHING RIVALRIES

Span	Coaches (Teams)	Overall	Playoffs
1960-69	Vince Lombardi (Packers/Redskins) vs. Tom Landry (Cowboys)	Lombardi, 5-2	Lombardi, 2-0
1963-69	Vince Lombardi (Packers/Redskins) vs. Don Shula (Colts)	Lombardi, 7-4	Lombardi,1-0
1959-62	Vince Lombardi (Packers) vs. Weeb Ewbank (Colts)	Tied, 4-4	None
1967-85	Tom Landry (Cowboys) vs. Bud Grant (Vikings)	Landry, 7-5	Landry, 3-1
1969-88	Tom Landry (Cowboys) vs. Chuck Noll (Steelers)	Noll, 6-3	Noll, 2-0
1969-78	Chuck Noll (Steelers) vs. John Madden (Raiders)	Madden, 6-5	Noll, 3-2
1970-75	Chuck Noll (Steelers) vs. Paul Brown (Bengals)	Noll, 8-4	None
1969-85	Chuck Noll (Steelers) vs. Bud Grant (Vikings)	Tie, 3-3	Noll, 1-0
1970-78	Don Shula (Dolphins) vs. John Madden (Raiders)	Madden, 4-3	Madden, 2-1
1983-88	Bill Walsh (49ers) vs. Bill Parcells (Giants)	Walsh, 4-3	Parcells, 2-1
1981-88	Bill Walsh (49ers) vs. Joe Gibbs (Redskins)	Walsh, 4-2	Gibbs, 1-0

What’s interesting is that only one of these pairings (Noll-Madden, 5) featured more postseason meetings than Belichick-Harbaugh (4). The big question is: How much longer will Bill, who’s almost 63, keep coaching? If he stays at it another, say, five years, the Belichick-Harbaugh rivalry might go down as one of the all-timers.

Source: pro-football-reference.com

John Harbaugh and Bill Belichick: a warm embrace after a cold AFC title game in January 2012.

Eyewitnesses to the Ice Bowl

The Ice Bowl is so much bigger now, in memory, than it was in real time. Oh, it got plenty of coverage from TV and print, but it was still, let’s not forget, 1967. Pro football had yet to overtake baseball as America’s No. 1 sport — according to the Gallup people, at least — and other events that holiday week, such as the next day’s New Year’s bowl games, also got their share of attention.

Consider: Arthur Daley, The New York Times’ Pulitzer Prize winner, didn’t make the trip to Green Bay. Instead, he wrote about the Packers-Cowboys classic back in the newsroom (or wherever he did his typing) – for the Jan. 2 edition. Jim Murray of the Los Angeles Times was a no-show, too. He was busy gearing up for the Rose Bowl between O.J. Simpson’s USC Trojans and the Indiana Hoosiers. It was that way with a lot of newspapers. They might have sent their NFL guy to Wisconsin but not necessarily a columnist.

Another such paper was The Boston Globe, but at least it had a decent excuse: Boston was an AFL town, home of the Patriots. For a pinch-hit voice, the Globe picked up Red Smith’s syndicated column, but get this: It chopped off the last six paragraphs – for “space” reasons, presumably.

Imagine having a Mount Rushmore writer like Smith covering the game for you, a guy who grew up in Green Bay, for goodness sakes, and cutting the bottom third of his column. Not exactly one of your Great Moments in Sportswriting History. (Fortunately, the Globe recovered nicely in the decades that followed.)

A writer or two did make it to the Great White North, though – some, possibly, by dogsled or snowmobile – and it’s their deathless prose that follows. Who cares if Murray tossed off some funny lines later (e.g. “The theory could be advanced that neither team had the advantage because it was cold for the Packers, too. That’s like saying that the shark had no advantage over the swimmer because both were in water.”)? He wasn’t there.

In fact, let’s see if I can put together a composite piece that tells the story of the game from multiple points of view. We’ll start with the hometown boy, Walter Wellesley Smith:

GREEN BAY – On the eve of the game, Henry Jordan and his bride called on the Jerry Kramers.

“Nervous?” said the [Packers] defensive tackle. “Naw. I just keep hollering at Olive.”

