A PROVIDENTIAL TIE

 

       There’s a new college-football Game of the Century every few years, and some years there are more than one, but for me there will ever be one, even though it was played in the last century. That was the Army-Notre Dame game at Yankee Stadium in New York on November 9, 1946, which makes this year its 75^th, or diamond, anniversary. A more-precious commemoration couldn’t be found.

       The game was contested in the glow of the victorious end of World War II at a time when college football ranked with baseball and horse racing as our nation’s premier sporting entities. The world was smaller then, so its highlights stood out in greater relief than they do now. To say the nation stood still while the contest played out might be an overstatement, but not much of one.

       The game’s objective qualifications for G of-the C honors are substantial. The U.S. Military Academy was at the crest of its war-years football glory, carrying a 25-game winning streak and ranked No. 1 nationally, the place where it ended the 1943 and ’44 seasons. The Fighting Irish also were unbeaten and ranked No. 2, although many thought they deserved the top spot. They looked like a dynasty in the making, which is what they turned out to be.

       Army’s coach was Earl “Red” Blaik and Notre Dame’s was Frank Leahy, both Hall of Fame bound. Backfield stars Felix “Doc” Blanchard and Glenn Davis, “Mr. Inside” and “Mr. Outside” respectively, led the Cadets while returning war vets quarterback Johnny Lujack and tackle George Connors led the Irish. The game featured four actual or eventual Heisman Trophy winners (Davis in 1944, Blanchard in ’45, Lujack in ’46, and Notre Dame end Leon Hart in ’49), something that never happened before or since.

       My personal reason for enshrining the game was less, uh, catholic.  I was eight years old at the time, living around the corner from Our Lady of Lourdes church in Chicago’s Ravenswood section, the only Jewish kid in a mostly Catholic neighborhood. Some of my pals, and most of my nonpals, were vocal Notre Dame fans, and in the weeks preceding the game their bleatings became too much for me. I’d never seen adults play football except in movie newsreels, and wouldn’t have known “Doc” Blanchard if he’d stuck a tongue depressor in my mouth, but in an effort to silence them I made a number of bets that Army would win. A lot of bets, actually.

       If the gesture made me feel good, the feeling was fleeting. It quickly became apparent to me that one of two things would happen: I’d lose the bets and suffer the consequences of being unable to pay because my net worth amounted to, maybe, 35 cents, or I’d win and be obliged to try to collect, a process that probably would yield more bruises than cash. November 9 loomed as doomsday, for sure.

       Those were radio days, and I tuned in to the contest on our home Emerson. I groaned whenever Notre Dame threatened to score and reacted similarly to each Army thrust. Back and forth the two sides heaved in a grinding, error-filled (10-turnover) defensive battle, and my stomach heaved with them. Against all odds, the outcome was a 0-0 tie. Everybody said that suited nobody, but everybody was wrong because it suited me fine, providentially so.

       The anniversary caused me to do some research on the game, and some of the results seem worth mentioning. College teams back then played nine-game schedules, while those of today play regular seasons of 12 games and up to three more in playoffs or bowls. Mighty Army’s line, tackle to tackle, averaged 194 pounds a man while Notre Dame’s averaged 214, both about 100 pounds a man less than current editions.

       Players often went both ways then, and some of the game’s most important plays were defensive ones by players better known for their offensive skills. Arnold Tucker, Army’s quarterback, intercepted three passes as a defensive back and Lujack, functioning similarly, made a game-saving tackle on Blanchard.

       The tie permitted Army to keep its No. 1 ranking for the week, but while it played out its season without a loss it beat a weak Navy team by just 21-18 in their finale. Notre Dame finished stronger, thrashing Northwestern, Tulane and Southern California by a combined score of 94-6 and, as they do today, the displays enabled them to top the year-end Associated Press poll, which was considered definitive at the time.  Notre Dame would win 21 straight games after the Army tie and except for a 1948 tie with Southern Cal would go unbeaten into 1950. Its players who were freshmen for the Army game would finish their college careers with a record of 36-0-2.

       While I didn’t exactly root against Notre Dame in the Big Game, my childhood experiences rarely left me unhappy when the school lost in sports.  Nonetheless, my time as a sportswriter tempered that stance, as it did other such blanket aversions. Terry Brennan, a star of the ‘46 Irish team and later ND’s head football coach, retired to Chicago’s LaSalle Street financial district, and I came to like him quite a bit while interviewing him for a column.

        I did several pieces on Gerry Faust, the Notre Dame coach from 1981 through 1985, and kept in touch with him as I did with few other column subjects. Promoted from the high-school ranks to high-pressure ND, he didn’t shine in South Bend (his record there was 30-26-1), but he’s a fine guy and I wished him well in everything he did.

       And when the NCAA in 1996 instituted overtimes to eliminate football ties, I sighed on behalf of foolish little boys everywhere.