No one fired up fans the way "The Rocket" did. Heck, he once caused a city to riot.
Maurice Richard was the essence of hockey in its golden age. The 5-foot-10, 170-pound Richard had those eyes that seemed black as coal, that blinding speed, that devastating shot, that nasty streak, that passion to vanquish every opponent.
Maurice Richard won eight Stanley Cups with Montreal.
These were the ingredients that enabled him to become the first National Hockey League player to score 500 goals in a career. He also was first to score 50 goals in a season. Eight times he was first-team all-league and six times second-team. Although he never led the league in scoring, he was the leading goal scorer five times. His NHL record of six playoff overtime goals is testament to his ability in the clutch. Eight of his 18 seasons ended with him skating around the rink holding the Stanley Cup.
He was also a role model for French Canadians, who regarded him the way African-Americans would later regard Muhammad Ali -- as a hero.
Joseph Henri Maurice Richard was born Aug. 4, 1921, in Montreal. Even though he was studying to be a machinist at Montreal Technical School, Richard had but one goal: to play in the NHL.
But ankle and wrist fractures kept Richard off the ice as he was making the transition from junior hockey to the Canadiens' senior-league farm team. If it weren't for World War II, Richard might not have realized his dream at 21.
Teams were desperate for athletes who weren't in the military. Richard was available, and he made the Canadiens in 1942-43.
At his first training camp, his burst of speed earned him his nickname. The war was part of everyday conversation, and Canadiens veteran Ray Getliffe kept thinking of rockets whenever he saw Richard skate. "The Rocket" was born, but the legend was a long way off.
He broke his ankle 16 games into his rookie season. Despite his apparent brittleness, Canadiens coach Dick Irvin predicted, "Not only will he be a star, but he'll be the biggest star in hockey."
Even though he was a left-handed shooter, Richard was a right-wing attacker, and that made for a perfect fit with center Elmer Lach and left wing Hector "Toe" Blake. In 1943-44, the three formed the famed "Punch Line."
After scoring only nine goals in the first 28 games, Richard scored 23 in his last 18. That was just a prelude to his breakout performance in the Stanley Cup semifinals.
Toronto's Bob Davidson was assigned to shadow Richard, and his defense helped the Maple Leafs register an upset in the first game. "He stayed so close to me that I got angry," Richard said. "I remember going up to their goalie, Paul Bibeault, and telling him things would be different in the next game."
Were they ever. Richard scored twice in a 17-second stretch of the second period. He finished with three goals that period and five that night -- to tie a playoff record. After the Canadiens' 5-1 victory, Richard waited to be named the No. 1 star. The ritual announcement started out with the No. 3 star and to the surprise of everyone at the Forum, it was Richard. The reactionary booing was quickly squelched when the No. 2 star was announced. It, too, was Richard.
It didn't take long to realize he was named all three stars. His performance spurred the Canadiens to their first Cup in 13 years.
"The Rocket" proved he was no fluke in 1944-45, his 50-goals-in-50-games season. He had 10 multi-goal games and notched No. 50 in the Canadiens' final game.
Quickest Goal Scorers to 500
Player Date # of Games
Wayne Gretzky 11/22/86 575
Mario Lemieux 10/26/95 605
Mike Bossy 1/2/86 647
Brett Hull 12/22/96 693
Phil Esposito 12/22/74 803
Jari Kurri 10/17/92 833
Bobby Hull 2/21/70 861
Maurice Richard 10/19/57 863
Marcel Dionne 12/14/82 887
Steve Yzerman 1/17/96 906
Along the way, he missed the morning skate on Dec. 28, 1944, to move furniture into a new home. After convincing Irvin to put him in the lineup, Richard scored five goals and had three assists for a then-NHL record eight points in a 9-1 win over the Detroit Red Wings.
In 1946, Richard helped Montreal win another Cup. The next year he won his only Hart Trophy as the NHL's MVP.
As the forties ended and fifties began, the emergence of Detroit's Gordie Howe led many fans to debate who was better: Richard or Howe? Both right wings seemed energized by the rivalry.
Although injuries limited Richard to 48 games in the 1951-52 regular season, "The Rocket" fired off perhaps his most storied game in the 1952 Stanley Cup semifinals. In the second period of Game 7, Richard collided with Bruins defenseman Bill Quackenbush and fell head first to the ice. A hushed Forum crowd watched as Richard was carried out unconscious.
He should have been done for the night. He wasn't. With four minutes left and the score tied, Richard, with a big bandage covering six stitches and blood dripping down his face, made one of his famous rink-length dashes. He skated around three Bruins, including Quackenbush, before scoring an amazing, series-winning goal.
Not that Richard knew what happened. "I heard the crowd yell and by that time I was too dizzy to even see," he said.
Individually, Richard continued to dominate. He broke Nels Stewart's NHL career record on Nov. 8, 1952 with his 325th goal and the Canadiens won another Cup that season. But that victory was an exception. Detroit dominated from 1950-55. Montreal's Cup drought contributed to Richard's frustration, his anger and, eventually, a contagious rage.
Visiting Boston on March 13, 1955, Richard's head was cut open by Hal Laycoe. Richard retaliated, going after Laycoe with his stick. Linesman Cliff Thompson grabbed Richard, the two fell to the ice, and Richard punched him.
It was the second time Richard had hit an official that season. League president Clarence Campbell acted in unprecedented fashion, suspending Richard for Montreal's last three regular-season games ... and the entire Stanley Cup playoffs.
Four nights later, on St. Patrick's Day, Campbell was assaulted and pelted by food while attending the Montreal-Detroit game. After the first period, a tear-gas bomb was thrown Campbell's way. The Forum was evacuated, and Campbell forfeited the game to Detroit.
"I still dream about it at night," Richard said years later.
What ensued became known as the "Richard Riot." As fans poured on to St. Catherine Street, hooligans turned to vandalism, breaking windows and looting businesses to the tune of $100,000 in damage. More than 60 people were arrested.
With more trouble expected the following night, Richard went on the air to broadcast a plea for calm. Although there was no further violence, the "Richard Riot" became a seminal moment in the Quebec independence movement. Many Quebecois still regard Campbell's suspension of Richard as an example of anti-French bias.
Without Richard, Montreal lost to Detroit in a seven-game final. It was the last time that Richard would not finish a season as a champion.
Convinced Irvin was contributing to Richard's belligerence, Montreal GM Frank Selke fired him and hired Blake as coach in 1955-56. Richard and his teammates, including younger brother Henri, won five consecutive Cups, the only time this has been accomplished.
In his final three seasons, Richard was plagued by injuries. At age 38, he scored his 82nd and last playoff goal in Game 3 of Montreal's four-game sweep of Toronto in the 1960 finals.
After retiring before the following season with 544 goals (still a Canadiens record), Richard was inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame less than a year later, one of the few to be enshrined without a five-year wait.
The retirement of "The Rocket's" No. 9 jersey was a fait accompli at the Forum. But more than all his goals and championship rings, Richard was a hero to French Canadians.
"'The Rocket' was more than a hockey player," Irvin said. "It was his fury, his desire and his intensity that motivated the Canadiens."
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Monday, November 28, 2011
The 100 Greatest Athletes Of All Time - 86. Otto Graham
What are the odds of Northwestern, known more for scholars than athletes, producing a quarterback who would compete in a championship game every season as a professional? What are the odds of that player winning seven of those 10 title games? What are the odds of that athlete not even starting out as a football player at Northwestern, but as a basketball player?
Otto Graham was known for his passing, but he gained a lot of yards by running for the Cleveland Browns of the 1940s and '50s, too.
True story: Northwestern football coach Pappy Waldorf was watching an intramural game when he saw a freshman with a terrific arm. He convinced the kid to try out for his team. Pro football owes a great deal of thanks to Pappy Waldorf.
Back before Bo Jackson and Deion Sanders received so much publicity for participating in two sports, there was Otto Graham. All he did as a Northwestern senior was earn first-team All-American honors in basketball and finish third in the Heisman Trophy voting in football. Then, in his first year as a professional, he played on championship teams in basketball for the Rochester Royals and football for the Cleveland Browns. After that season, he concentrated exclusively on football and led the Browns to six more championships.
"Imagine a quarterback leading his team to 10 straight Super Bowls today and you have a measure of the kind of man Otto Graham was," wrote the late Los Angeles Times columnist Jim Murray.
Graham, nicknamed "Automatic Otto" for his precision passing, was four-for-four when it came to All-American Football Conference championships (1946-49). Then, after Cleveland and two other AAFC teams were admitted to the National Football League in 1950, Graham shut up the cynics who said the Browns couldn't compete in the more established league. His pinpoint passing led them to three NFL titles, including the championship that first year.
"The test of a quarterback is where his team finishes," said his coach, Paul Brown. "By that standard, Otto was the best of them all."
Graham said, "When Paul Brown talked contract, the championship game was part of it. We took the championship game for granted."
Graham was not only the top AAFC quarterback, but he became an NFL all-pro four times and MVP twice. He was rated the league's top passer twice and led in completion percentage three times and in yardage twice. His 8.63 yards per attempt remains an NFL record. In his 10 pro seasons, he completed 1,464 of 2,626 attempts (55.8 percentage) for 23,584 yards and 174 touchdowns with 135 interceptions.
"I could throw a pass to a spot as well as anyone who ever lived," Graham said. "But that's a God-given talent. I could never stand back and flick the ball 60 yards downfield with my wrists like Dan Marino does."
