Woody’s Last Game
Posted: September 13th, 2008 | Filed under: Cleveland, Other Sports | 25 Comments »
Here is the Woody Hayes post I have been working on for a couple of days, our final entry on Michael Rosenberg Week. I do remain as insistent as ever that you pick up his wonderful book War As They Knew It about the rivalry between Woody and Bo. It’s just a terrific book about a time and place and two football giants. But I probably won’t mention it again unless Michael starts paying me.
* * *
There was some harsh justice in the ending, in the final punch being thrown at a player who could not even feel it, at a meaningless game named after alligators, in a Southern wasteland that at the time was larger in area than any place in America but had fewer people than Columbus, Ohio. Yes, in that harsh way, it had to end for Woody Hayes in Jacksonville. There were no bowl games in Calcutta then.
Woody Hayes was all legend to me in 1978, when I was 11 years old. I was a baby when his 1968 team went undefeated and his remarkable 1969 team lost to Michigan and sparked the rivalry. My first real memory of Ohio State football is the Buckeyes losing to Dick Vermeil’s UCLA team in the 1975 Rose Bowl. I don’t recall anything at all about that game, but I remember crying when it was over. It was odd. I had never really felt that sort of love for Ohio State football before — my love was for the professionals. I cried, I think, because my school bus driver used to tell me stories about Woody Hayes. He claimed that he played for Hayes back in the day, and I believed him wholeheartedly because if a child cannot trust a bus driver, who can he trust? My bus driver said that he was not a very good player, and he was not the best student, but he tried hard, and before a test once, Woody Hayes locked him in a classroom and told him to study or he would not be let out.
“What did you do?” I asked breathlessly.
“I snuck out the window,” he said. “And then I snuck back in before Woody came back.”
“I love that man,” he said.
You could not help but be affected by Woody Hayes in Ohio in the 1970s. He was the state’s powerful and eccentric uncle. His disciples were driving our busses, they were teaching us in school, they were police officers on the corner, they were bank tellers wearing red sweatshirts, they were neighbors watering their lawns. And these strangers raised me and my generation on the gospel of Woody, on the self-evident truths that you had to get your education, and you never back down from a fight, and America is the greatest place in the world, and that on third down and five you run the football because bad stuff happens when you throw it. We were not unaware of his quirks ad flaws, but if Woody hit an occasional cameraman or if he stomped on his hat in a stunning fit of poor sportsmanship or if he got beat every so often by some razzle-dazzle team that actually threw the football down the field, well, that was just the sad price of living in this new namby-pamby world with discos and long hair and Billy Carter.
I don’t recall thinking that Woody had lost it in 1978, when the Buckeyes (for the first time since the year I was born) finished fourth in the Big 10. Maybe that’s what the grown-ups were talking about, but I never heard them … I suppose any negative comments about Woody in Ohio would have been made at night, after the kids went to sleep, when adults could discuss serious matters that were not for children’s ears like the Soviet threat, the unnerving effects of busing and Ohio State losing to Michigan for the third straight year (and without scoring a touchdown … again).
So, I don’t recall anything at all about Ohio State accepting a bid to play in the Gator Bowl that year, and I don’t recall anything leading up to the game. I know now that it was the first time a Woody Hayes’ team at Ohio State played in a bowl game BEFORE New Year’s Day, and in those days (even more than today) there was something entirely second-rate about those late December bowl games. There was no buzz before Ohio State played Clemson late at night on December 29 in Jacksonville, at least none I knew about.
According to Michael’s book, Woody said this at the pregame luncheon: “I sometimes get the feeling that football is not important (to others). I feel it means darn near everything.” That’s called foreshadowing.
The game started at 9 p.m., and I remember my father saying right at the start that I would not be allowed to stay up for the whole thing. I was at the age then when I had to go to sleep at halftime of the Monday Night Football game. But I had my own plan … I figured if I stayed very quiet, Dad would forget I was there. That plan, as usual, worked. In the first half, Art Schlichter ran in a touchdown to give Ohio State the lead. And I sat there quietly, with my insides dancing. Clemson*, I guess, kicked a field goal to take a halftime lead.
*I knew nothing at all about Clemson then … but years later, I would cover the Tigers, and I would interview the old man himself, Frank Howard, the longtime football coach and athletic director, an absolute legend in South Carolina, a man known for his pithy quotes such as the time that he said he had no use for rowing since all you did was sit on your butt and go backward. I recall almost nothing about the interview except for a couple of very off-color jokes he told. I do know that when the Clemson players touch the rock and run down the hill, it’s one of the coolest moments in college football.**
**I have, at times in my life, wanted to write a book about college football in South Carolina, because it is one of the great untold secrets in America. Everyone knows about Atlabama football, Ohio State-Michigan, Notre Dame, George-Florida, Texas-Texas A&M what have you. But the passion for football in South Carolina, I would say from my experiences, is equal to any of those. They draw 80,000 every game to Williams-Brice Stadium in Columbia for South Carolina football even though the Gamecocks history is like a criminal rap sheet, and they are crazy for football in Clemson even though it’s not exactly the easiest place in the world to get to. I suspect the book wouldn’t sell much, but I still think it’s amazing.
