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When
Men and Mountains Meet
A
Super Bowl Diary in Five Parts
by Ron Jacobs
Part Four
(Read
"Part
1" -
"Part II"
- Part
III)
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“We got in sort of
a groove. Once you get going like that
you
gain confidence, and it carries over to the defense,
and then back to the
offense. It’s a snowball kind of thing.”
Joe Montana, Sports
Illustrated, January 28, 1986 |
Montana shifts the 49ers into overdrive. He begins to
orchestrate the most brilliant quarter of his career. After the
Dolphins use three plays to go nowhere, the Niners score quickly
on a Montana pass to Roger Craig, #33.
It’s the first of Craig’s three touchdowns for the day and the
first of three in the second quarter by San Francisco, both new
Super Bowl records. The runner’s path into the end zone was
bulldozed by the tight end. Yeah!!!
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“That was Russ
Francis that cleared it out in there, #81.
And that’s a lot of
clearing it out.”
Frank Gifford and Don Meredith, ABC-TV, Jan. 20,
1985 |
The gold helmets lead 14-10 and, for me, involuntary breathing
is once again possible. Typically, the unsung aspect of
Russell’s trade, that football skill of which he’s proudest,
offensive line play, makes its subtle mark. Another futile Miami
attempt at a drive sputters, snuffed by the 49er defense. The
crowd, sensing the savaging to come, roars its approval.
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“Montana kept us
off balance the entire game.
He’s a great, great
athlete.”
Don Shula, Miami Dolphins, January 20, 1985 |
Starting 55 yards out, after a fine McElmore punt return and two
tosses to running backs, Montana finally throws to Russ. “First
down!!!”
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“Have you ever
watched the way your neighborhood butcher slices up
meat? That’s what Montana did to the Dolphin’s
defense.”
Milt Richman, UPI,
January 20, 1985 |
We’re all cheering so loud that it’s impossible to hear one
another. Next to me a man with a two-tone Mohawk haircut and
49er suspenders hugs a screaming brunette in a fur coat, mashing
her 49er pennant. Billy Francis looks ready to levitate, as his
little brother conducts tight end lessons for the dazed
Dolphins. Everyone remembers why Howard Cossell christened Russ
“All-World.”
I focus the Safari Masters on him. Shirttail flapping, Francis
awaits the snap. Montana play-fakes brilliantly and then throws
it to a wide-open #81. “First down!!! Firstfuckingdown!!!
Alright!!!”
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“You wonder what
those Dolphin defenders were thinking
of as Francis went
underneath them. Was that a play?”
Frank Gifford and Don Meredith, ABC-TV, January 20,
1985 |
The 49ers score on their next two possessions. I relax a bit,
recognizing a laugher when I see one. Ron Hall and G.W. call the
Dolphins strange, filthy things that have yet to be invented.
The Claw waves the Mahimahi Banner at a TV cameraman going up
the aisle and I wonder what they think up there behind us in the
booth.
At halftime, Super Bowl XIX now has all the suspense of a
Yugoslavian general election.
Time to see if I can break my own single game record for Most
Yards Gained Rushing to the men’s room. One experienced glance
tells me it’s an hour wait to get into the lua.
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"Robert Randall of
San Clemente said he was forced to use steps in a
remote corner of the stadium. Others used bushes,
trash cans and sinks.”
San Francisco Examiner,
January 21, 1985
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Underneath Stanford Stadium, it resembles a blend of Hieronymus
Bosch and “Apocalypse Now.” I promised friends in L.A. that I
would call their Super Bowl party at halftime. You’d think that
for $1.5 million there’d be more than one pay phone on this side
of the stadium.
I line up behind two others waiting their turn. We all glower at
the polyester-clad, acne-splotched creep inside the booth,
trying to stare him out. He’s sweating and swearing. I wouldn’t
be surprised if he blew $10,000 on the first half and is trying
to put it on his MasterCard. I know these gambling types and
their telephone routines quite well from years of prowling the
tunnels of the L.A. Coliseum.