Graham was born Dec. 6, 1921 in Waukegan, Ill. He was a triple-threat tailback (he also kicked) for Waukegan High School, where his father was the band director. Hoops, though, was Graham's best prep sport, and he accepted a basketball scholarship to Northwestern, where he majored in music. He was a triple-threat musician, too, playing violin, cornet and the French horn.
Graham earned eight letters in three sports (he also starred in baseball). As a junior, he was second-team All-American in basketball before joining George Mikan, the best player of the first half of the 20th century, on the first-team in 1944.
As Northwestern's tailback from 1941 through '43, he smashed the Big Ten record book in passing. He threw for 2,072 yards in his career, 1,092 as a junior. He set still-standing school records by returning a punt 93 yards in one game and scoring 27 points in another. In 1943, he finished behind Notre Dame quarterback Angelo Bertelli and Penn's Bob Odell in Heisman balloting. But it was a 1941 game that paved the way for his pro career: Against Ohio State, he threw two touchdown passes to give Northwestern a 14-7 upset. The coach of the Buckeyes was Paul Brown.
After leaving Northwestern, Graham became a commissioned officer in the United States Navy Air Corps and served for two years. Brown, who was forming a team to play in a new league (the AAFC), approached the passer who beat him. He thought Graham would be the perfect quarterback for the T formation.
"I was getting a naval cadet's pay in World War II when Brown came out to the station and offered me a two-year contract at $7,500 per," Graham said. "He also offered me a $1,000 bonus and $250 a month for the duration of the war. All I asked was, 'Where do I sign?' Old Navy men say I rooted for the war to last forever."
When it ended, he returned to sports. First, it was basketball, and Graham was a substitute on the Rochester Royals in 1946 when they won the National Basketball League championship. The 6-foot, 205-pounder then turned to football, and as a T-formation quarterback led the Browns to a 52-4-3 record and those four AAFC championships.
The Browns were supposed to get their comeuppance in their first game in the NFL, playing the two-time defending champion Philadelphia Eagles. It was no contest. No. 60, the remarkable Graham, threw for three touchdowns and 346 yards in a 35-10 rout. The Browns tied for a league-best 10-2 record. On the day before Christmas, in their 30-28 victory over the Los Angeles Rams in the championship game, Graham threw for four touchdowns and accounted for all 58 yards in the final 1:48 to set up Lou Groza's game-winning 16-yard field goal with 20 seconds left.
On Oct. 4, 1952, Graham had his only 400-yard NFL game when he completed 21 of 49 passes for 401 yards and all three Cleveland touchdowns in a 21-20 win over Pittsburgh. But with Cleveland losing championship games in 1951, 1952 and 1953, Graham became depressed. He was 2-of-15 in the 17-16 loss to Detroit in the 1953 title game. "Emotionally, I was so far down in the dumps those three years," he said. "I was the quarterback. I was the leader. It was all my fault."
He redeemed himself as Cleveland won the 1954 title, destroying Detroit 56-10 in the title game with Graham running for three touchdowns and passing for another three. Graham considered retiring, but Brown convinced him to return, making him the highest-paid player in the NFL at $25,000. Graham won his second MVP, completing 98 of 185 passes for 1,721 yards with 15 touchdowns and only eight interceptions as Cleveland went a league-best 9-2-1. Throwing for two touchdowns and running for two more, he went out a winner as Cleveland routed the Rams 38-10 for the 1955 championship.
From 1958 through '65, Graham kept his name before the public by coaching the College All-Stars against the NFL champion. In 1959 he became football coach and athletics director at the Coast Guard Academy for seven years, producing the first undefeated, untied team in the school's history in 1963.
Redskins owner Edward Bennett Williams enticed Graham, a member of both the college and pro football halls of fame, to become coach and general manager of Washington in 1966. He compiled a 17-22-3 record in three seasons with his passing-oriented offense before returning to the Coast Guard as AD in 1970.
While at the Coast Guard, he faced his most dangerous opponent. "Graham licked a lineup that made the Bobby Layne Detroit Lions look like a set of wimps," the LA Times' Murray wrote. "He picked apart a zone defense few people can penetrate -- cancer. It's a pass rush that won't let you stay in the pocket, the ultimate blitz. Graham handled this adversary as coolly as he did the 1950 Rams. It was the old quarterback's finest hour."
Graham had a portion of his colon and rectum removed in 1978. When he left the Coast Guard six years later, he became a spokesman in the fight against colo-rectal cancer.
Otto Graham was known for his passing, but he gained a lot of yards by running for the Cleveland Browns of the 1940s and '50s, too.
True story: Northwestern football coach Pappy Waldorf was watching an intramural game when he saw a freshman with a terrific arm. He convinced the kid to try out for his team. Pro football owes a great deal of thanks to Pappy Waldorf.
Back before Bo Jackson and Deion Sanders received so much publicity for participating in two sports, there was Otto Graham. All he did as a Northwestern senior was earn first-team All-American honors in basketball and finish third in the Heisman Trophy voting in football. Then, in his first year as a professional, he played on championship teams in basketball for the Rochester Royals and football for the Cleveland Browns. After that season, he concentrated exclusively on football and led the Browns to six more championships.
"Imagine a quarterback leading his team to 10 straight Super Bowls today and you have a measure of the kind of man Otto Graham was," wrote the late Los Angeles Times columnist Jim Murray.
Graham, nicknamed "Automatic Otto" for his precision passing, was four-for-four when it came to All-American Football Conference championships (1946-49). Then, after Cleveland and two other AAFC teams were admitted to the National Football League in 1950, Graham shut up the cynics who said the Browns couldn't compete in the more established league. His pinpoint passing led them to three NFL titles, including the championship that first year.
"The test of a quarterback is where his team finishes," said his coach, Paul Brown. "By that standard, Otto was the best of them all."
Graham said, "When Paul Brown talked contract, the championship game was part of it. We took the championship game for granted."
Graham was not only the top AAFC quarterback, but he became an NFL all-pro four times and MVP twice. He was rated the league's top passer twice and led in completion percentage three times and in yardage twice. His 8.63 yards per attempt remains an NFL record. In his 10 pro seasons, he completed 1,464 of 2,626 attempts (55.8 percentage) for 23,584 yards and 174 touchdowns with 135 interceptions.
"I could throw a pass to a spot as well as anyone who ever lived," Graham said. "But that's a God-given talent. I could never stand back and flick the ball 60 yards downfield with my wrists like Dan Marino does."
Graham was born Dec. 6, 1921 in Waukegan, Ill. He was a triple-threat tailback (he also kicked) for Waukegan High School, where his father was the band director. Hoops, though, was Graham's best prep sport, and he accepted a basketball scholarship to Northwestern, where he majored in music. He was a triple-threat musician, too, playing violin, cornet and the French horn.
Graham earned eight letters in three sports (he also starred in baseball). As a junior, he was second-team All-American in basketball before joining George Mikan, the best player of the first half of the 20th century, on the first-team in 1944.
As Northwestern's tailback from 1941 through '43, he smashed the Big Ten record book in passing. He threw for 2,072 yards in his career, 1,092 as a junior. He set still-standing school records by returning a punt 93 yards in one game and scoring 27 points in another. In 1943, he finished behind Notre Dame quarterback Angelo Bertelli and Penn's Bob Odell in Heisman balloting. But it was a 1941 game that paved the way for his pro career: Against Ohio State, he threw two touchdown passes to give Northwestern a 14-7 upset. The coach of the Buckeyes was Paul Brown.
After leaving Northwestern, Graham became a commissioned officer in the United States Navy Air Corps and served for two years. Brown, who was forming a team to play in a new league (the AAFC), approached the passer who beat him. He thought Graham would be the perfect quarterback for the T formation.
"I was getting a naval cadet's pay in World War II when Brown came out to the station and offered me a two-year contract at $7,500 per," Graham said. "He also offered me a $1,000 bonus and $250 a month for the duration of the war. All I asked was, 'Where do I sign?' Old Navy men say I rooted for the war to last forever."
When it ended, he returned to sports. First, it was basketball, and Graham was a substitute on the Rochester Royals in 1946 when they won the National Basketball League championship. The 6-foot, 205-pounder then turned to football, and as a T-formation quarterback led the Browns to a 52-4-3 record and those four AAFC championships.
The Browns were supposed to get their comeuppance in their first game in the NFL, playing the two-time defending champion Philadelphia Eagles. It was no contest. No. 60, the remarkable Graham, threw for three touchdowns and 346 yards in a 35-10 rout. The Browns tied for a league-best 10-2 record. On the day before Christmas, in their 30-28 victory over the Los Angeles Rams in the championship game, Graham threw for four touchdowns and accounted for all 58 yards in the final 1:48 to set up Lou Groza's game-winning 16-yard field goal with 20 seconds left.
On Oct. 4, 1952, Graham had his only 400-yard NFL game when he completed 21 of 49 passes for 401 yards and all three Cleveland touchdowns in a 21-20 win over Pittsburgh. But with Cleveland losing championship games in 1951, 1952 and 1953, Graham became depressed. He was 2-of-15 in the 17-16 loss to Detroit in the 1953 title game. "Emotionally, I was so far down in the dumps those three years," he said. "I was the quarterback. I was the leader. It was all my fault."