The game becomes a blur to me from there, and so I pick up details from the book. Clemson scored a touchdown early in the second half to take a 17-9 lead. Then, after hitting a couple of impressive passes, Schlichter ran it in to make it 17-15. Woody decided to go for two and, being Woody, called for an option play. Schlichter (who it was said could throw a football 100 yards on one knee — this was a legend talked about by every kid in every school in Ohio) got stuff and the score was 17-15. That would be the score at the end, when everything unraveled.
It was third down and five, and Ohio State was at the Clemson 24, and there were about two minutes left, and this was a Woody Hayes moment, a time to run the ball (another option play?), fall just short of the first down, kick the field goal, because, damn it, that’s the way men play football. Woody, as I understood him as a child, didn’t see football as a game. He didn’t see it as entertainment for fans. He didn’t even see it as an educational experience for his players. Sure, it COULD be all those things too, but at his heart, football was life and death, and you didn’t take chances with life and death, you didn’t play loose with life and death, you didn’t take risks with life and death. In those hazy years before clear memory, I had learned that phrase — three yards and a cloud of dust — and I always thought it was more than Woody’s football philosophy, it was the conclusion he had come up with after being a commander in the U.S. Navy, after his fierce rivalry with Cincinnati coach and offensive genius Sid Gillman*, after reading every history book he could get his hands on, after those early years at Ohio State when people wanted him fired, after all of it. That was life, man. Three yards. Cloud of dust.
“To hell with exciting,” he said. “I’d rather be drab as hell and win.” It’s one of the great quotes ever to use the word “hell” twice.
*You want to talk about a fun book — in 1949 and 1950, Woody Hayes, the patron saint of hard-nosed, run-the-ball football was coaching at Miami (Ohio). And in 1949 and 1950, Sid Gillman, perhaps the first true genius of passing football, was coaching a few miles away at the University of Cincinnati. And the two men apparently DESPISED each other. I suspect fewer people would read it than the South Carolina football book, but it’s another one that I think would be great.
In any case, it was in Woody’s very soul to run the football in that spot. But he didn’t. The world had gotten to him. Schlichter dropped back to throw. He stood tall in the pocket and looked around — he had plenty of time. Suddenly he took a step forward, lost his receiver, and he seemed to panic, he quickly took two steps back, and he threw off his back foot to running back Ron Springs who was cutting across the middle only 10 yards away. But the pass didn’t make it 10 yards. Clemson’s Charlie Bauman stepped in front of the ball, intercepted it, and began running toward the Ohio State sideline. He got pulled down right in front of Woody. Michael in his book suggests that Bauman raised his arms in celebration, but I never saw that, and I’ve looked at the thing 500 times. Not that it matters, really, but it looked to me that as soon as Bauman got up and faced the crowd and the Ohio State players, Woody was already in action. I’ve long thought It happened too fast to be a reaction to Bauman’s celebration. As soon as Bauman got up, Woody had already grabbed him from behind. And then, while holding Bauman’s jersey with his left hand, he let loose with a punch with his right hand. And he kept on going on after Bauman. Finally guard Byron Cato, one of the Buckeyes captains, pulled Woody away and held him tight while the player scuffled on.
I remember being very confused while watching it on our static-filled television. At no point did anyone say that Woody Hayes had hit Charlie Bauman. It looked just like any ordinary football fight between players. And anyway, I was so broken up over Charlie Bauman’s interception that I didn’t think anything of it.
The next day was Saturday, and the way I remember it, Brent Musberger passed along the news that Woody Hayes had been fired. It may not have been Brent … it seems to me now that Musburger was everpresent in my childhood, him and also Jim McKay. In any case, someone showed the play again, the punch, and said the great Woody Hayes had been fired. Woody Hayes had hit a player on the opposing team because he intercepted a pass.
And this is when I learned a valuable lesson about sports — and politics and life. People will believe what they want to believe. People will see what they want to see. There was absolutely no doubt — no one was even denying — that Woody hit the player. But when I went back to seventh grade, the talk was not so much about that. The talk mostly was that Woody Hayes got fired unfairly. He’s an old man. He had done so much for his players. He had done so much for college football. He deserved to go out on his own terms. The kid didn’t even feel the punch. The kid was showing off. The kid was taunting Ohio State players. He’s an old man. He deserved to retire honorably. Did you see that kid act cocky after his interception? He deserved a punch. Anyway he didn’t feel it. And do you know how many kids Woody Hayes raised right? And he’s an old man.