Jerry grinned toward the sofa where the wives were chatting. “I keep calling her Jethro,” he said.

If Jethro Pugh was stomping through Kramer’s dreams all last week, Pugh and his violent accomplices in the Dallas defensive line will be haunting Bart Starr for weeks to come, but Bart will be having his nightmares under a Miami moon. Starr bought the Packers tickets to the site of the Jan. 14 Stupor Bowl Sunday with a one-yard plunge that snatched the championship of the National Football League from the Cowboys’ frozen fingers just 13 seconds before the end of the 35^th annual title game.

Shirley Povich, Washington Post:

The Cowboys won the toss and there was some hope they would elect to call the whole thing off, but they didn’t and pretty soon the Packers had a touchdown and a 7-0 lead. They were favored with three penalties against the Cowboys on the drive and from the Dallas 8, Bart Starr taught the Cowboys a simple lesson in metrics. He sent 6-foot-5 Boyd Dowler into the territory of 5-11 defender Mike Johnson and pitched to Dowler in the end zone.

The sheer audacity of Starr got the Packers another touchdown in the second quarter. First thing, it was third and 1 on the Dallas 43 and not a passing down. Certainly not a long-bomb situation.

How bodacious can a quarterback get? Starr put a long-stemmed beauty up in the air and if it came down before it congealed up there the Packers would have a touchdown, because Dowler had five yards on Mel Renfro. The re-entry was perfect, and the Packers had a 14-0 lead. This was making a terrible prophet out of Clint Murchison, the billionaire owner of the Cowboys who was saying before the contest, “It is too cold for the Green Bay passing game, and we will win with our running.” As a football sage he was proving only to be a genius of finance. His own man, Don Meredith, was passing badly and it was apparent that only on the Dallas side of the field was the temperature below zero.

Sam Blair, Dallas Morning News:

When two penguins sauntered into the hotel drug store and bought hot water bottles, when waitresses ice-skated across the coffee shop to serve breakfast, when Admiral Byrd fetched out bags and carried them to the taxi, it really became obvious. All of us – the Cowboys, the Packers, the fans, the press – were trapped in a situation which the sports world had never experienced before. . . .

This was No Man’s weather. . . . No sporting event, with the possible exception of the Winter Olympics, ever had been contested in such brutal coldness. . . . “I have never been so numb or hurt so much from hitting,” [Green Bay linebacker Lee Roy] Caffey shuddered. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to try to catch a ball out there. I might have gotten broken fingers.”

Tex Schramm, Sports Illustrated:

[The Cowboys] got one touchdown back later in the second quarter when the very quick Dallas line, which punished Starr most of the afternoon – he was dumped eight times while attempting to pass – threw him for a 19-yard loss. End Willie Townes hit Starr and forced a fumble; the other end, George Andrie, picked up the ball and scored with it.

“It wasn’t the offensive line breaking down,” Starr said after the game. “They did well enough. But the receivers couldn’t make their cuts on the icy field, and I couldn’t find anyone to throw to. So I was holding the ball too long, and they got to me.”

A little later, the usually sure-handed Willie Wood dropped a punt on the Green Bay 17 and Phil Clark recovered for Dallas. Danny Villanueva kicked a 21-yard field goal just before the half, and the Cowboys, who had been unable to gain more than three first downs in the first half, nonetheless left the field trailing only 14-10.

Bob St. John, Dallas Morning News:

This loss to the Packers hurt even more than last year’s when the Cowboys fell 34-27. Then, Dallas came within two yards of tying the game. This time they came within a hair of winning . . . due to Ol’ Reliable, the Danny Reeves to Lance Rentzel halfback pass.

The Cowboys, trailing 14-10, stood at midfield on the first play of the final period. Both Packer[s] right cornerback Bob Jeter and free safety Willie Wood are all-pro, which speaks for itself. But each one is extremely active coming up to play the run. Wood, in fact, though he is a safety, often comes up to force the play. Willie came up when Reeves started wide to his left. So did Jeter, who should have stayed on Rentzel. Lance took off. Reeves stopped and lofted a perfect pass, of course, which Rentzel ran under between the 15-20 and outraced the other safety, Tom Brown, for the TD.