He redeemed himself as Cleveland won the 1954 title, destroying Detroit 56-10 in the title game with Graham running for three touchdowns and passing for another three. Graham considered retiring, but Brown convinced him to return, making him the highest-paid player in the NFL at $25,000. Graham won his second MVP, completing 98 of 185 passes for 1,721 yards with 15 touchdowns and only eight interceptions as Cleveland went a league-best 9-2-1. Throwing for two touchdowns and running for two more, he went out a winner as Cleveland routed the Rams 38-10 for the 1955 championship.
From 1958 through '65, Graham kept his name before the public by coaching the College All-Stars against the NFL champion. In 1959 he became football coach and athletics director at the Coast Guard Academy for seven years, producing the first undefeated, untied team in the school's history in 1963.
Redskins owner Edward Bennett Williams enticed Graham, a member of both the college and pro football halls of fame, to become coach and general manager of Washington in 1966. He compiled a 17-22-3 record in three seasons with his passing-oriented offense before returning to the Coast Guard as AD in 1970.
While at the Coast Guard, he faced his most dangerous opponent. "Graham licked a lineup that made the Bobby Layne Detroit Lions look like a set of wimps," the LA Times' Murray wrote. "He picked apart a zone defense few people can penetrate -- cancer. It's a pass rush that won't let you stay in the pocket, the ultimate blitz. Graham handled this adversary as coolly as he did the 1950 Rams. It was the old quarterback's finest hour."
Graham had a portion of his colon and rectum removed in 1978. When he left the Coast Guard six years later, he became a spokesman in the fight against colo-rectal cancer.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
The 100 Greatest Athletes Of All Time - 87. Henry Armstrong
Henry Armstrong, a 5-foot-5½ buzzsaw, accomplished what no fighter before or since has ever been able to do -- he simultaneously held three world titles. And he managed this unique feat before inflation hit boxing, back when there were only eight weight classes with no junior-this or super-that divisions.
Armstrong had a 151-21-9 record in his 15-year professional career. With his aggressive attitude and incessant windmill style, he was all over opponents, as evidenced by his 101 knockouts and his nickname of Homicide Hank.
Henry Armstrong turned pro after failing to make the 1932 U.S. Olympic team ... and he promptly lost his first two pro fights.
As welterweight champion, Armstrong made his mark by successfully defending his title 19 times in less than two years. But it was his triple crown, accomplished in a 10-month period in the late 1930s, that gained him everlasting fame.
First, he knocked out featherweight champion Petey Sarron in the sixth round on Oct. 29, 1937. He won 14 fights before bypassing the lightweight title and challenging welterweight champion Barney Ross for his crown on May 31, 1938. It was no contest, with Armstrong's rapid-fire attack overwhelming Ross to gain the 15-round decision.
Taking away Lou Ambers' lightweight crown on Aug. 17, 1938 in Madison Square Garden proved more difficult. Ambers had Armstrong spitting blood from a torn bottom lip, and he cut the challenger's eyes as well. Despite almost blacking out in the 15th round, Armstrong won a split decision to make history.
Born Henry Jackson on Dec. 12, 1912, in Columbus, Miss., he was the 11th of 15 children. His father, also named Henry, was a mix of Indian, Irish and black blood. His mother, America, was half-Cherokee Indian. When Armstrong was 4, the family moved to St. Louis. His mother died a year later, and he was raised by his grandmother. As a youngster, he got into neighborhood street fights. But there was a sensitive side, too, as he showed at his high school graduation when he read an original poem.
As an amateur Armstrong fought under the name of Melody Jackson. He quit his job working for the Missouri-Pacific Railroad, figuring he could make his fortune fighting for pay. His debut as an 18-year-old pro was inauspicious, as he was knocked out in the third round by Al Iovino on July 27, 1931, in Pennsylvania. It was one of only two knockouts Armstrong would suffer in his career. His next fight was four days later, and he won a six-round decision.
Armstrong moved to Los Angeles, where he resumed his amateur status. He teamed up with -- and took the surname of -- a trainer and former boxer named Henry Armstrong. He officially turned pro a year later after failing to make the 1932 Olympic team, and he lost his first two fights, both four-round decisions in Los Angeles in 1932. Boxing as a featherweight, he gained quite a bit of experience from 1933 to 1935, fighting 46 times, mostly in California and Mexico. In 1936, he won something called the California-Mexico version of the world featherweight title, winning a 10-round decision from Baby Arizmendi, who had beaten him in their first two bouts. Legendary singer Al Jolson saw the fight and purchased Armstrong's contract. Jolson's front man was manager Eddie Mead, who showed the fighter the road to Title Town. The next year was an incredible one for Armstrong as he fought 27 times -- and won all of them. Twenty-six of the bouts were ended by a knockout, including that of Sarron in their 126-pound fight. But 1938 was an even better year for Armstrong, as he took the two more championships. Although Armstrong was outweighed by at least 15 pounds by Ross, he dominated their fight in Madison Square Garden, pounding the champion unmercifully for 11 rounds. "I carried him the last four rounds," Armstrong said. "I was asked to do it, and he thanked me." Ten weeks later, Armstrong's fight with Ambers was a war. Armstrong knocked down the champ in the fifth and sixth rounds, but Ambers cut him severely. "If you spit any more blood on that floor," referee Billy Cavanaugh told Armstrong, "I'm going to stop this fight." Armstrong had his cornermen remove his mouthpiece so he could swallow the blood flowing in his mouth the last five rounds. Despite losing three rounds on fouls, having both eyes cut and swollen, and needing 37 stitches later to close the wound inside his mouth, Armstrong won a split decision. He had fulfilled his goal -- he reigned as champion over three divisions.
But not for long. He voluntarily relinquished his featherweight crown, and the next August he lost the lightweight title back to Ambers on a unanimous decision. That fight, before 29,088 fans at Yankee Stadium, was another brawl as the fighters pounded each other for 15 rounds. Armstrong was penalized five rounds for low punches, and that cost him the fight as two officials had Ambers winning by only an 8-7 margin. After the decision was announced, the second fight started; both managers and the New York State Athletic Commission were the participants. Mead was suspended 13 months after accusing commissioner Bill Brown of favoring Ambers. Al Weill, Ambers' manager, was suspended four months for his unsportsmanlike behavior.
On March 1, 1940, in Los Angeles, Armstrong sought to become the first-ever four-division champion when he attempted to wrest the middleweight crown from Ceferino Garcia, whom he had decisioned in a welterweight defense in 1938. Fighting true to form, Armstrong applied pressure throughout the bout. But Garcia shut the challenger's left eye and gained a draw, enabling him to keep the title.
Seven months later, a fading Armstrong finally lost his welterweight title after the 19 successful defenses, including six in 1940. Fritzie Zivic, a veteran journeyman best known for questionable tactics, worked Armstrong's eyes, which were scarred and vulnerable to cutting, and took a unanimous decision. Armstrong fared even worse in their rematch in 1941, suffering a 12th-round TKO. That was the last time Armstrong would fight for a championship. After taking 16 months off, he came back and stayed around until 1945, fighting 49 times although he had lost most of his skill. He finally did beat Zivic, by decision in 1942, but Zivic was no longer champ. In 1943, Armstrong lost a 10-round decision to an up-and-coming Sugar Ray Robinson, who had idolized the three-division champion.
Armstrong's purses had totaled between $500,000 and $1 million, but most of the money was gone when the Hall of Famer retired at age 32. Armstrong won his most significant fight when he overcame alcoholism. He became an ordained Baptist minister in 1951.
Returning to St. Louis, he founded the Henry Armstrong Youth Foundation and directed the Herbert Hoover Boys Club.
He died at age 75 on Oct. 24, 1988, in Los Angeles. After his death, his heart was found to be one-third larger than average. That didn't surprise anybody in boxing.
Armstrong had a 151-21-9 record in his 15-year professional career. With his aggressive attitude and incessant windmill style, he was all over opponents, as evidenced by his 101 knockouts and his nickname of Homicide Hank.
Henry Armstrong turned pro after failing to make the 1932 U.S. Olympic team ... and he promptly lost his first two pro fights.
As welterweight champion, Armstrong made his mark by successfully defending his title 19 times in less than two years. But it was his triple crown, accomplished in a 10-month period in the late 1930s, that gained him everlasting fame.
First, he knocked out featherweight champion Petey Sarron in the sixth round on Oct. 29, 1937. He won 14 fights before bypassing the lightweight title and challenging welterweight champion Barney Ross for his crown on May 31, 1938. It was no contest, with Armstrong's rapid-fire attack overwhelming Ross to gain the 15-round decision.
Taking away Lou Ambers' lightweight crown on Aug. 17, 1938 in Madison Square Garden proved more difficult. Ambers had Armstrong spitting blood from a torn bottom lip, and he cut the challenger's eyes as well. Despite almost blacking out in the 15th round, Armstrong won a split decision to make history.
Born Henry Jackson on Dec. 12, 1912, in Columbus, Miss., he was the 11th of 15 children. His father, also named Henry, was a mix of Indian, Irish and black blood. His mother, America, was half-Cherokee Indian. When Armstrong was 4, the family moved to St. Louis. His mother died a year later, and he was raised by his grandmother. As a youngster, he got into neighborhood street fights. But there was a sensitive side, too, as he showed at his high school graduation when he read an original poem.
As an amateur Armstrong fought under the name of Melody Jackson. He quit his job working for the Missouri-Pacific Railroad, figuring he could make his fortune fighting for pay. His debut as an 18-year-old pro was inauspicious, as he was knocked out in the third round by Al Iovino on July 27, 1931, in Pennsylvania. It was one of only two knockouts Armstrong would suffer in his career. His next fight was four days later, and he won a six-round decision.
