The '63 Steelers (28 page)

It wasn't a completely uncharacteristic move. Parker had lightened up on practices before as the season went on. Besides, he said, the loss to Green Bay was caused more by mental mistakes than physical shortcomings. “They were getting out of position all day,” he said.
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The day after Election Day, Parker cut veterans George Tarasovic and Tom Tracy and continued his lighthearted approach as he began the first practice of the week. “Let's go out and have some fun,” he told the squad.
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Though both Brown and Taylor were elite runners, they posed distinct challenges for defenses. “They're completely different kinds of runners,” said rookie defensive back Jim Bradshaw.

I'd prefer tackling Taylor, even though it's a more punishing assignment. Taylor comes right at you. You have no problem getting at him. Your only problem is getting up afterward.

Brown is cuter. He can be coming right at you, but you can't be sure he'll still be there when you make your move. With Taylor, you don't have that uncertainty. You know you can hit him, even if you can't stop him.
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With Brown, the trick was to get a hand—or shoulder—on him and then hang on for dear life. “Tacklers hit him glancingly and fall off, almost as though they expected to be dragged along in the dust like a fallen rider with a foot caught in the stirrup,” beat writer Pat Livingston wrote.
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That was what cornerback Brady Keys aimed to avoid at all costs. As a rookie in '61, Keys attracted a lot of attention in camp for his skills as a running back. He was also a wicked, deadly open-field tackler, a tough single-coverage guy, and a dangerous punt returner. Not to mention that he was a nonstop trash-talker, brash and incapable of being intimidated. He was listed in press guides as being six feet tall, 185 pounds, which was still giving away a lot to a six-foot-two, 228-pound fullback like Brown. Jabbering away at receivers and backs was a favorite tactic of Keys's, but Brown rarely responded to any defender's taunts.

