12/31/1967 - Packers win in Ice Bowl
In one of the greatest, and coldest, NFL games in history, the Green Bay Packers narrowly beat the Dallas Cowboys in the NFL Championship Game. The Packers' win came on a last-second dive by quarterback Bart Starr, who just barely got into the end zone for the score.
To read more about this story, click here for an in-depth Inhistoric article:
12/31/1967 - Knievel attempts Caesar's Palace
Evel Knievel, the American daredevil who became a household name in the 1970's, makes the first major jump of his career. Riding a motorbike, Knievel attempted to jump the fountains outside the newly-opened Caesar's Palace hotel. Knievel accelerated at the ramp and cleared the 50 yards worth of fountains. But as he connected with the downward ramp, something went wrong and he botched the landing. Badly.
Knievel landed with a wobble and was thrown from the bike, which continued to speed forward. The large crowd that had gathered to see him watched in horror as Knievel bounced violently down the ramp, each roll seeming to be more painful than the last. Knievel broke his back, femur, and pelvis, fractured his hip and wrists, and wound up in a month-long coma.
Today in Sports History: December 28th
12/28/1958 - The Greatest Game Ever Played
In the first overtime game in league history, the Baltimore Colts defeat the New York Giants, 23-17, in the 1958 NFL Championship Game. The game was played at Yankee Stadium and famously ended on a touchdown run from Colts running back Alan Ameche, who scored from just a yard out. The tightness of the game, mixed with the significance of the teams playing and the 45 million viewers watching on NBC, helped dramatically increase the popularity of the NFL. It is this game, more than any other, that is credited with making the NFL the most popular sports league in the United States.
Jack Hand of the Associated Press wrote, "If they play football for 100 years, they never can top the Baltimore's first championship snatched in a sudden death playoff 23-17 after New York refused to gamble."
With two-and-a-half minutes to play in regulation, the Giants were holding a 17-14 lead and were on fourth-and-inches from their own 43. Had they decided to go for it, and had they converted on the first down, the Giants likely would have run out the clock. Instead, coach Lee Jim Howell took the cautionary route and ordered his team to punt. The ball was placed at the 14 yard-line with 1:56 to go, setting up Colts quarterback Johnny Unitas, who led the team on an 80-yard drive to put them within field goal distance. Many regard this as the first instance of the "two-minute drill," which had been unheard of 1958.
The Colts' drive led to a 20-yard field goal from Steve Myhra, who had missed a short-range kick earlier in the game. Myhra's boot was good this time around and tied the game at 17 with six seconds remaining in the game. Time expired shortly there after with the outcome still undecided. "When the game ended in a tie, we were standing on the sidelines waiting to see what came next," Unitas later recalled. "All of a sudden, the officials came over and said, ‘Send the captain out. We’re going to flip a coin to see who will receive.’ That was the first we heard of the overtime period."
The Giants won a coin flip from the officials and started the extra period with the ball. After failing to get farther than their own 29, the Giants once again punted the ball on fourth-and-1. The Colts then finished the game with the drive that set up Ameche's run, leaving the 64,185 fans at Yankee Stadium in shock.
Sports Illustrated writer Tex Maule was the first to dub the game "The Best Football Game Ever Played." Because the word "best" doesn't carry the same gravitas as "greatest," the 1958 NFL Championship is generally referred to as "The Greatest Game Ever Played." Although few historian will argue against the deservedness of the game's moniker, many of the players from the game later contended that it didn't deserve the title. In fact in an ESPN.com article written by Eddie Epstein, three Colts players stated that a regular season game against the 49ers from less than a month earlier was a better contest.
"I've always felt that it (the '58 championship game) wasn't a real good football game until the last two minutes, and then the overtime," Unitas said. "Just the fact that it was the first overtime in championship play and it happened in Madison Avenue's backyard, that was enough to make people feel they had seen something fantastic. ... They always forget that the month before, in the game we clinched the division and put us into the playoff, San Francisco had us down 27-7 at the half and we came back to beat 'em 35-27. That was a much better game."
In 1959, the Colts and Giants once again met in the championship game; the rematch wasn't nearly as competitive and ended in a decisive 31-16 Colts win. Just a year after the 1958 championship, businessman Lamar Hunt launched the American Football League to directly challenge the NFL. The AFL and the NFL would later merge, creating the dynamic event we now know as the Super Bowl.
''You can't overemphasize the dramatic impact of that 1958 NFL Championship Game," Hunt later told the New York Times. "Pro football was just starting to grow. It suddenly had its first overtime game in a championship game with the nation watching on television. I can vividly remember seeing it in a hotel room in Houston. ... In February 1959, the idea formed that there was more than enough pro football interest around the country for another league. The Colts-Giants game had been the turning point in my thinking and awareness."