Armstrong moved to Los Angeles, where he resumed his amateur status. He teamed up with -- and took the surname of -- a trainer and former boxer named Henry Armstrong. He officially turned pro a year later after failing to make the 1932 Olympic team, and he lost his first two fights, both four-round decisions in Los Angeles in 1932. Boxing as a featherweight, he gained quite a bit of experience from 1933 to 1935, fighting 46 times, mostly in California and Mexico. In 1936, he won something called the California-Mexico version of the world featherweight title, winning a 10-round decision from Baby Arizmendi, who had beaten him in their first two bouts. Legendary singer Al Jolson saw the fight and purchased Armstrong's contract. Jolson's front man was manager Eddie Mead, who showed the fighter the road to Title Town. The next year was an incredible one for Armstrong as he fought 27 times -- and won all of them. Twenty-six of the bouts were ended by a knockout, including that of Sarron in their 126-pound fight. But 1938 was an even better year for Armstrong, as he took the two more championships. Although Armstrong was outweighed by at least 15 pounds by Ross, he dominated their fight in Madison Square Garden, pounding the champion unmercifully for 11 rounds. "I carried him the last four rounds," Armstrong said. "I was asked to do it, and he thanked me." Ten weeks later, Armstrong's fight with Ambers was a war. Armstrong knocked down the champ in the fifth and sixth rounds, but Ambers cut him severely. "If you spit any more blood on that floor," referee Billy Cavanaugh told Armstrong, "I'm going to stop this fight." Armstrong had his cornermen remove his mouthpiece so he could swallow the blood flowing in his mouth the last five rounds. Despite losing three rounds on fouls, having both eyes cut and swollen, and needing 37 stitches later to close the wound inside his mouth, Armstrong won a split decision. He had fulfilled his goal -- he reigned as champion over three divisions.
But not for long. He voluntarily relinquished his featherweight crown, and the next August he lost the lightweight title back to Ambers on a unanimous decision. That fight, before 29,088 fans at Yankee Stadium, was another brawl as the fighters pounded each other for 15 rounds. Armstrong was penalized five rounds for low punches, and that cost him the fight as two officials had Ambers winning by only an 8-7 margin. After the decision was announced, the second fight started; both managers and the New York State Athletic Commission were the participants. Mead was suspended 13 months after accusing commissioner Bill Brown of favoring Ambers. Al Weill, Ambers' manager, was suspended four months for his unsportsmanlike behavior.
On March 1, 1940, in Los Angeles, Armstrong sought to become the first-ever four-division champion when he attempted to wrest the middleweight crown from Ceferino Garcia, whom he had decisioned in a welterweight defense in 1938. Fighting true to form, Armstrong applied pressure throughout the bout. But Garcia shut the challenger's left eye and gained a draw, enabling him to keep the title.
Seven months later, a fading Armstrong finally lost his welterweight title after the 19 successful defenses, including six in 1940. Fritzie Zivic, a veteran journeyman best known for questionable tactics, worked Armstrong's eyes, which were scarred and vulnerable to cutting, and took a unanimous decision. Armstrong fared even worse in their rematch in 1941, suffering a 12th-round TKO. That was the last time Armstrong would fight for a championship. After taking 16 months off, he came back and stayed around until 1945, fighting 49 times although he had lost most of his skill. He finally did beat Zivic, by decision in 1942, but Zivic was no longer champ. In 1943, Armstrong lost a 10-round decision to an up-and-coming Sugar Ray Robinson, who had idolized the three-division champion.
Armstrong's purses had totaled between $500,000 and $1 million, but most of the money was gone when the Hall of Famer retired at age 32. Armstrong won his most significant fight when he overcame alcoholism. He became an ordained Baptist minister in 1951.
Returning to St. Louis, he founded the Henry Armstrong Youth Foundation and directed the Herbert Hoover Boys Club.
He died at age 75 on Oct. 24, 1988, in Los Angeles. After his death, his heart was found to be one-third larger than average. That didn't surprise anybody in boxing.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
The 100 Greatest Athletes Of All Time - 88. Joe Namath
There always seemed to be something magical about Joe Namath, a rebel at a time when the country appreciated one. He was cocky, but in a likable way. The image of the swinging bachelor as much as his rocket-like arm helped make him the most glorified football player of his time.
Knee injuries took their toll in the second half of his career, but early on Joe Namath was one of the NFL's top quarterbacks.
He was Broadway Joe, the guy who guaranteed a Super Bowl victory for a three-touchdown underdog New York Jets team -- and then delivered. He was a charismatic presence who became a larger-than-life figure. At 21, he was a star. At 25, he was a legend. His road roommate said it was like traveling with a Beatle.
"The late `60s and the early `70s were times of compelling social and political upheaval," wrote Tony Kornheiser in Inside Sports, "and Namath, with his antiestablishment shaggy hair, mustache, white shoes and Life-Is-a-Bacchanal philosophy, became a symbol of inevitable, triumphant change. The antihero."
If there ever was a right athlete at the right time, it was Namath. "If he did it all again now, Joe would not rise to the same heights," said former teammate John Dockery in the early eighties. "The antihero is passe; Joe came at the time he was destined to come."
He was a lovable rogue, admired by men and adored by women. It was a time when he could get away with "I like my Johnnie Walker Red and my women blonde," and not be bashed by some women's group.
There is the story about Namath preparing to leave a bar with a woman who was maybe a 6. Teammate Ed Marinaro was disappointed that Namath didn't have a 10 on his arm. "Eddie," Namath said, "it's three in the morning, and Miss America just ain't coming in."
People ate it up. What would happen today if somebody, say a certain President, made a comment like that?
But Bill Clinton never won a Super Bowl, either. Namath's triumph came in probably the most significant game in the history of Roman numerals. The Jets' 16-7 upset of the Baltimore Colts established credibility for the American Football League.
This came four years after the Jets' signing of the Alabama quarterback for a reported $427,000, an unheard-of figure in those days, and a Lincoln Continental. Namath provided the upstart league with the atmosphere of big bucks, Broadway glamour and the headlines that had been the sole property of the National Football League.
His signing triggered a recruiting war with the older league. With salaries becoming inflated for highly rated collegiate players, the NFL, fearful of the cost of competition, eventually offered the AFL a carrot, and the two leagues merged.
How many athletes have ever forced a merger between two conglomerates? How many have quarterbacked the winning team in the upset for the ages?
The 6-foot-2, 200-pound Namath also is the only quarterback to pass for 4,000 yards in a 14-game season, one of the three times he led the NFL in passing yardage. But despite all his early successes, the Hall of Famer didn't put up outstanding numbers in his final years, hindered by gimpy knees and numerous operations.
Of his 13 years in the pros -- 12 with the Jets and a final season on the Los Angeles Rams' bench in 1977 -- only nine times was he healthy enough to play more than six games. Only once did he throw more than 20 touchdowns in a season. Only twice did he throw more TD passes than interceptions. And he finished with 173 touchdown passes and 220 interceptions.
He was born on May 31, 1943 in Beaver Falls, Pa., a steel-mill town located 28 miles northwest of Pittsburgh. Joe Willie -- as his friends called him -- grew up in an area of Beaver Falls known as the Lower End, a predominantly African-American neighborhood. (Namath would get into arguments with some Alabama teammates when he would defend African-Americans).
At Beaver Falls High School, Namath excelled in football, baseball and basketball. Six baseball teams sought to sign him, with the Chicago Cubs reportedly offering him a $50,000 bonus. But Namath declined, opting for college.
After being rejected by Maryland because his college board scores were not high enough, he enrolled at Alabama to play for Bear Bryant. The legendary Bryant would one day call his rebellious quarterback "the greatest athlete I ever coached."
As a sophomore, Namath led a senior-dominated team to a 10-1 record, completing 76-of-146 passes for 1,192 yards and 12 touchdowns. Late in his junior season, Namath broke curfew, and Bryant dropped him from the team for the last regular-season game and the Sugar Bowl.
As a senior against North Carolina State, Namath suffered the first injury to his right knee. On a rollout, his knee collapsed under the impact of an abrupt stop. Two weeks later, Namath's knee collapsed again. He injured it a third time practicing for the Orange Bowl. It was not expected that Namath would play in the bowl, but with No. 1 and undefeated Alabama losing to Texas, he came off the bench. Though he played splendidly and was voted the game's MVP, the Tide lost 21-17.
The next day -- Jan. 2, 1965 -- Namath signed his three-year contract with the Jets. Owner Sonny Werblin saw more than Namath's passing arm. It was gilt by association.
"Namath has the presence of a star," Werblin said. "You know how a real star lights up the room when he comes in. Joe has that quality."
Brought along slowly by coach Weeb Ewbank, Namath became the Jets' starting quarterback midway through his rookie season. In 1967, in his third season, Namath lit up AFL defenses for 4,007 yards and 26 touchdown passes.
The next year, he passed the Jets to the AFL's Eastern Division title. In the championship game against the Oakland Raiders, whom the Jets lost to in the Heidi game six weeks earlier, Namath threw three touchdown passes despite icy winds in New York. His six-yard touchdown pass to Don Maynard in the fourth quarter overcame a 23-20 deficit, giving the Jets a 27-23 victory and a berth in Super Bowl III on Jan. 12, 1969.