Lloyd Larsen, Milwaukee Sentinel:

Many may insist that the Packers were lucky to pull this one out of the sub-zero atmosphere. But that would be unfair to a group of men who played like champions when only championship performance would suffice.

I’m thinking, of course, of that final 68-yard drive, on which Starr, Chuck Mercein, Donny Anderson, Boyd Dowler and their teammates on the offensive unit collaborated under pressure as pressure is seldom experienced by athletes.

They had less than five minutes to do the job. And they just made it by the skin of their teeth. That pay-off touchdown “pop” by Starr was a just reward for a great guy whose fumble had put the Cowboys on the scoreboard for the first time. That bobble was the one everybody would have remembered. But it’s different now. And that, I maintain, is a triumph for justice.

Alan Goldstein, Baltimore Sun:

The Packers give you the impression that they will find a way to win no matter how impossible the odds. But even such a hard-seasoned veteran as [Jerry] Kramer admitted that a few doubts entered his mind with the Cowboys leading, 17-14, late in the fourth period.

“We got the ball with about five minutes left,” the rugged offensive guard recalled, “and I was thinking: Well, maybe this is the year we don’t pull it off, that it will all end here. But I know every guy made up his mind that we were going to go down swinging.

“Well, when we finally got down to the 1-yard line and missed on our first two tries, Bart took a little more time than usual in the huddle explaining what he wanted to do. [That is, sneak it in himself.] And the last thing he told us was, ‘And we darn well better make it.’ “

They did. And 47 years later we’re still talking about it.

Birth of The Frozen Tundra

Before there was The Frozen Tundra of Lambeau Field, there was “the frozen tundra” of Yankee Stadium . . . and “the frozen tundra at Wrigley Field.” Surprised? So was I.

When I started my research, I was merely trying to determine when people began referring to Lambeau as The Frozen Tundra. After all, the Cowboys are in Green Bay to reprise their Ice Bowl of 47 years ago, and I’d always heard the term had come from that famous frigid day.

Sure enough, a 2010 story in the Los Angeles Times reported: “It was coined by Steve Sabol, now president of NFL Films, and he used it in his script for the [highlight film of the] ‘Ice Bowl,’ the 1967 NFL championship game between the Packers and Dallas Cowboys.”

Sounds plausible enough. Steve was a much-underrated wordsmith (and as an added bonus, played football at the same school – Colorado College – as Lions great Dutch Clark).

There’s only one problem. In his column about the game, Arthur Daley of The New York Times typed these words:

Thus did the Packers win, 21-17, and whisk themselves from the frozen tundra of Green Bay to their destined date with the Oakland Raiders in the Super Bowl at more salubrious Miami a fortnight hence.

So maybe Sabol got the idea from reading Daley’s nationally syndicated column.

Except. After doing some more digging, I discovered the term was already in circulation. A few days before the game, Chuck Ward of the Wellsville Daily Reporter in New York wrote:

Somehow the game loses meaning when you talk about it being worth $30,000 or so to each and every player. But that’s about the amount of booty the Green Bay Packers and the Dallas Cowboys will be butting heads for Sunday afternoon on the frozen tundra of Green Bay’s Lambeau Field.

But Ward wasn’t the first, either. In 1965, in his follow-up to the Western Conference playoff between the Packers and Colts, Jerry Izenberg of the Newark Star-Ledger described the winning drive thusly:

So here was Green Bay, driving through the gloom of the frozen tundra toward the Baltimore goal. With second and 10 on the Baltimore 25, Elijah Pitts, replacing the wounded [Paul] Hornung, clawed forward for four yards, putting the ball squarely in front of the goal posts.

That’s the earliest instance I’ve found of Lambeau Field being called The Frozen Tundra — late December 1965, two years before the Ice Bowl. But there are iced-over fields, obviously, in places other than Green Bay. Which raised the question: Had any of them ever been referred to as “the frozen tundra”?

As it turns out, yeah. Here’s Jack Hand of The Associated Press advancing the 1963 title game (Giants vs. Bears):

It is reasonable to assume that there will be a little violence on the frozen tundra at Wrigley Field, just as there was last December when the Green Bay Packers and the Giants met in the Yankee Stadium ice box.