In the first overtime game in league history, the Baltimore Colts defeat the New York Giants, 23-17, in the 1958 NFL Championship Game. The game was played at Yankee Stadium and famously ended on a touchdown run from Colts running back Alan Ameche, who scored from just a yard out. The tightness of the game, mixed with the significance of the teams playing and the 45 million viewers watching on NBC, helped dramatically increase the popularity of the NFL. It is this game, more than any other, that is credited with making the NFL the most popular sports league in the United States.
Jack Hand of the Associated Press wrote, "If they play football for 100 years, they never can top the Baltimore's first championship snatched in a sudden death playoff 23-17 after New York refused to gamble."
With two-and-a-half minutes to play in regulation, the Giants were holding a 17-14 lead and were on fourth-and-inches from their own 43. Had they decided to go for it, and had they converted on the first down, the Giants likely would have run out the clock. Instead, coach Lee Jim Howell took the cautionary route and ordered his team to punt. The ball was placed at the 14 yard-line with 1:56 to go, setting up Colts quarterback Johnny Unitas, who led the team on an 80-yard drive to put them within field goal distance. Many regard this as the first instance of the "two-minute drill," which had been unheard of 1958.
The Colts' drive led to a 20-yard field goal from Steve Myhra, who had missed a short-range kick earlier in the game. Myhra's boot was good this time around and tied the game at 17 with six seconds remaining in the game. Time expired shortly there after with the outcome still undecided. "When the game ended in a tie, we were standing on the sidelines waiting to see what came next," Unitas later recalled. "All of a sudden, the officials came over and said, ‘Send the captain out. We’re going to flip a coin to see who will receive.’ That was the first we heard of the overtime period."
The Giants won a coin flip from the officials and started the extra period with the ball. After failing to get farther than their own 29, the Giants once again punted the ball on fourth-and-1. The Colts then finished the game with the drive that set up Ameche's run, leaving the 64,185 fans at Yankee Stadium in shock.
Sports Illustrated writer Tex Maule was the first to dub the game "The Best Football Game Ever Played." Because the word "best" doesn't carry the same gravitas as "greatest," the 1958 NFL Championship is generally referred to as "The Greatest Game Ever Played." Although few historian will argue against the deservedness of the game's moniker, many of the players from the game later contended that it didn't deserve the title. In fact in an ESPN.com article written by Eddie Epstein, three Colts players stated that a regular season game against the 49ers from less than a month earlier was a better contest.
"I've always felt that it (the '58 championship game) wasn't a real good football game until the last two minutes, and then the overtime," Unitas said. "Just the fact that it was the first overtime in championship play and it happened in Madison Avenue's backyard, that was enough to make people feel they had seen something fantastic. ... They always forget that the month before, in the game we clinched the division and put us into the playoff, San Francisco had us down 27-7 at the half and we came back to beat 'em 35-27. That was a much better game."
In 1959, the Colts and Giants once again met in the championship game; the rematch wasn't nearly as competitive and ended in a decisive 31-16 Colts win. Just a year after the 1958 championship, businessman Lamar Hunt launched the American Football League to directly challenge the NFL. The AFL and the NFL would later merge, creating the dynamic event we now know as the Super Bowl.
''You can't overemphasize the dramatic impact of that 1958 NFL Championship Game," Hunt later told the New York Times. "Pro football was just starting to grow. It suddenly had its first overtime game in a championship game with the nation watching on television. I can vividly remember seeing it in a hotel room in Houston. ... In February 1959, the idea formed that there was more than enough pro football interest around the country for another league. The Colts-Giants game had been the turning point in my thinking and awareness."
Today in Sports History: December 30th
The Mills Commission, a panel appointed by Albert Goodwill Spalding, announces that the game of baseball was invented by Abner Doubleday, a respected Civil War general. Spalding, a former big league player, manager, owner, and the creator of a sporting goods company that bears his name, launched the committee to investigate baseball's origins. His intention was to prove that baseball had been devised in America, and not through the evolution of British activities such as townball, rounders, and cricket.
There was no evidence to back up his claim. Then, a couple years later, a 73 year-old man named Abner Graves wrote the commission a letter. In it, he claimed to have been a companion of Doubleday, who allegedly drew out the rules of baseball in the dirt, on a small farm owned by Elihu Phinney in Cooperstown, on a June day in 1839. Without checking for proof, Spalding used the old man's letter to confirm his assertions. And thus, Abner Doubleday was thereby recognized as the inventor of baseball.