At a Miami Touchdown Club dinner three days before the game, Namath answered a heckler by saying, "We're going to win Sunday. I guarantee you." His brazenness made headlines, though many journalists passed it off as bluster or self-delusion.
It was neither. Namath calmly directed the Jets on four scoring drives, completing 17-of-28 passes for 206 yards and being voted the MVP in the victory over the stunned Colts. The Jets were the first AFL team to win the Super Bowl.
Namath reaped a harvest of awards for 1968: AFL MVP, Hickok Belt winner and Pro Player of the Year.
In 1969, Commissioner Pete Rozelle told Namath to sell his share in an East Side bar, Bachelors III, because gamblers frequented it. If Namath didn't, he would be suspended. In June, he announced his retirement from football because of the dispute. However, Namath's love of the game prevailed, and a month later, he sold his share of Bachelors III and returned to the Jets.
Injuries continued to trouble him in the seventies and Namath would throw more than five touchdown passes only three times in his final eight years.
His endorsements kept him comfortable, with his panty-hose spots and his shaving off his mustache for $10,000 being his most famous commercials. He acted in movies and on television as well as in the theater, but was not another Olivier.
Through the years, Namath has maintained his status as an icon. Unlike another legend, Joe DiMaggio, Namath goes out of his way to be people-friendly.
"I'm lucky," he said. "I was born with the gift."
Knee injuries took their toll in the second half of his career, but early on Joe Namath was one of the NFL's top quarterbacks.
He was Broadway Joe, the guy who guaranteed a Super Bowl victory for a three-touchdown underdog New York Jets team -- and then delivered. He was a charismatic presence who became a larger-than-life figure. At 21, he was a star. At 25, he was a legend. His road roommate said it was like traveling with a Beatle.
"The late `60s and the early `70s were times of compelling social and political upheaval," wrote Tony Kornheiser in Inside Sports, "and Namath, with his antiestablishment shaggy hair, mustache, white shoes and Life-Is-a-Bacchanal philosophy, became a symbol of inevitable, triumphant change. The antihero."
If there ever was a right athlete at the right time, it was Namath. "If he did it all again now, Joe would not rise to the same heights," said former teammate John Dockery in the early eighties. "The antihero is passe; Joe came at the time he was destined to come."
He was a lovable rogue, admired by men and adored by women. It was a time when he could get away with "I like my Johnnie Walker Red and my women blonde," and not be bashed by some women's group.
There is the story about Namath preparing to leave a bar with a woman who was maybe a 6. Teammate Ed Marinaro was disappointed that Namath didn't have a 10 on his arm. "Eddie," Namath said, "it's three in the morning, and Miss America just ain't coming in."
People ate it up. What would happen today if somebody, say a certain President, made a comment like that?
But Bill Clinton never won a Super Bowl, either. Namath's triumph came in probably the most significant game in the history of Roman numerals. The Jets' 16-7 upset of the Baltimore Colts established credibility for the American Football League.
This came four years after the Jets' signing of the Alabama quarterback for a reported $427,000, an unheard-of figure in those days, and a Lincoln Continental. Namath provided the upstart league with the atmosphere of big bucks, Broadway glamour and the headlines that had been the sole property of the National Football League.
His signing triggered a recruiting war with the older league. With salaries becoming inflated for highly rated collegiate players, the NFL, fearful of the cost of competition, eventually offered the AFL a carrot, and the two leagues merged.
How many athletes have ever forced a merger between two conglomerates? How many have quarterbacked the winning team in the upset for the ages?
The 6-foot-2, 200-pound Namath also is the only quarterback to pass for 4,000 yards in a 14-game season, one of the three times he led the NFL in passing yardage. But despite all his early successes, the Hall of Famer didn't put up outstanding numbers in his final years, hindered by gimpy knees and numerous operations.
Of his 13 years in the pros -- 12 with the Jets and a final season on the Los Angeles Rams' bench in 1977 -- only nine times was he healthy enough to play more than six games. Only once did he throw more than 20 touchdowns in a season. Only twice did he throw more TD passes than interceptions. And he finished with 173 touchdown passes and 220 interceptions.
He was born on May 31, 1943 in Beaver Falls, Pa., a steel-mill town located 28 miles northwest of Pittsburgh. Joe Willie -- as his friends called him -- grew up in an area of Beaver Falls known as the Lower End, a predominantly African-American neighborhood. (Namath would get into arguments with some Alabama teammates when he would defend African-Americans).
At Beaver Falls High School, Namath excelled in football, baseball and basketball. Six baseball teams sought to sign him, with the Chicago Cubs reportedly offering him a $50,000 bonus. But Namath declined, opting for college.
After being rejected by Maryland because his college board scores were not high enough, he enrolled at Alabama to play for Bear Bryant. The legendary Bryant would one day call his rebellious quarterback "the greatest athlete I ever coached."
As a sophomore, Namath led a senior-dominated team to a 10-1 record, completing 76-of-146 passes for 1,192 yards and 12 touchdowns. Late in his junior season, Namath broke curfew, and Bryant dropped him from the team for the last regular-season game and the Sugar Bowl.
As a senior against North Carolina State, Namath suffered the first injury to his right knee. On a rollout, his knee collapsed under the impact of an abrupt stop. Two weeks later, Namath's knee collapsed again. He injured it a third time practicing for the Orange Bowl. It was not expected that Namath would play in the bowl, but with No. 1 and undefeated Alabama losing to Texas, he came off the bench. Though he played splendidly and was voted the game's MVP, the Tide lost 21-17.
The next day -- Jan. 2, 1965 -- Namath signed his three-year contract with the Jets. Owner Sonny Werblin saw more than Namath's passing arm. It was gilt by association.
"Namath has the presence of a star," Werblin said. "You know how a real star lights up the room when he comes in. Joe has that quality."
Brought along slowly by coach Weeb Ewbank, Namath became the Jets' starting quarterback midway through his rookie season. In 1967, in his third season, Namath lit up AFL defenses for 4,007 yards and 26 touchdown passes.
The next year, he passed the Jets to the AFL's Eastern Division title. In the championship game against the Oakland Raiders, whom the Jets lost to in the Heidi game six weeks earlier, Namath threw three touchdown passes despite icy winds in New York. His six-yard touchdown pass to Don Maynard in the fourth quarter overcame a 23-20 deficit, giving the Jets a 27-23 victory and a berth in Super Bowl III on Jan. 12, 1969.
At a Miami Touchdown Club dinner three days before the game, Namath answered a heckler by saying, "We're going to win Sunday. I guarantee you." His brazenness made headlines, though many journalists passed it off as bluster or self-delusion.
It was neither. Namath calmly directed the Jets on four scoring drives, completing 17-of-28 passes for 206 yards and being voted the MVP in the victory over the stunned Colts. The Jets were the first AFL team to win the Super Bowl.
Namath reaped a harvest of awards for 1968: AFL MVP, Hickok Belt winner and Pro Player of the Year.
In 1969, Commissioner Pete Rozelle told Namath to sell his share in an East Side bar, Bachelors III, because gamblers frequented it. If Namath didn't, he would be suspended. In June, he announced his retirement from football because of the dispute. However, Namath's love of the game prevailed, and a month later, he sold his share of Bachelors III and returned to the Jets.
Injuries continued to trouble him in the seventies and Namath would throw more than five touchdown passes only three times in his final eight years.
His endorsements kept him comfortable, with his panty-hose spots and his shaving off his mustache for $10,000 being his most famous commercials. He acted in movies and on television as well as in the theater, but was not another Olivier.
Through the years, Namath has maintained his status as an icon. Unlike another legend, Joe DiMaggio, Namath goes out of his way to be people-friendly.
"I'm lucky," he said. "I was born with the gift."
Friday, November 25, 2011
The 100 Greatest Athletes Of All Time - 89. Rogers Hornsby
While Rogers Hornsby might have been a pain to teammates and management, he was an even bigger headache to opposing pitchers.
"I don't like to sound egotistical," said Hornsby, who was, "but every time I stepped up to the plate with a bat in my hands, I couldn't help (but) feel sorry for the pitcher."
Rogers Hornsby had 301 homers, 2,930 hits, a slugging percentage of .577 and a batting average of .358.
The Rajah spoke loudly and carried a big stick. His .424 batting average in 1924 is the best season mark this century. Three times in four years he batted above .400, averaging .402 (1,078-for-2,679) from 1921 through 1925. A right-handed hitter, his .358 lifetime average is second in history to only Ty Cobb's .367.
Other notable accomplishments:
Two MVPs, with the St. Louis Cardinals in 1925 and the Chicago Cubs in 1929.
Two Triple Crowns (1922 and 1925).
Seven National League batting crowns (six consecutively, a league record).
Led the NL in runs batted in four times, runs scored five times, slugging percentage nine time, doubles and hits four times each, and triples and homers twice each.
In the 15 seasons he played at least 100 games, he batted at least .313 14 times. (He played parts of eight other seasons.)
In his first full season as player-manager, he led the Cardinals to their first pennant since they joined the NL in 1892 and to victory in the World Series.
Hornsby's batting stance was unusual. Feet close together, he stood deep in the batter's box and far from the plate, making him appear vulnerable to pitches on the outside corner. But he had a way of striding in that closed the distance in a hurry, and he was an outstanding opposite-field hitter.
While his sharp tongue invariably caused the second baseman to get into major disagreements with management, he also was careful to keep his eyes and body sharp. To preserve his batting eye, he tried to avoid straining his eyes by not going to the movies or reading books. He also tried to stay in shape by watching his diet, not smoking or drinking, and getting plenty of rest.