I was too young then to disagree or ever understand what was really happening. I just listened and nodded and tried to figure out what was right and what was wrong. Around the country, I suspect, the story was played simply: The crazy old coot at Ohio State finally got what was coming to him. In my little part of the world, it was a sad beyond words, unfair perhaps, gut-wrenching for sure. And now, thirty years later, I see it as perhaps a little bit of all that. Woody Hayes believed in the power of football, the power of education too, he believed that the person who works hardest should always win, he believed that a nobody from Ohio could meet Presidents, he believed that too much of America had turned its back on what made us strong. He was a great man in many ways, but he was also certain in a way that made Jacksonville inevitable. Losing was dying. And Woody Hayes simply died too many times.
Loading ...
Hokey smokes, I was clueless about this until today. Now I wonder what other incredible events are unknown to me.
People will believe what they want to believe.
This is perhaps my favourite saying of all time, except it sounds more appropriate when phrased as “people believe the *lies* they want to believe”…
Dustin Pedroia?!
Sorry… Got carried away. Question… Who was the shortest, most diminutive player ever to win a league MVP? Joe Morgan? (5′6″ 160lb)
My uncle played for Woody in ‘68 & ‘69. Was an All American offensive lineman. LOVES the man. Just loves him. Credits him not only for his 14 year pro career but for being the stand-up father and man he is today.
Great post, Joe.
That Saturday morning, I was in a hardware store in Columbus, having watched the Gator Bowl the day before along with everyone else in town. The announcement of Woody’s firing came over the radio and everyone in the store stopped for awhile. They knew it had to be.
There was anger, not so much at Woody (there was some of that, too, of course) but at the idea that Woody would be remembered this way — that a great legacy would be buried under the preposterousness of that one moment. It’s probably the strongest memory I have of those few years in Columbus. You tell the story well.
I remember Keith Jackson and Ara Parseghian, after looking at the replay which clearly showed Hayes taking a swing at the player, saying that they couldn’t tell what happened.
And yes, Keith was doing the Gator Bowl … ABC didn’t have many (or any) of the real bowl games.
I think an argument can be made that 1978 is the year that things changed in the US of A. For the worse. Not just in sports but all around.
I like the Woody Hayes story, but I am intrigued by the idea that the year 1978 is the year that things all around changed for the worse in the USA. I’ve never heard that before, and have no idea what the explanation could be.
Gaius – what???
McKingford just gave the best one sentence summary of the McCain campaign I’ve heard this year.
As someone from Texas who followed UT football back then, and about your age, I remember thinking exactly what you said about outsiders, that the game had passed him by years before and we saw that play as a microcosm of the few prior years.
Though I sincerely doubt that I actually thought the word “microcosm”
I once had a convo with a Carolina friend and made the mistake of calling Clemson “not that great of a football tradition,” adding that it couldn’t compare with the Miami’s and USC’s and Ohio States of the nation. She damn well near tore my head off (fortunately it was a long-distance conversation) and I haven’t brought it up since.
She doesn’t even go to Clemson either. She goes to hated rival South Carolina (which even she would admit isn’t the greatest football school in the world).
Thanks for the blog. You are truly one of the greatest writers alive. Brings me back to my childhood watching a small TV with my Dad showing the Illinois / Michigan final four. Keep up the great work, can’t wait for the new book. Here’s hoping the Royals, Chiefs, KU football take your advice. By the way, when I have enough money to buy the Royals, I’ll make you GM, or at least Director of Scouting (you do know Bill James)…
Joe
[...] He wrote a great article about Woody’s last game. You can read it here. [...]
How do you think Woody would have handled tonight’s game at the Coliseum?
Great Post. A lot of people remember Woody Hayes exclusively for the punch, much like a lot of people remember Bobby Knight for his famous outbursts. I think that’s a shame. They should be remembered for the truly important things they did. The things that, sadly, remain for the most part invisible to the nation at large. 99% of people who played for coaches like Hayes and Knight consider themselves better people for having played for them. There are people who now have an education, who would not otherwise, because of those men. There are people who are more than likely alive today because of those men. We’re talking about hundreds of people too. To tell the truth, on the grand scale, just one of those kids that Hayes helped, probably did more good than that punch did ill. The only difference is that the punch happened on National TV.
Another fantastic post, Joe. One thing though. “Busing” has one ’s’. “Bussing” involves kissing. I dont want you to be embarrassed in the future.
That was a great post, and I remember being in Tulsa watching that game. I was shocked when he was fired (I thought they should have let him retire after all of those years).