But years of dedicated research by historians would disprove Spalding's efforts as a massive hoax. Doubleday never wrote a single letter about or mentioned to be in involved with the game of baseball, and the day that he supposedly created it, he was stationed in West Point, not Cooperstown. The man who wrote the letter turned out to be crazy, and was later sent to an asylum for killing his wife -- the Doubleday story was a complete fabrication.
There was no evidence to back up his claim. Then, a couple years later, a 73 year-old man named Abner Graves wrote the commission a letter. In it, he claimed to have been a companion of Doubleday, who allegedly drew out the rules of baseball in the dirt, on a small farm owned by Elihu Phinney in Cooperstown, on a June day in 1839. Without checking for proof, Spalding used the old man's letter to confirm his assertions. And thus, Abner Doubleday was thereby recognized as the inventor of baseball.
But years of dedicated research by historians would disprove Spalding's efforts as a massive hoax. Doubleday never wrote a single letter about or mentioned to be in involved with the game of baseball, and the day that he supposedly created it, he was stationed in West Point, not Cooperstown. The man who wrote the letter turned out to be crazy, and was later sent to an asylum for killing his wife -- the Doubleday story was a complete fabrication.
Favre's storied career ends in irrelevancy
When Brett Favre chose to retire in March of 2008, he had made a rare choice for professional athletes: he had decided to walk away with a few years of athleticism and skill still in his body, leaving behind the game, and the money, and all the adulation that came with it. But Favre decided to come back, demanding he return to his old position in Green Bay and was subsequently traded to the New York Jets. He then wound up in Minnesota, and had maybe the greatest season of his career at age 40 -- an unprecedented feat in the NFL. And even though his first year in Minnesota ended with an interception, had he walked away then, he still would left the game on one of the highest high-notes in league history.
But unfortunately for Favre, he made the same mistake all too many competitors make. He kept dipping into the well, kept asking his body to hold up, hoping that he could make it through another season. Instead, Favre -- who may have been the most durable quarterback the league has ever seen -- suffered a plethora of injuries: a lacerated chin that required 10 stitches, broken bones in his feet, elbow tendinitis, a concussion, and a sprain to his throwing arm that swelled up his hand like a grapefruit. His consecutive games streak ended at 297, and on Sunday, the 41-year-old was forced to stand on the sideline and watch as a healthy quarterback took his place.
It's a quiet, miserable end to one of the loudest, most exciting players in sports. He ends his career in the same vein as Jerry Rice, Michael Jordan, Babe Ruth, Joe Montana, and Roger Clemens -- other athletes who could have left on top but instead stuck around too long, switching teams and playing their last games in relative obscurity. It's the path most Hall of Fame athletes wind up taking, and Favre, having hopped from New York to Minnesota in the past two years, is no different. Athletes who take the opposite approach (John Elway, Kurt Warner, David Robinson) are few and far between.
The problem with ending on a high note is that being a professional athlete is a job first and a game second. Million-dollar professions are once-in-a-lifetime, and few players are willing to walk away when there's still teams interested in them. Legacy is always trumped by revenue. Favre probably didn't need the $16 million contract he earned this year, but then again, most millionaires and billionaires don't need a dozen summer houses and a garage full of Rolls-Royces. That doesn't mean they won't happily take them if offered.
For his part, Favre said he didn't regret coming back in 2010. "It’s been a wonderful experience for me," he told reporters yesterday. "This year did not work out the way we would have hoped, but that’s football. I don’t regret coming back. I enjoyed my experience here."
Maybe so. But it certainly didn't add anything to his career. In time, people will forget Favre's time in Minnesota and remember him more as a Green Bay Packer, the same way people will forget that Roger Clemens was an Astro, or that Jerry Rice was a Raider, or that Patrick Ewing was a Magic, or that Michael Jordan was a Wizard. But that doesn't mean it wasn't a mistake coming back. For everything that Brett Favre did, he should have retired sooner. He spurned the Packers because he didn't want to wallow on the sideline while some upstart youngster got a go at it, and he certainly didn't want to go out quietly.
In 2010, he did both
But unfortunately for Favre, he made the same mistake all too many competitors make. He kept dipping into the well, kept asking his body to hold up, hoping that he could make it through another season. Instead, Favre -- who may have been the most durable quarterback the league has ever seen -- suffered a plethora of injuries: a lacerated chin that required 10 stitches, broken bones in his feet, elbow tendinitis, a concussion, and a sprain to his throwing arm that swelled up his hand like a grapefruit. His consecutive games streak ended at 297, and on Sunday, the 41-year-old was forced to stand on the sideline and watch as a healthy quarterback took his place.