Finally — speaking, as Hand was, of that “Yankee Stadium ice box” — here’s Cameron Snyder of the Baltimore Sun covering the Giants-Packers championship game a year earlier:

It wasn’t a day fittin’ for offenses and both the Packers and Giants failed to demonstrate any consistency in their attacks. The wind gusts played havoc with the passes and the frozen tundra spilled ball carriers and tacklers indiscriminately.

I’m not suggesting my research in any way settles the issue. I’m just saying that, in a few short hours, I turned up Frozen Tundras going back to 1962, five years before Sabol supposedly “coined” it.

I even came across a “frozen tundras” in a 1931 story about an upcoming Army-Notre Dame game at Yankee Stadium. This is from the Brooklyn Eagle:

When Army and Notre Dame have weather, they have nothing else but. Remember the zero gale that swept the field two years ago when Jack Elder intercepted the pass to win for Notre Dame on a run of 98 yards, with two teams slipping and slithering over frozen tundras of the big Bronx ball park?

The Frozen Tundra of Wrigley Field. The Frozen Tundra of Yankee Stadium. I still like The Frozen Tundra of Lambeau Field the best. Especially when John Facenda, NFL Films’ Voice of God, says it.

Arthur Daley in the Jan. 2, 1968, New York Times

From the Dec. 27, 1967, Wellsville (N.Y.) Daily Reporter

Jerry Izenberg in the Dec. 29, 1965, Syracuse Post-Standard

Jack Hand of The Associated Press, Dec. 24, 1963

Cameron Snyder in the Dec. 31, 1962, Baltimore Sun

George Currie in the Nov. 28, 1931, Brooklyn Eagle

One way to keep your players warm

The game time forecast for Foxborough on Saturday is a balmy 17 degrees with a 7 mph wind. In Green Bay the next day, we’re looking at snow, 5 degrees and an 18 mph wind. But the games will go on, of course, because the games always go on, barring a natural disaster or some national tragedy. If football is a test of manhood, then football in January — in the northern climes, at least — is the ultimate Final Jeopardy.

While the Patriots, Ravens, Packers and Cowboys are busy stocking up on thermal wear, let me tell you about the time an NFL coach dealt with frigid weather in a most unusual way: by keeping his subs in the heated locker room instead of having them freeze their butts off on the sideline.

Actually, it wasn’t just any old NFL coach. It was Green Bay Hall of Famer Curly Lambeau. That’s right, the franchise that gave us the Ice Bowl also gave us — what should we call this, the Empty Bench Play?

The date was Dec. 6, 1942, a day shy of the first anniversary of Pearl Harbor. The site was State Fair Park in Milwaukee, where the Packers played some of their home games in those days. Jack Sell of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette described the setting thusly:

“Only 5,183 fans braved sub-freezing temperatures to witness what was probably the final league game of pro football for the duration. Snow was swept from the grid in midweek but was piled high near the sidelines and often ball carriers were tossed into it. Most of the players wore basketball shoes.”

At kickoff, the temperature was around 10 degrees, and Lambeau, always looking for an edge, decided if his players weren’t on the field, moving around, they were better off indoors. So he stationed backfield coach Eddie Kotal in the dressing room and communicated with him by phone. Whenever Curly needed a replacement he’d call Kotal, and Eddie would send one running out — with feeling in all four of his extremities. That was better that you could say for the Steelers reserves, who huddled under blankets to try to keep warm.

“The move occasioned a lot of surprise on the part of the fans, who couldn’t figure out, at the start of the game, where the substitutes were,” Don Hickok of the Green Bay Press-Gazette reported. You have to understand, though: The Packers had never played a home game in December before — and wouldn’t play another for almost a decade. Back then, they scheduled their Green Bay/Milwaukee games for the first part of the season, when the weather was more conducive to drawing a decent crowd, and spent the latter part of the season on the road. In 1929, the year they won their first title, they played their first five at home and their last eight away.

Toward the end of the game, won by the Packers, 24-21, Hickok left the press box and went down to the Green Bay locker room to survey the scene. His account:

Kotal sat on a table with his ear against the telephone . . ., his other ear cocked toward the radio [and the play-by-play of WTMJ’s Russ Winnie]. The players were silent except when one of them missed [the] description of the play and asked what it was.