"Baseball is my life," Hornsby said. "It's the only thing I know and care about."
While he said baseball was the only thing he knew, he also cared about the horses. He had a fondness for gambling at the track. But unfortunately for him, Hornsby was more proficient at predicting which pitch was coming than guessing which horse would finish first.
It has been reported that Hornsby disdained golf because, as he once said, when he hit a ball, he wanted someone else to chase it.
While Hornsby was a star on the field, he had difficulty dealing with people. He could be cold, contentious and belligerent. Management would only take so much before dealing him away. As a manager, these same qualities caused many of his players to dislike him. Fired as Cubs manager during the 1932 season, the players showed their feelings about him when they refused to vote him a World Series share after winning the pennant under Charlie Grimm.
Hornsby was born April 27, 1896, in Winters, Texas, and was named for his mother, Mary Rogers Hornsby. After his father died when he was a boy, the family moved, first to Austin and then to Fort Worth, where he was a star on the high school team.
He played in the minor leagues at 18 and the next season was up with the Cardinals for 18 games as a shortstop. He played short and third base his first five seasons before being moved to second base by manager Branch Rickey in 1920. It might have been a coincidence, but after that switch, Hornsby became a dynamite hitter.
The 5-foot-11, 175-pounder batted .370 in 1920, winning the first of his six consecutive titles. He also led the league in hits (218), doubles (44) and runs batted in (94). He had another terrific season in 1921 (.397, 126 RBI, 131 runs, 235 hits, 44 doubles -- all league-leading figures). But this was just a warm-up for 1922, when he produced one of the most sensational seasons in the game's history, possibly the greatest ever in the National League.
He led the league in 10 offensive categories, many by huge margins with totals that rank among the all-time best. He romped to his first Triple Crown, with his career-best 42 homers leading the league by 16, his career-high 152 RBI leading by 20 and his .401 average winning the batting title by 47 points. He also led the league with 450 total bases, 250 hits, 102 extra-base hits, a .722 slugging percentage, 141 runs, 46 doubles and a .459 on-base percentage.
In 1924, when Hornsby hit his astounding .424, he didn't win the MVP, finishing second to Brooklyn pitcher Dazzy Vance, who went 28-6 with a league-leading 2.16 earned-run average.
But there was no stopping Hornsby from the MVP the next year when he won his second Triple Crown (.403, 39 homers and 143 RBI). One-quarter into the season, he became player-manager for the Cardinals, with the team going 64-51 under him after it had been 13-25 under Rickey.
St. Louis won the pennant by two games in 1926 under Hornsby, who slumped to a .317 average with 11 homers and 93 RBI. He also didn't do much in the World Series, batting just .250, but the Cardinals became champs when they won Games 6 and 7 in New York.
While Hornsby was a hero to St. Louis fans, Cardinals owner Sam Breadon had grown tired of Hornsby's quarrelsome manner. When Hornsby rejected a one-year contract to remain as player-manager for 1927, Breadon had enough. Combining his personal dislike for the man and their financial differences, Breadon went against public opinion and traded Hornsby to the New York Giants for Frankie Frisch and Jimmy Ring.
Hornsby's abrasive personality was the primary reason he lasted only one season in New York and then only one season with the Boston Braves, for whom he also managed before being fired when the team went 39-83. In 1929, Hornsby was playing for the Cubs, and he took the Windy City by storm. He won his second MVP by leading the Cubs to the pennant by hitting 39 homers, scoring a league-leading 156 runs, knocking in 149 and batting .380. But that was Hornsby's last hurrah as a player.
He played until 1937 -- with the Cubs, Cardinals and St. Louis Browns -- but only once did he appear in more than 60 games in a season, used mostly as a pinch-hitter in his stint as player-manager. While the Cubs were a good team, his players disliked him and rejoiced when he was fired. The Browns were a perennial second-division team under Hornsby.
He then managed in the minors -- where he was as unfriendly to his players as he had been in the majors -- before Browns owner Bill Veeck hired him in 1952. However, he was canned after 50 games. Hornsby wound up managing the Cincinnati Reds for the last 51 games that season and almost all of 1953 before he was fired again, with the team in sixth place.
Hornsby remained in baseball as a coach with the Cubs in the late 1950s and for the expansion New York Mets in 1962. Late that year, he entered a Chicago hospital for surgery on his eyes. While in the hospital, he suffered a heart attack and died on Jan. 5, 1963.
Hornsby, who was inducted into the Hall of Fame in 1942, had 301 homers, 2,930 hits and a slugging percentage of .577 to go with that phenomenal lifetime .358 average. Among those who were awed by Hornsby the hitter was Ted Williams.
"I've always felt Rogers Hornsby was the greatest hitter for average and power in the history of baseball," Williams said.
"I don't like to sound egotistical," said Hornsby, who was, "but every time I stepped up to the plate with a bat in my hands, I couldn't help (but) feel sorry for the pitcher."
Rogers Hornsby had 301 homers, 2,930 hits, a slugging percentage of .577 and a batting average of .358.
The Rajah spoke loudly and carried a big stick. His .424 batting average in 1924 is the best season mark this century. Three times in four years he batted above .400, averaging .402 (1,078-for-2,679) from 1921 through 1925. A right-handed hitter, his .358 lifetime average is second in history to only Ty Cobb's .367.
Other notable accomplishments:
Two MVPs, with the St. Louis Cardinals in 1925 and the Chicago Cubs in 1929.
Two Triple Crowns (1922 and 1925).
Seven National League batting crowns (six consecutively, a league record).
Led the NL in runs batted in four times, runs scored five times, slugging percentage nine time, doubles and hits four times each, and triples and homers twice each.
In the 15 seasons he played at least 100 games, he batted at least .313 14 times. (He played parts of eight other seasons.)
In his first full season as player-manager, he led the Cardinals to their first pennant since they joined the NL in 1892 and to victory in the World Series.
Hornsby's batting stance was unusual. Feet close together, he stood deep in the batter's box and far from the plate, making him appear vulnerable to pitches on the outside corner. But he had a way of striding in that closed the distance in a hurry, and he was an outstanding opposite-field hitter.
While his sharp tongue invariably caused the second baseman to get into major disagreements with management, he also was careful to keep his eyes and body sharp. To preserve his batting eye, he tried to avoid straining his eyes by not going to the movies or reading books. He also tried to stay in shape by watching his diet, not smoking or drinking, and getting plenty of rest.
"Baseball is my life," Hornsby said. "It's the only thing I know and care about."
While he said baseball was the only thing he knew, he also cared about the horses. He had a fondness for gambling at the track. But unfortunately for him, Hornsby was more proficient at predicting which pitch was coming than guessing which horse would finish first.
It has been reported that Hornsby disdained golf because, as he once said, when he hit a ball, he wanted someone else to chase it.
While Hornsby was a star on the field, he had difficulty dealing with people. He could be cold, contentious and belligerent. Management would only take so much before dealing him away. As a manager, these same qualities caused many of his players to dislike him. Fired as Cubs manager during the 1932 season, the players showed their feelings about him when they refused to vote him a World Series share after winning the pennant under Charlie Grimm.
Hornsby was born April 27, 1896, in Winters, Texas, and was named for his mother, Mary Rogers Hornsby. After his father died when he was a boy, the family moved, first to Austin and then to Fort Worth, where he was a star on the high school team.
He played in the minor leagues at 18 and the next season was up with the Cardinals for 18 games as a shortstop. He played short and third base his first five seasons before being moved to second base by manager Branch Rickey in 1920. It might have been a coincidence, but after that switch, Hornsby became a dynamite hitter.
The 5-foot-11, 175-pounder batted .370 in 1920, winning the first of his six consecutive titles. He also led the league in hits (218), doubles (44) and runs batted in (94). He had another terrific season in 1921 (.397, 126 RBI, 131 runs, 235 hits, 44 doubles -- all league-leading figures). But this was just a warm-up for 1922, when he produced one of the most sensational seasons in the game's history, possibly the greatest ever in the National League.
He led the league in 10 offensive categories, many by huge margins with totals that rank among the all-time best. He romped to his first Triple Crown, with his career-best 42 homers leading the league by 16, his career-high 152 RBI leading by 20 and his .401 average winning the batting title by 47 points. He also led the league with 450 total bases, 250 hits, 102 extra-base hits, a .722 slugging percentage, 141 runs, 46 doubles and a .459 on-base percentage.
In 1924, when Hornsby hit his astounding .424, he didn't win the MVP, finishing second to Brooklyn pitcher Dazzy Vance, who went 28-6 with a league-leading 2.16 earned-run average.
But there was no stopping Hornsby from the MVP the next year when he won his second Triple Crown (.403, 39 homers and 143 RBI). One-quarter into the season, he became player-manager for the Cardinals, with the team going 64-51 under him after it had been 13-25 under Rickey.
St. Louis won the pennant by two games in 1926 under Hornsby, who slumped to a .317 average with 11 homers and 93 RBI. He also didn't do much in the World Series, batting just .250, but the Cardinals became champs when they won Games 6 and 7 in New York.
While Hornsby was a hero to St. Louis fans, Cardinals owner Sam Breadon had grown tired of Hornsby's quarrelsome manner. When Hornsby rejected a one-year contract to remain as player-manager for 1927, Breadon had enough. Combining his personal dislike for the man and their financial differences, Breadon went against public opinion and traded Hornsby to the New York Giants for Frankie Frisch and Jimmy Ring.