“Go ahead and say something!” someone shouts above the din. A
swarthy dude, looking like a recently retired linebacker,
approaches with massive violence in his eyes. I don’t know if
he’s coming at me or the man and woman in front of me. This
monster can’t move too fast, thank God, because most of our gang
of 84,059 is in this area. The “Go ahead and say something!”
gets louder as the man reaches us. It looks like he’s going to
punch the woman out. Nope, it’s the guy he’s going after. Their
noses inches apart, he grabs and starts shaking the man in front
of me. I have no idea what’s happening but the vibes are too
weird, so I start shoving my way back to my seat, with “Go ahead
and say something!” re-re-reverberating in my brain.
Aha, it wasn’t a philosopher, but a French writer, Le Bon, who
observed humans en masse.
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Crowds are somewhat
like the sphinx of ancient fable:
It is necessary to
arrive at a solution of the problems offered by
their psychology . . . or to resign ourselves to
being devoured by them.
Gustave Le Bon, The Crowd: A Study of the Popular
Mind, 1897 |
Back astride the “MacCushion.” The gridiron has been transformed
into a giant TV stage. A massive grand piano opens to reveal
kids dancing inside. Through the Safari-Masters I spy youngsters
prancing in pirate ships and oversize building blocks. It’s “The
World of Children’s Dreams,” featuring a mini circus with
tumbling clowns, even more balloons, and sparklers ringing the
field with fountains of fire. More fireworks than displayed by
the Miami offense.
There are space ships and a lunar exploration module. Every
football game needs its very own lunar exploration module at
intermission. The soundtrack segues from “Theme from 2001” to
“We Are the Champions” to an All-American chorus singing
“Everybody’s got their fantasies...” As foggy darkness settles
in on Palo Alto, the band strikes up that all-time pageant
favorite, “This is My Country.”
Dig this!
Above the field, a jet-packing rocket man circles. Looks like
he’s steering a forklift 50 stories up¾without a building. A
brightly painted “USA” reflects on his power pack. What does
this guy do when he’s not zooming around the Super Bowl? Deliver
pizzas to cruise boats? Crop dust houseplants?
KCBS, the 49er radio station, is everywhere, like “Quadraphonic”
sound. Announcer Don Klein and company try to establish, with
little zeal, a “brand new ballgame.” Why don’t sportscasters
ever refer to opening kickoffs as a “brand new ballgame?”
All around the stands are portable TV’s. Watching the ABC boys
discuss the chance of a Dolphin comeback. The Dallas Cowboys’
head coach analyzes San Francisco’s unexpected defensive
formations, which have completely confused and flustered Miami’s
quarterback and his blockers. Floating up from a TV set a few
rows down: How the 49ers are using four or six rush men
to search out and destroy Miami attackers.
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“After the first
quarter they left their three man line completely.”
Tom Landry, Dallas Cowboys, January 20, 1985 |
I can’t believe what comes next on the tube: A close-up of the
one and only Gypsy Boots, the world’s first hippie! He’s down at
field level, waving furiously at the camera. I first saw this
character at a Ram game in 1965. How old is he now? The
longhaired, bearded gentleman wears a green sweatshirt printed
with “Gypsy Boots keeps healthy by eating Kyolic.”
Seeing all this on TV reminds me how differently things look
at an event, compared to watching it on TV. The
stadium, just another structure with seats in “real life,” grows
exponentially on television. Oddly, the players’ size and
uniforms seem to offset each other on TV; the differences aren’t
so obvious. In person the “small” running back or wide receiver
looks larger than life.
Overhead, air traffic is brisk, with a
helicopter, two blimps and skywriters all vying for our
attention¾while trying to avoid hitting each other. We’ve had
our crash landing on the field for the day, thanks to the Rocket
Man.
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“Any team that
plays in the Super Bowl worries about its
masculinity.
But San Francisco
has an extra burden because it is a finesse team
and because The
City is umpteen percent gay it is doubly urgent for
San Francisco to win the Super Bowl in order to
preserve its masculinity.”