“I used to talk to Jim Brown and beat him up and spit on him and everything—get him mad,” Keys said. “But I could never get to him. I used to love to fight him, man. That's the best thing in the world—to get him to fight you.”
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Brown was too smart to take the bait, but others proved susceptible. “Every once in a while, you get under their skin, and once they get mad at you, they fly off the handle,” Keys explained. A couple of years later, Browns wideout Paul Warfield said he was considering wearing ear plugs in an upcoming Steeler game so he could tune out Keys's chatter. Keys's tactics had worked. “Man,” he responded, “if I thought it would help, I'd take a guitar to Cleveland and sing to Warfield.”
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It took only one season for Keys to develop another kind of
reputation—as “a hatchetman” who was “alienating the pros at a furious pace.” One anonymous Eagle player groused, “It's tough enough to survive hard, clean play in this league without having to worry about a guy extracting your teeth with a sucker punch, too.”
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Keys didn't want to be that tackler dragged in the dust with one foot in the stirrup. So, the strategy he tried against Brown worked: aim low instead of challenging his upper body strength. “I hit him very low,” Keys said. “I was a little guy. When they came at me they would always think, ‘We can run over him.' I know two guys in this world that could handle Jim Brown, and he just hated it. That was me and Andy Russell. I hit him low every time—every time—right at the ankles. He would fall like a big tree. He would be so mad at me. ‘Why don't you challenge me?' I am challenging you. I'm challenging you where you're weakest. You want me to hit you in the chest?”
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To fill one of the two openings on the active squad created by the departure of Tarasovic and Tracy, Parker was thinking about moving halfback Joe Womack up from the taxi squad. Without Johnson, Hoak had become the team's workhorse. “I feel sorry for Hoak,” Parker said. “He's been carrying more than his share of the load so far. … He deserves a rest, but I just haven't had anyone to use in his place.”
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The Steelers-Browns series was known as “the Turnpike Rivalry,” for the highway that connected the cities, and it was one of the most intense in sports. By Friday the game was a sellout—the first in ten years—and extra buses were scheduled to shuttle fans from downtown to the stadium in the university area. A big turnout from Cleveland was helping to swell the crowd into the largest ever to see a pro football game in Pittsburgh, although Pitt Stadium had nowhere near the capacity of the Browns' arena. A newspaper story the day before the game explained that back when Pitt Stadium was built in 1925, “students of human anatomy figured that the average person's posterior spanned 18 inches.” Based on that figure, the capacity of the stadium was computed at 57,711. “Since then,” the writer noted, local citizens' “bulk has grown heavier and spreads out more.” The average spread of the posterior, as determined by architects of stadiums, had increased to twenty-one inches. Therefore, the Steelers, “out of consideration for the comfort of their fans,” had decided not to squeeze more than 55,000 into Pitt Stadium on Sunday.
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More than fifty buses brought fans from northeast Ohio, one with the sign: “Yea Browns, The Gang From Sophie's Café.”
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One from Parma had a sign reading, “Cleveland Browns Boosters”—until someone transformed it into
“Cleveland Browns Boozers.”
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One Browns fan in the south stands blew taps before the game in the unseasonably mild, overcast weather. In the section usually reserved on Saturdays for Pitt students arose “a statuesque blonde with a wild, upswept coiffure, who can best be described as bosomy,” wrote Alvin Rosensweet, the reporter who had written the
Post-Gazette
's series on the Negro in Pittsburgh two months before. Her name, it turned out, was Irma the Body. “When Irma stood up, she revealed—and revealed is the word—a gold lame dress cut down to here,” Rosensweet observed.
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Traffic stalled in Oakland the way the Steeler drives had at the Cleveland goal line five weeks earlier. John Henry Johnson had overslept Monday, an off day, and missed the Curbstone Coaches luncheon, and he was running late on Sunday. He arrived at Pitt Stadium—what one sportswriter dubbed “the aging DeSoto Street playpen”—forty-five minutes before kickoff, muttering about the traffic jam.
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Years later Hoak recalled, “One time John Henry Johnson was a little late for a game. He pulled up to the stadium, left his Cadillac in the street, came into the stadium and said, ‘Somebody park it.'”
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And yet it was Johnson who dubbed his teammate “Hoaky Pokey.” (In April 1975, indiscriminant parking would catch up with Johnson. His Cadillac was towed to the city pound because he had allegedly accrued 142 unpaid parking tickets. The
Pittsburgh Press
story about the incident did not specify whether any of them were written on the day of the Browns game a dozen years earlier.
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The game, set “in the murk and gloom of a heavy overcast,” quickly produced an ominous flashback to the previous meeting. The Steelers took the opening kickoff and drove into Cleveland territory, with Johnson and Hoak picking up yardage. Aided by a face mask penalty, the Steelers reached the 42, where the drive stalled. Lou Michael attempted a 49-yard field goal, but it was wide right.
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Pittsburgh stopped Jim Brown for no gain on third-and-6, forcing a punt to the Steeler 32. Hoak and Johnson were popping through holes—Johnson for 7 yards, Hoak for 4, Johnson around left end for 6, over center for 4, then busting over right tackle for 20 and a first down at the Cleveland 27. On third-and-7 at the 24, Hoak gained 15 yards on a trap play, giving the Steelers first-and-goal at the 9. Hoak was forced to the sidelines from a hit at the end of the play, and Theron Sapp came in for him.

Johnson picked up 4 yards, Sapp another 2, and then Johnson went off left tackle for another 2 to the 1-yard line. Faced with fourth down, Parker changed his strategy from five weeks earlier and decided to go for it. After the loss in Cleveland, Parker had lamented Johnson's absence, because the
fullback had the ability to leap over the defense at the goal line. Inexplicably, Sapp got the call and was stopped at the line of scrimmage, giving Cleveland possession. The teams exchanged punts, and even though the Steelers had come up empty on two drives, they had held Cleveland to a 0–0 standstill in the first quarter and had controlled the ball, running twenty-two plays to only nine by the visitors.

The teams traded punts at the start of the second quarter, but the Browns gained momentum on their next possession, starting at their 26. Jim Brown picked up 11 yards on a sweep around left end. He gained 13 over right tackle, to his 49 and then added 11 more on a safety valve pass. On third-and-4 at the Steeler 34, Ryan scrambled and was downed about a foot shy of a first down. On fourth down, Brown leaped over the right side for a yard and the first down. Ernie Green and Brown each gained 5 yards, and then Brown rambled for 15 more on a pitchout down to the 4. On first down Ryan hit Gary Collins, crossing in front of Glenn Glass, in the back of the end zone to cap the thirteen-play drive and put Cleveland up 7–0 with 2:31 left in the half.