Hornsby's abrasive personality was the primary reason he lasted only one season in New York and then only one season with the Boston Braves, for whom he also managed before being fired when the team went 39-83. In 1929, Hornsby was playing for the Cubs, and he took the Windy City by storm. He won his second MVP by leading the Cubs to the pennant by hitting 39 homers, scoring a league-leading 156 runs, knocking in 149 and batting .380. But that was Hornsby's last hurrah as a player.
He played until 1937 -- with the Cubs, Cardinals and St. Louis Browns -- but only once did he appear in more than 60 games in a season, used mostly as a pinch-hitter in his stint as player-manager. While the Cubs were a good team, his players disliked him and rejoiced when he was fired. The Browns were a perennial second-division team under Hornsby.
He then managed in the minors -- where he was as unfriendly to his players as he had been in the majors -- before Browns owner Bill Veeck hired him in 1952. However, he was canned after 50 games. Hornsby wound up managing the Cincinnati Reds for the last 51 games that season and almost all of 1953 before he was fired again, with the team in sixth place.
Hornsby remained in baseball as a coach with the Cubs in the late 1950s and for the expansion New York Mets in 1962. Late that year, he entered a Chicago hospital for surgery on his eyes. While in the hospital, he suffered a heart attack and died on Jan. 5, 1963.
Hornsby, who was inducted into the Hall of Fame in 1942, had 301 homers, 2,930 hits and a slugging percentage of .577 to go with that phenomenal lifetime .358 average. Among those who were awed by Hornsby the hitter was Ted Williams.
"I've always felt Rogers Hornsby was the greatest hitter for average and power in the history of baseball," Williams said.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
The 100 Greatest Athletes Of All Time - 90. Richard Petty
He has not won a race since 1984. His last championship came in 1979. But Richard Petty's big sunglasses, cowboy hat and that No. 43 still loom large over stock-car racing.
Petty raced for a remarkable 34 years.
His record seven Daytona 500 wins might fall some day, as might his seven Winston Cup championships. But what never can be displaced is the role Petty had building stock-car racing from a day at the beach for good ol' boys into a super speedway sport for the masses.
The winner of a remarkable 200 NASCAR races was a man for the people, a charismatic presence the way Arnie was for golf and Babe was for baseball. From the '50s to the '90s, millions flocked to see the races because of him -- "The King."
"It was as if Richard had written the script," driver Darrell Waltrip said, "and NASCAR just helped him out."
The script had many milestones: First stock-car racer to exceed $1 million in earnings; first to repeat as winner of the Daytona 500; winner of 10 consecutive races; 356 top-five finishes; $7,755,409 in earnings.
Not bad for a guy who made only $760 his first year of racing.
Richard Lee Petty was born on July 2, 1937, in Randleman, N.C., the son of one of stock-car racing's early pioneers, Lee Petty. The elder Petty won three Grand National championships in the '50s, and his 54 NASCAR victories stood as a record until his son broke it.
Even though young Richard was bitten by the racing bug as a kid, his father would not let the future king compete until Richard was a legal adult. Only days after turning 21, he finished sixth in his first race.
The next eight events would come and go, and Petty failed to finish any of them. Then he thought he had his first win. The checkered flag was waved for him. He was on his way to victory lane before another driver protested, successfully claiming the checkered flag was waved on the wrong lap.
The driver? Lee Petty.
Not that Richard was looking for any charity. As he said, "I wanted to do it on my own."
In 1959, the year Daytona International Speedway opened, Richard Petty did not look like the man who would practically own the track over the next 22 years. While his father was winning the inaugural Daytona 500, Richard was watching most of it, having blown his engine after only eight laps.
Still, the era of super speedways had dawned, and Petty thought: "If I was any good, I could grow along with the sport."
Petty, NASCAR's rookie of the year in 1959, finished second to Rex White in the Grand National (later Winston Cup) points race in 1960.
In 1962, Lee Petty was knocked out of racing by a near-fatal crash. It was Richard's turn to carry the Petty family name.
Two years later, he would begin his first run to a Grand National championship with his first victory in the Daytona 500. But by then, a lot of winning made the 27-year-old Petty a target. Rival racing teams protested, saying his engines were too big. Petty decided his sport was petty - - with a little "p." He was through with stock-car racing.
Tragic as that might have been to NASCAR, it would take a greater tragedy to bring him back.
Petty spent 1965 competing as a drag racer, but that phase of his career was cut short when he crashed his car at a race in Georgia, killing an 8-year-old boy.
Returning to his roots, Petty began his NASCAR comeback in 1966 by becoming the first driver to win two Daytona 500s.
Petty's bellwether year was 1967. Of the 48 races he started, he won 27 -- including 10 in a row -- and he finished in the top five in 11 others to gain his second Grand National championship.
Along the way, he broke his father's career record for victories with his 55th win after just eight seasons on the circuit. That blue-and-red No. 43 had everyone in its rear-view mirror. Well, almost everyone.
A popular rival was emerging, and David Pearson's duels with Petty were big events coming into full bloom. Between 1963 and 1977, Petty and Pearson finished one-two 63 times, with Pearson holding a 33-30 edge.
Most fans seemed to be behind the ever-accessible Petty. "Anybody else who tried to come in, tried to get a leading role, had to be the bad guy," Waltrip said.
Petty was winning in seemingly every make of car there was -- Oldsmobile, Plymouth, Ford, Dodge, Chevrolet, Buick and Pontiac.
In the '70s, Petty won five Winston Cups and four Daytona 500s, although the one that got away is the one everyone seems to remember. Petty and Pearson were running bumper to bumper on the last lap of the 1976 Daytona 500 when they collided. Petty got the worst of it, and Pearson limped across the finish line to win what may have been NASCAR's most memorable race.
Still, Petty was "The King" among NASCAR fans. But by 1978, time was beginning to catch up with him. After having 40 percent of his stomach removed because of ulcers, he came back the following year to win the Daytona 500 en route to his last Winston Cup championship.
One last Daytona 500 triumph in 1981 came three years before his last driving win of any kind. With President Ronald Reagan in attendance, Petty won the Firecracker 400 two days after his 47th birthday. His 200 victories are an incredible 95 more than the driver (Pearson) closest to him.
With more and more races separating him from that last win, talk of retirement began to swirl. By the '90s, a new Petty -- Richard's son Kyle -- was beginning to make his mark. In October 1991, at age 54, Richard Petty announced he would retire after a 29-race fan appreciation tour the following season.
After his last race in 1992, Petty considered his 34 years of success in a sport that tests one's ability to survive. "In New York," he said, "they throw stuff at the players. Here, the players throw themselves at us."
He is the subject of the popular Richard Petty Museum in his family's hometown of Level Cross, N.C.
Although these may be signs of retirement, Petty is only inactive where driving is concerned. He runs Petty Enterprises and serves as team owner for the racing team his father began and his son represents.
Maybe Richard Petty was right when he said: "One of these days, when they have a race and I don't show up, then everybody will know I've retired."
Petty raced for a remarkable 34 years.
His record seven Daytona 500 wins might fall some day, as might his seven Winston Cup championships. But what never can be displaced is the role Petty had building stock-car racing from a day at the beach for good ol' boys into a super speedway sport for the masses.
The winner of a remarkable 200 NASCAR races was a man for the people, a charismatic presence the way Arnie was for golf and Babe was for baseball. From the '50s to the '90s, millions flocked to see the races because of him -- "The King."
"It was as if Richard had written the script," driver Darrell Waltrip said, "and NASCAR just helped him out."
The script had many milestones: First stock-car racer to exceed $1 million in earnings; first to repeat as winner of the Daytona 500; winner of 10 consecutive races; 356 top-five finishes; $7,755,409 in earnings.
Not bad for a guy who made only $760 his first year of racing.
Richard Lee Petty was born on July 2, 1937, in Randleman, N.C., the son of one of stock-car racing's early pioneers, Lee Petty. The elder Petty won three Grand National championships in the '50s, and his 54 NASCAR victories stood as a record until his son broke it.
Even though young Richard was bitten by the racing bug as a kid, his father would not let the future king compete until Richard was a legal adult. Only days after turning 21, he finished sixth in his first race.
The next eight events would come and go, and Petty failed to finish any of them. Then he thought he had his first win. The checkered flag was waved for him. He was on his way to victory lane before another driver protested, successfully claiming the checkered flag was waved on the wrong lap.
The driver? Lee Petty.
Not that Richard was looking for any charity. As he said, "I wanted to do it on my own."
In 1959, the year Daytona International Speedway opened, Richard Petty did not look like the man who would practically own the track over the next 22 years. While his father was winning the inaugural Daytona 500, Richard was watching most of it, having blown his engine after only eight laps.
Still, the era of super speedways had dawned, and Petty thought: "If I was any good, I could grow along with the sport."
Petty, NASCAR's rookie of the year in 1959, finished second to Rex White in the Grand National (later Winston Cup) points race in 1960.
In 1962, Lee Petty was knocked out of racing by a near-fatal crash. It was Richard's turn to carry the Petty family name.
Two years later, he would begin his first run to a Grand National championship with his first victory in the Daytona 500. But by then, a lot of winning made the 27-year-old Petty a target. Rival racing teams protested, saying his engines were too big. Petty decided his sport was petty - - with a little "p." He was through with stock-car racing.
Tragic as that might have been to NASCAR, it would take a greater tragedy to bring him back.