Alan Dundes, anthropologist, University of
California at Berkeley |
The same anthropologists studying San Francisco should also
examine skydivers, kyolic eaters and pro football fans.
With the teams due back on the field any time, I study the
multitude, experiencing how unique is the Bay Area. The crowd’s
murmur swells to a roar. It signals the combatants’ return. I
isolate my binocs on Francis and Fahnhorst. They execute NBA
Grade-A high fives. It should only be thirty more minutes ‘til
Super Bowl ring time.
Miami’s first two possessions are a sloppy syncopation:
One-two-sack punt. Again: One-two-sack-punt. Between the
Dolphins' three-and-outs the 49ers move in for a 27 yard field
goal and after the next Dolphin punt, Roger Craig #33 scores his
third touchdown of the day. Hat trick!
End of third quarter: San Francisco 38, Miami 16.
For the Dolphin offense the fourth period is no better Just as
Dwaine Board #76 backed up Miami with a third quarter sack, Gary
“Big Hands” Johnson #97 nails Marino to open the final stanza.
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“Two men are keys
for us, Board and Johnson...Board is crucial. He has
the most stamina, he’s the most irrepressible, the
most dogged.”
Bill Walsh, San Francisco 49ers, January 18, 1985 |
It’s impossible to separate the noise of 49er Faithful from the
roar of winning gamblers. Everyone is yelling, virtually
non-stop. There are outbursts of singing—very rare at American
football games. Close your eyes and it’s a Manchester United
“soccer” match in London. Best of all, the Bay Area fans prove
their legendary sophistication by not making Waves.
I concentrate on Francis, now that the outcome of the game is
close to resolved. The 49ers run the ball, keep the clock
moving. Through the Safari Masters I spot the defensive back
from Laie, Oahu. He’s getting tossed like a Chinese acrobat. If
this were a sumo match it would be takanofuji and
yorikiri.
Later I asked Russ what the Hawaii kid said. “Nothing,” was the
reply. “I started to feel sorry for him, you know, being a local
boy, but that didn’t last very long. When the game was over I
said, ‘Well, every dog has its day. Have a night flight
home. Aloha, bra.’ He just walked away.”
At the two-minute warning Francis throws shaka signs to
an ABC camera. Fahnhorst goes up to him and says something. “He
asked me how it felt to win a Super Bowl ring,” Francis
recalled. “Before I could answer we looked at the clock, saw
there were two minutes or so left to go and didn’t mention it
again.” Consummate professionals, the tight end and the
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“The 49ers
played a real number on Dolphins today.”
“The Giffer”, ABC-TV, January 20, 1985 |
The gun sounds.
Final: San Francisco 38, Miami 16.
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“Platitudes are for
losers.”
I. M. Fisher, Los
Angeles fan, after a Rams defeat, 1966 |
The 49ers and their Faithful are berserk. Panning the field, I
spot Russ bear-hugging team owner Eddie DeBartolo, Jr., our host
for the weekend. I shake hands with Gentleman Ed Francis and
Brother Billy. Their grins stretch from Stanford to Sausalito.
(To be
continued...)
Next Sunday January 29, 2006:
Part Five
Featuring Blackouts,
Dr. Bill and Blue & Gold
Exclusively on RonJacobsOnline.com via RDN CENTRAL at
RadioDailyNews.com
Hauoli Makahiki Hou!
Copyright 1987 - 2006
Ron Jacobs
In
Memory of Ron Jessie & Wilson Pickett
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Los
Angeles Rams 1975-79 |
KHJ
Appreciation Concert 1966 |
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I saw every play that Jessie
made for the Rams in the L. A. Coliseum.
I heard every word that Pickett sang at a KHJ sold-out Hollywood
Bowl concert.
Both men were All-Stars: The receiver, on the field; the Soul
Man, on stage.
They died way too young, Jessie 57, Pickett 64, on Jan. 13th and
19th, respectively.
These men gave meaning to the 60s cry, “Black Is
Beautiful”—every way—and back.
RJ
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Parts
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"Part
1" -
"Part II"
- Part
III) |