[Quarterback] Cecil Isbell came in with about three minutes to play and lifted his pant-legs to display two badly skinned knees, the result of his smashing [tackle] of [Pittsburgh’s] Bill Dudley after a pass interception down on the Packer[s] 20-yard line, which saved a touchdown. . . . The effort cost the Packer[s] pitcher several square inches of skin when he skidded along the frozen ground on his knees. So far as the effect on the players was concerned, the field might as well have been paved.

There was some concern, as Sell mentioned, that the NFL might shut down after the season because of a manpower shortage. So many able-bodied men were already in the military, and more were on the way. And, indeed, the league had to get creative to keep going in 1943. The Rams, after all, ceased operations that year and dispersed their players — on a lend-lease basis — to other clubs. The Steelers and Eagles, meanwhile, merged, creating a two-headed “Steagles” monster that finished a game out of first place in the East.

As for Curly Lambeau, he went right on thinking. In October of ’43 he coached a game against the Lions not from the sideline but from the press box — just to satisfy his curiosity. “You can see so much more here,” he said afterward. “I’m going to do it again.”

So it was in the 1940s, when pro football was being invented. Coaches would try just about anything.

Player safety in the 1960s

My Internet wanderings recently led me, as they often do, to an unexpected place: a classic 1967 photo of Chiefs cornerback Fred “The Hammer” Williamson. It shows Williamson, famous for bludgeoning receivers with a karate chop to the head, wearing a cast on his feared right forearm — “THE HAMMER” written in big block letters across it. He’d broken the arm in an exhibition game two weeks earlier against the Jets. The New York Times described the collision this way:

In the first quarter [Jets quarterback] Joe Namath completed a 15-yard pass to Don Maynard, who was covered by Fred Williamson. The talkative Williamson tackled Maynard, his right elbow crashing into Maynard’s spine near the neck. Williamson’s right arm was broken on the play. Maynard suffered a slight concussion and was sent to University Hospital [in Birmingham, Ala., where the game was played] for observation.

Williamson’s “Hammer” — “having great velocity and delivered perpendicular to the earth’s latitude,” as he liked to say — usually won these battles. The year before, he’d fractured the cheekbone of the Dolphins’ Howard Twilley. Anyway, here’s the photo of Fred’s arm encased in plaster:

Pro football back then was still fairly cavalier about shots to the cranium. The head slap had become a popular — and legal — weapon of defensive linemen, and high hitting like Williamson’s tended to be tolerated as long as the victim wasn’t decapitated. It was a far cry from the concussion-conscious times we now live in. In the ’60s there was no such thing as “targeting” a “defenseless” player. That was just, well, football.

It wasn’t until 1962 that the NFL made it illegal to grab the ball carrier’s facemask. (Until then, he was the only one exempted from the rule — for some strange reason.) In high school and college ball, grabbing anybody’s face mask had been a personal foul since 1957.

By then, David M. Nelson writes in Anatomy of a Game, “large numbers of players were wearing face guards, and opponents were grasping them legally and putting the wearer at a disadvantage. Citing the injury possibility with grasping and holding, the Rules Committee passed the first 15-yard face mask penalty.”

That happened this very week in 58 years ago (which is why I wanted to post about it). Talk about a red-letter day in football safety. The NFL was still a ways away, though, from giving the ball carrier the same protection. When it finally did, Commissioner Pete Rozelle made some interesting comments.

“It has been against the rule to grab face masks in blocking,” he said, “but you could grab the mask of a ball carrier. But the ball carrier actually is the most defenseless of all, and this new rule could prevent possible serious injury.”

More from Rozelle: “We didn’t have any serious trouble with this in league play. Actually, most of our injuries are of the knee or leg type. However, I did see one ball carrier grabbed by his mask and thrown several yards. It scared me a little.”

As well it might.

(I love this headline that ran in a newspaper the day after the rule was passed — specifically the “for ’62” part. Did people actually think the league might change its mind about rule and repeal it?)