It's a quiet, miserable end to one of the loudest, most exciting players in sports. He ends his career in the same vein as Jerry Rice, Michael Jordan, Babe Ruth, Joe Montana, and Roger Clemens -- other athletes who could have left on top but instead stuck around too long, switching teams and playing their last games in relative obscurity. It's the path most Hall of Fame athletes wind up taking, and Favre, having hopped from New York to Minnesota in the past two years, is no different. Athletes who take the opposite approach (John Elway, Kurt Warner, David Robinson) are few and far between.
The problem with ending on a high note is that being a professional athlete is a job first and a game second. Million-dollar professions are once-in-a-lifetime, and few players are willing to walk away when there's still teams interested in them. Legacy is always trumped by revenue. Favre probably didn't need the $16 million contract he earned this year, but then again, most millionaires and billionaires don't need a dozen summer houses and a garage full of Rolls-Royces. That doesn't mean they won't happily take them if offered.
For his part, Favre said he didn't regret coming back in 2010. "It’s been a wonderful experience for me," he told reporters yesterday. "This year did not work out the way we would have hoped, but that’s football. I don’t regret coming back. I enjoyed my experience here."
Maybe so. But it certainly didn't add anything to his career. In time, people will forget Favre's time in Minnesota and remember him more as a Green Bay Packer, the same way people will forget that Roger Clemens was an Astro, or that Jerry Rice was a Raider, or that Patrick Ewing was a Magic, or that Michael Jordan was a Wizard. But that doesn't mean it wasn't a mistake coming back. For everything that Brett Favre did, he should have retired sooner. He spurned the Packers because he didn't want to wallow on the sideline while some upstart youngster got a go at it, and he certainly didn't want to go out quietly.
In 2010, he did both
Criticize baseball's Hall, but at least theirs matters
There are four things you can count on at the start of a new calendar year: a never-ending stream of ridiculously-named bowl games -- like the "San Diego County Credit Union Poinsetta Bowl," a regular season hockey game that's actually worth watching, the absolute worst movies Hollywood can produce, and the announcement of the Baseball Hall of Fame's newest inductees. Roberto Alomar and Bert Blyleven are expected to get in this year, since both fell by less than a dozen votes in 2010, and Rafael Palmeiro will make his first appearance on the ballot and may or may not finish with fewer votes than Mark McGwire.
The MLB Hall of Fame is by no means perfect. Lee Smith, who retired with the most saves in history, will never even sniff Cooperstown, nor will players like Harold Baines, Tim Raines or Fred McGriff, whose stats are at least comparable to other Hall of Famers. And that's not even including the Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens and Sammy Sosas of the world, whose implication in steroid use could put them on a perennial waiting list with Joe Jackson and Pete Rose.
The announcement of baseball's immortals has often been met with controversy, especially now, when the people getting in are debatable, borderline inductees such as Gary Carter, Jim Rice and Andre Dawson. But in a way, it's the controversy associated with baseball's Hall that makes their selection process all the more compelling. People will wonder if this is the year that so-and-so will get in, and argue that he should have been in years ago, and that that other player isn't nearly as good because his WHIP was too low or his batting average stunk. Add to all that the 15-year limit players are allowed to be on the ballot, and you have a system where attention is paid to the balloting both before and after the voting, so that no one slips through the cracks. This is why even though the NFL is twice as popular as Major League Baseball, getting into Cooperstown is still a bigger deal than getting into Canton.
The Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame, where the NBA sends its greatest players, has much to learn from Major League Baseball's.
The MLB Hall of Fame is by no means perfect. Lee Smith, who retired with the most saves in history, will never even sniff Cooperstown, nor will players like Harold Baines, Tim Raines or Fred McGriff, whose stats are at least comparable to other Hall of Famers. And that's not even including the Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens and Sammy Sosas of the world, whose implication in steroid use could put them on a perennial waiting list with Joe Jackson and Pete Rose.
The announcement of baseball's immortals has often been met with controversy, especially now, when the people getting in are debatable, borderline inductees such as Gary Carter, Jim Rice and Andre Dawson. But in a way, it's the controversy associated with baseball's Hall that makes their selection process all the more compelling. People will wonder if this is the year that so-and-so will get in, and argue that he should have been in years ago, and that that other player isn't nearly as good because his WHIP was too low or his batting average stunk. Add to all that the 15-year limit players are allowed to be on the ballot, and you have a system where attention is paid to the balloting both before and after the voting, so that no one slips through the cracks. This is why even though the NFL is twice as popular as Major League Baseball, getting into Cooperstown is still a bigger deal than getting into Canton.
The Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame, where the NBA sends its greatest players, has much to learn from Major League Baseball's.
Forgiveness ain't worth a damn to MLB baseball writers
One of the biggest lies in sports is that if you come clean to something you did, you'll eventually be embraced. They said it about Pete Rose, who lied about betting on baseball for a decade and a half. They said it about after they were implicated in steroid use. And they said it about Mark McGwire after his image-ruining appearance on Capitol Hill, in which it became all too clear that he had used performance-enhancing drugs.
It turns out, though, that simply repenting isn't good enough for the voters of baseball's Hall of Fame. It wasn't for Pete Rose, who received even less write-in votes the year he came clean, and it wasn't the case for Mark McGwire, who tearily admitted last year that his 70-home-run season in 1998 wasn't on the up-and-up. McGwire was eviscerated when he came clean; one statement he made, in which he denied that the drugs made him a better hitter, was particularly savaged. And now the proof is in the pudding. McGwire received only 115 votes this time around -- 13 less than he got in 2010.
The reality is that all coming clean does is vindicate the opinions of the baseball writers, who all along wanted the heads of cheaters and liars on pikes. Let's not pretend that a simple thing like telling the truth means anything to them. They've kept Joe Jackson out of the Hall of Fame for almost a century, and will gladly do the same to any other cheaters, because they feel the need to play executioner. McGwire's turn in the box was supposed to have ended the minute he confessed, but by not doing it in the precise way the Hall of Fame voters would have liked, he'll probably never get more than 40% of the vote, if even that.
It's a rather hypocritical way to go about your business. The writers stand on a pedestal, demanding that the cheaters and liars come clean for all their years of disservice, promising them that they will all be forgiven if they show just the slightest bit of contrition. And McGwire, while giving somewhat of a flawed, defiant apology, nonetheless came forth on national television last year, bawling his eyes out, and showing the courage to be vulnerable to an audience waiting to pounce him. It would have been a crime if McGwire had only earned a few extra votes than he did in 2010, but to earn 13 less is nothing short of pathetic.
It gives absolutely no incentive for Bonds or Clemens or Palmeiro or any of the other steroids-users to admit to anything. Why would they? All that would happen is that a bunch of people would get on TV and scream, "Ahah! You see! I knew it all along!" And if we're going to preach that this is really a case of bad ethics, that these players are sending the wrong message to impressionable kids, then we should be just as harsh to the self-righteous baseball writers who won't even reward the very act they've been demanding for years and years and years. If anyone needs to read up on redemption, it's them.
It turns out, though, that simply repenting isn't good enough for the voters of baseball's Hall of Fame. It wasn't for Pete Rose, who received even less write-in votes the year he came clean, and it wasn't the case for Mark McGwire, who tearily admitted last year that his 70-home-run season in 1998 wasn't on the up-and-up. McGwire was eviscerated when he came clean; one statement he made, in which he denied that the drugs made him a better hitter, was particularly savaged. And now the proof is in the pudding. McGwire received only 115 votes this time around -- 13 less than he got in 2010.
The reality is that all coming clean does is vindicate the opinions of the baseball writers, who all along wanted the heads of cheaters and liars on pikes. Let's not pretend that a simple thing like telling the truth means anything to them. They've kept Joe Jackson out of the Hall of Fame for almost a century, and will gladly do the same to any other cheaters, because they feel the need to play executioner. McGwire's turn in the box was supposed to have ended the minute he confessed, but by not doing it in the precise way the Hall of Fame voters would have liked, he'll probably never get more than 40% of the vote, if even that.
It's a rather hypocritical way to go about your business. The writers stand on a pedestal, demanding that the cheaters and liars come clean for all their years of disservice, promising them that they will all be forgiven if they show just the slightest bit of contrition. And McGwire, while giving somewhat of a flawed, defiant apology, nonetheless came forth on national television last year, bawling his eyes out, and showing the courage to be vulnerable to an audience waiting to pounce him. It would have been a crime if McGwire had only earned a few extra votes than he did in 2010, but to earn 13 less is nothing short of pathetic.
It gives absolutely no incentive for Bonds or Clemens or Palmeiro or any of the other steroids-users to admit to anything. Why would they? All that would happen is that a bunch of people would get on TV and scream, "Ahah! You see! I knew it all along!" And if we're going to preach that this is really a case of bad ethics, that these players are sending the wrong message to impressionable kids, then we should be just as harsh to the self-righteous baseball writers who won't even reward the very act they've been demanding for years and years and years. If anyone needs to read up on redemption, it's them.
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