No Country for Old Men was set in 1980 and had somewhat the same premise about things going downhill since then. I think maybe we are on some self realization about that time period. Woody was in some ways both the most liberal and the most conservative coach of that time. He started a black QB in 1972 and in Columbus Ohio, there was NO controversy about it…because it was Woody’s decision. When asked about his policy about long hair on players his quote was ” As long as it fits in their helmet it is fine with me” His conservative credentials are well known as a friend of Richard Nixon…an incredibly complex and intelligent man who was awarded a honor at Harvard for history scholarship completely unrelated to his football accomplishments.
My “bedtime” as a kid was halftime of MNF too… But I was able to negotiate saying up through Howard Cosell’s halftime highlights. That was about the only time I got to see my chiefs in action back then living in PA. And too often, they were so bad they didn’t even make the highlight reel
Being a PSU grad, there’s a lot of fear that JoePa will have a “Woody Hayes Moment”. Not necessarily punch a guy, but in his own way lose control of himself (or his program) and have something stupid happen that will necessitate his departure. Like Woody, he’s meant too much to PSU and his players to leave like that. There are more people than you think in the “Joe must go” crowd that have that feeling in the back of their mind, that the sooner he leaves, the more secure his legacy will be.
If you ever do write that book about South Carolina football make sure that you include a chapter on Walter “Dean” Cox from Clemson. Dean Cox started out at Clemson as a guard on the football team, rose through the ranks as an assistant football coach, assistant dean of student affairs, then dean of student affairs – where he oversaw the first enrollment of woman and then blacks to Clemson – and finally the 10th president of Clemson University. He is – to my knowledge at least – the only president of a major American university with such a curriculum vitae. I think it shows the importance place on athletics in general and football in particular at Clemson.
To this day, this incident is the reason I root for Michigan.
As Rutherford B. Hayes could attest, not only can a nobody from Ohio meet the President, he can also become the President.
I cannot believe that there is a person on here that is trying to minimize the “punch” or Bobby Knights tirades. Give me a break.
This person also said that many of the athletes owe their education to these coaches. These players would have played with someone else. Give me a break. Pull your head out of your @@###S##S@@#S!
Joe specifically said that people will believe what they will, but I did not think anyone would be crazy enough to put that stuff here.
Anyway, I have to say this. If Woody Haze believed that the person that worked harder and had better discipline should win. He would have to believe that he should be fired because of his lack of discipline. Both Bobby Knight and Woody Haze would not have tolerated any of their players to lose control like they did.
HYPOCRITES!!!! HYPOCRITES!!!! HYPOCRITES!!!! HYPOCRITES!!!!
The reason Hayes’s punch is remembered is because Hayes was so good at what he did. I have vague memories of lesser coaches doing equally reprehensible things and they are gone, forgotten, because those coaches didn’t have the stature of Woody Hayes. I was never a fan of Hayes or Big 10 football, growing up in Los Angeles, but anybody who followed college football had to respect Hayes’s accomplishments, especially for running a clean program. I remember that game, and thinking that it was a sad thing that a coach who had worked so hard for so long to teach players to do the right thing had failed to do the right thing at the end of a relatively unimportant bowl game.
After reading the book, the way it went down makes a lot more sense (from a Michigan fan even). You read about the prior ten years and it just seems like the inevitable conclusion (from somebody who didn’t know what happenned since I wasn’t born yet).
And in the end, it doesn’t make him any more or less important in the lives of those he coached, just like Knight. The once a season outburst doesn’t change what they preached to their players, it almost comes across as them having to do what they wouldn’t allow their players to. I wasn’t alive for sports in the 70’s, but you see so many flagrant fouls, brawls, jawing, and fighting going on in todays sports and its obvious that coaches like Knight and Hayes never would have stood for it, especially if it were aimed at an authority figure. Being in the position of authority however, they were allowed to tell people what they really felt or smack somebody upside the head. They acted out what their players couldn’t.
Is it right for those coaches to throw tantrums? Of course not, but I’ve also heard from so many of their players that these coaches taught them how to be men, husbands, and fathers. You can’t take that away from them.
PS-Because of Michael Rosenberg week, I almost missed my flight trying to track down a copy of the book. Great work Joe, you can write so well that it makes me run out and by whatever you endorse
I was not alive for Woody, but I also wonder if JoPo is heading in the same direction. Most of the film I have seen on him is throwing temper tantrums, which I imagine probably isn’t fair to his legacy.
I caught the tail end of Rose’s career and I suppose I look at him with, no pun intended, rose colored glasses. I was taught that Charlie Hustle was the way you played ball. I wasn’t very good, but I always tried to play hard and hustle. I always ran to the outfield.