The Steelers came right back. Hoak gained 13 yards over left tackle, and Ed Brown hit Preston Carpenter with a 19-yard pass, down to the Cleveland 44. Mack caught a 21-yard pass up the middle, but on the next play Dial was flagged for pushing off a defender in the left corner of the end zone, backing up the Steelers to the 38. Brown missed Hoak on two passes, leaving Pittsburgh with fourth-and-24 at the 37. It was 65 degrees and cloudy, but there was no wind. Michaels tried again, this time from 45 yards, but his kick fell short at the 2.

Ryan's 17-yard pass to Rich Kreitling put the Browns in position for Lou Groza to attempt a 50-yard field goal with seconds left in the half, but the kick was wide left.

The Steelers had shown they could move the ball; Hoak and Johnson had 102 yards between them. Jim Brown already had gained 92 yards by himself, but it had taken him fifteen carries to reach that total. Still, everyone in the crowd, from Irma the Body to the gang from Sophie's Café, knew that the fullback could break loose at any time, from anywhere on the field.

Michaels kicked off to open the second half and drove the ball 2 yards into the end zone—probably the best kick he had all day. Charlie Scales, a former Steeler, returned the kick to the 26, but the Steelers forced a punt. From the Steeler 27, Johnson went over center for 5 yards, then off left tackle for 4, and again for 4 more. Ed Brown hit Dial for 16 yards for
a first down at the Cleveland 44. Brown missed on two passes and threw incomplete to Mack on third down, but linebacker Vince Costello was called for interference, giving Pittsburgh a first down on the 33.

Dial made a leaping catch for 12 yards, but Paul Wiggin dropped Ed Brown for a 10-yard loss. A pass to Johnson gained 11 yards, leaving Michaels to try a 25-yard field goal on fourth-and-7 from the 18. It went wide left, his third straight miss.

On third-and-6 from the Cleveland 24, Russell and Bob Schmitz blitzed Ryan, forcing an incompletion and a second straight three-and-out series for the visitors. Ed Brown was dumped for a 9-yard loss, but on third-and-19 from his 27, he hit Dial with a 22-yard pass for a first down at the 49. Brown threw incomplete to Carpenter twice, but he got off a 52-yard punt that fell dead at the Browns' 2. Ryan was five of ten at the half, and his first-down pass to Kreitling sailed out of bounds, the quarterback's third miss in three throws in the third quarter. Then Ryan, the so-called genius, made a curious call: a sweep by Jim Brown. It was a familiar play for Brown, but not when he was lining up in his own end zone.

Later, coach Blanton Collier refused to second-guess the play call. “You should be able to execute a play anywhere on the field,” he said. “How dangerous a play is depends on how the breaks fall,” Jim Brown said. Schmitz, a third-year linebacker who had been drafted on the fourteenth round out of Montana State, after transferring from Wisconsin, was starting at John Reger's spot on the right side. The Steeler press guide called him “the Quiet Man.”
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After retiring as a player, Schmitz would go on to a thirty-three-year career as a scout, working for Haley with the Steelers and Jets, but his obituary would mention a single play he made on the great Jimmy Brown before a sellout crowd at Pitt Stadium.
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More than ten minutes had elapsed in the third quarter when Brown took the pitch and ran to his left, several yards deep in the end zone. “We had a rush call, a red dog defense,” Schmitz explained. “I just went right to him. He was on his own. There were no blockers in front of him. He tried to go around end, and I was there.”
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Brown, going one on one against a defender, had the ability to stiff-arm tacklers, run around them, or mow them down. Schmitz didn't give in, but he had a little help. It wasn't textbook defense; it was more like the Lilliputians dragging down Gulliver.

Brown “was hit glancingly by Schmitz, spun around and fled into the
arms of Russell and Clendon Thomas. Somewhere between contact with Schmitz and Russell, the whistle blew the play dead.”
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The way Russell recalled it years later, “Jim started to move forward, dragging Schmitz. Clendon Thomas jumped on his head and he still didn't go down. Finally, the officials ruled the play dead, probably because [Brown] would humiliate us by carrying everyone down the field.”
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Actually, Schmitz had a grasp on Brown, but the Steeler linebacker was on the turf, and he was clinging to the Cleveland fullback, indeed, like a rider who had fallen off his horse and was hanging on for dear life, his foot caught in the stirrup. Ironically, Russell's description of a player who refused to go down against the Steelers would fit another opponent of rare grit, but that encounter was still a couple of weeks away.