It took defensive players — some of them, at least — a while to adjust to the revised rule, as this 1964 photo shows. That’s Lions’ end Sam Williams trying to yank down Jim Taylor, the Packers’ Hall of Fame fullback:

Just thought, with such a (needed) emphasis on player safety these days, it was a good time to revisit Fred “The Hammer” Williamson and celebrate the 1957 passing of the face mask rule — even if it took the NFL a little longer to wise up.

The Godfather I and II of pro football

Many think the 1958 title game, the overtime thriller between the Colts and Giants, is the greatest game in NFL history. I’ve never quite bought into it. If you’re going to convince me, you need to show me something measurable, not just say, “Well, Pete Rozelle always said . . . .” Put it this way: The league had bigger attendance increases after the ’56 (11.2 percent) and ’57 (6.0) championship games than it did after the ’58 game (4.5). How is that possible – I mean, if it really is the game that had the greatest impact? (It certainly wasn’t the greatest game from an artistic standpoint. There were eight fumbles that afternoon and seven turnovers.)

For me, the Greatest Game discussion actually begins with two games: the 1966 and ’67 title games between the Packers and Cowboys (who, conveniently for this post, meet in the playoffs Sunday in Green Bay for the first time since the famed Ice Bowl). I look at those ’66 and ’67 classics as a matched set, the NFL equivalent of Godfather I and Godfather II.

Packers QB Bart Starr (15) scores for winning TD in the Ice Bowl.

Packers QB Bart Starr (15) scores the winning TD in the Ice Bowl.

For drama, you had both games ending on the goal line — the Packers denying the Cowboys in ’66 to hang on, 34-27, then punching it across in ’67 to pull out a 21-17 win. For star power, you had two Hall of Fame coaches, Green Bay’s Vince Lombardi and Dallas’ Tom Landry, plus 12 Hall of Fame players (though Packers fullback Jim Taylor played in only the first of the two games).

Beyond that, you had — in the Ice Bowl, at least — the granddaddy of all matchups: Man vs. Nature. It wasn’t just cold that day at Lambeau Field, it was inhumanly cold, with the wind chill plunging to minus 50 (depending on your source). And this, mind you, was before all the super-duper, will-keep-you-warm-on-Mars thermal wear they use now.

The games also gave you a glimpse of the more racially diverse NFL of the Future. Both rosters were well-stocked in ’67 not just with black starters (15 in all) but with black stars — defensive end Willie Davis, linebacker Dave Robinson, cornerback Herb Adderley, free safety Willie Wood and running back-return man Travis Williams for the Packers and wide receiver Bob Hayes, running back Don Perkins, cornerback Cornell Green and free safety Mel Renfro for the Cowboys. Most are in Canton. (And I’m not so sure Perkins doesn’t belong, too. He was No. 5 on the NFL’s all-time rushing list when he retired — at 30 — after the ’68 season.)

What’s criminal is that football fans can’t just sit down and watch these games — in their entirety — and judge for themselves how great they were. The league and TV networks really dropped the ball on this one. Does a tape of either game still exist? If so, I haven’t seen (or heard of) it.

Instead, we have often-shown clips of Robinson pressuring the Cowboys’ Don Meredith into a game-ending interception in ’66 (and Landry’s subsequent grimace) and Starr squeezing over from the Dallas 1 in ’67 — assorted bits and pieces that don’t come close to adding up to The Whole.

Clemenza gives Michael some cooking pointers.

Clemenza gives Michael Corleone some cooking pointers.

Imagine having to watch The Godfather like that — just a few memorable scenes rather than the whole glorious epic. (No Clemenza, for instance, showing Michael how to cook meatballs and sausages in tomato gravy.) Think it would alter the viewing experience?

Anyway, that’s my spiel on the ’66 and ’67 NFL title games, the Godfather I and Godfather II of pro football history. We may never see two better title games back to back, never mind between the same teams. (Compare them to the consecutive Super Bowl duds between the Cowboys and Bills or the mostly forgettable string of Lions-Browns championship games in the ’50s.)

It was the beginning of the Super Bowl era, and the Packers and Cowboys set the bar incredibly high. If you want to read more on the subject, here’s a link to Bob O’Donnell’s piece about Starr’s sneak, taken from our 1990 book, The Pro Football Chronicle. It’s one of the best things Bob ever did, and that’s saying a lot.

PRO FOOTBALL DALY

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