Petty spent 1965 competing as a drag racer, but that phase of his career was cut short when he crashed his car at a race in Georgia, killing an 8-year-old boy.
Returning to his roots, Petty began his NASCAR comeback in 1966 by becoming the first driver to win two Daytona 500s.
Petty's bellwether year was 1967. Of the 48 races he started, he won 27 -- including 10 in a row -- and he finished in the top five in 11 others to gain his second Grand National championship.
Along the way, he broke his father's career record for victories with his 55th win after just eight seasons on the circuit. That blue-and-red No. 43 had everyone in its rear-view mirror. Well, almost everyone.
A popular rival was emerging, and David Pearson's duels with Petty were big events coming into full bloom. Between 1963 and 1977, Petty and Pearson finished one-two 63 times, with Pearson holding a 33-30 edge.
Most fans seemed to be behind the ever-accessible Petty. "Anybody else who tried to come in, tried to get a leading role, had to be the bad guy," Waltrip said.
Petty was winning in seemingly every make of car there was -- Oldsmobile, Plymouth, Ford, Dodge, Chevrolet, Buick and Pontiac.
In the '70s, Petty won five Winston Cups and four Daytona 500s, although the one that got away is the one everyone seems to remember. Petty and Pearson were running bumper to bumper on the last lap of the 1976 Daytona 500 when they collided. Petty got the worst of it, and Pearson limped across the finish line to win what may have been NASCAR's most memorable race.
Still, Petty was "The King" among NASCAR fans. But by 1978, time was beginning to catch up with him. After having 40 percent of his stomach removed because of ulcers, he came back the following year to win the Daytona 500 en route to his last Winston Cup championship.
One last Daytona 500 triumph in 1981 came three years before his last driving win of any kind. With President Ronald Reagan in attendance, Petty won the Firecracker 400 two days after his 47th birthday. His 200 victories are an incredible 95 more than the driver (Pearson) closest to him.
With more and more races separating him from that last win, talk of retirement began to swirl. By the '90s, a new Petty -- Richard's son Kyle -- was beginning to make his mark. In October 1991, at age 54, Richard Petty announced he would retire after a 29-race fan appreciation tour the following season.
After his last race in 1992, Petty considered his 34 years of success in a sport that tests one's ability to survive. "In New York," he said, "they throw stuff at the players. Here, the players throw themselves at us."
He is the subject of the popular Richard Petty Museum in his family's hometown of Level Cross, N.C.
Although these may be signs of retirement, Petty is only inactive where driving is concerned. He runs Petty Enterprises and serves as team owner for the racing team his father began and his son represents.
Maybe Richard Petty was right when he said: "One of these days, when they have a race and I don't show up, then everybody will know I've retired."
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
The 100 Greatest Athletes Of All Time - 91. Bob Beamon
(Yes, this is ESPN's list of the top athletes of the 20th Century, I'm not this brilliant....)
Six seconds. That's all it took for Bob Beamon to leap into history. That's all it took for the slender 22-year-old long jumper to speed 19 strides down the runway, ascend to a height of six feet, stay up in the air like a bird and finally land an incomprehensible 29 feet, 2½ inches later. Of all Olympic records, none is as impressive as the one Beamon stunningly set Oct. 18, 1968 in Mexico City.
Bob Beamon got plenty of air under him on his amazing leap of 29-2½ at the Mexico City Games in 1968.
Beamon didn't just set a record; he shattered one. He had leaped where no one had gone before. Not only did he become the first 29-foot long jumper that evening; he became the first to pass 28 feet, too.
Records are supposed to be broken by inches, not by demolition. Not Beamon. He snapped the existing mark by almost two feet. He had jumped one foot, 10½ inches farther than his previous best.
Soviet jumper Igor Ter-Ovanesyan said, "Compared to this jump, we are as children." English jumper Lynn Davies, the defending Olympic champion, told Beamon, "You have destroyed this event."
Before Beamon's leap, the farthest long jump had been 27 feet, 4¾ inches, by Ter-Ovanesyan and Ralph Boston. Jesse Owens had set a record of 26-8¼ in 1935 that had held up for 25 years. But from 1960 to 1967, the record was broken or tied eight times by Boston or Ter-Ovanesyan -- yet it had climbed just 8½ inches. In one jump, Beamon stretched the record by an incredible one foot, 9¾ inches. It was a record Beamon would keep for almost 23 years, until Mike Powell hit 29-4½ on Aug. 30, 1991 at Tokyo.
Beamon was born Aug. 29, 1946 in Jamaica, N.Y. When he was an infant, his mother died from tuberculosis. Her death left a void he found difficult replacing. He says his craving for attention to replace a lost mother's love first made him a troublemaker and clown in school. Then he turned to sports.
"My high school (in Jamaica) was a jungle," he said. "You had to be constantly alert -- ready to fight or run. If you joined one of the gangs, you might escape harm but you also might be in trouble the rest of your life. If you stayed decent, you stood a good chance of being clobbered every day. So I went hot and heavy for basketball -- and I feel it saved me from being cut up. Basketball is big stuff in New York. If you're good in it, everybody respects you. Nobody would want to ruin your shooting eye or your shooting arm."
Beamon was even better in track, and his prep coach convinced him to stick with it. Beamon went to North Carolina A&T to be near his ailing grandmother. He wasn't thrilled by life there, and after his grandmother died he transferred to Texas-El Paso, a growing track power. He worked on his speed and perfecting a technique in which the jumper does not so much jump as walk in the air.
While Beamon had an outstanding season in 1968, he almost didn't qualify for the finals at the Olympics. He fouled on his first two qualifying jumps. Before his last try, Boston told him to relax and to take off a foot before he reached the board if he had to, but to be sure not to foul. Beamon followed the advice and qualified.
The night before the finals, Beamon had been concerned, his mind going over his personal problems. He had lost his scholarship at Texas El-Paso for participating, with other blacks, in a boycott of a meet against Brigham Young, a Mormon school whose racial policies disturbed them. He also wasn't getting along with his wife.
"Everything was wrong," he said. "So I went into town and had a shot of tequila. Man, did I feel loose. I got a good sleep."
On his record jump, Beamon got terrific speed on his approach, stretched out his last step to the board, and got his feet together when he landed. When he came to earth, his momentum propelled him forward out of the pit. "I eased up on my last step before I hit the board, and that makes the difference when I jump well," Beamon said. "My mind was blank during the jump. After so much jumping, jumping becomes automatic. I was as surprised as anybody at the distance."
While Beamon received mostly accolades, there also were detractors. The critics harped on the conditions -- a following wind of 2.0 meters per second (the maximum allowable velocity for a record), a lightning fast runway and, most important, the thin air of Mexico City. Beamon's defenders point out that the other competitors, which included the world record co-holders, had the same factors going for them and they didn't jump close to Beamon.
Still, the criticism bothered the sensitive Beamon. "Some people said I made a lucky jump in the Olympics," he said. "After a while, that kind of talk gets into your mind."
When he was on the podium receiving his gold medal, Beamon remembers thinking, "Where do I go from here?" Fear of the void seized him.
Beamon never again came close to matching his record jump. He barely competed between 1970 and '72, saying he had a consistent leg injury. He went back to college, at Adelphi, and graduated with a degree in sociology in 1972. The next year, he joined the new professional track tour and consistently jumped 25 and 26 feet, respectable for most, but not for the world record holder. He faded from the sport.
Currently, Beamon is enshrined in the National Track and Field Hall of Fame and the Olympic Hall of Fame.
Six seconds. That's all it took for Bob Beamon to leap into history. That's all it took for the slender 22-year-old long jumper to speed 19 strides down the runway, ascend to a height of six feet, stay up in the air like a bird and finally land an incomprehensible 29 feet, 2½ inches later. Of all Olympic records, none is as impressive as the one Beamon stunningly set Oct. 18, 1968 in Mexico City.
Bob Beamon got plenty of air under him on his amazing leap of 29-2½ at the Mexico City Games in 1968.
Beamon didn't just set a record; he shattered one. He had leaped where no one had gone before. Not only did he become the first 29-foot long jumper that evening; he became the first to pass 28 feet, too.
Records are supposed to be broken by inches, not by demolition. Not Beamon. He snapped the existing mark by almost two feet. He had jumped one foot, 10½ inches farther than his previous best.
Soviet jumper Igor Ter-Ovanesyan said, "Compared to this jump, we are as children." English jumper Lynn Davies, the defending Olympic champion, told Beamon, "You have destroyed this event."
Before Beamon's leap, the farthest long jump had been 27 feet, 4¾ inches, by Ter-Ovanesyan and Ralph Boston. Jesse Owens had set a record of 26-8¼ in 1935 that had held up for 25 years. But from 1960 to 1967, the record was broken or tied eight times by Boston or Ter-Ovanesyan -- yet it had climbed just 8½ inches. In one jump, Beamon stretched the record by an incredible one foot, 9¾ inches. It was a record Beamon would keep for almost 23 years, until Mike Powell hit 29-4½ on Aug. 30, 1991 at Tokyo.
Beamon was born Aug. 29, 1946 in Jamaica, N.Y. When he was an infant, his mother died from tuberculosis. Her death left a void he found difficult replacing. He says his craving for attention to replace a lost mother's love first made him a troublemaker and clown in school. Then he turned to sports.
"My high school (in Jamaica) was a jungle," he said. "You had to be constantly alert -- ready to fight or run. If you joined one of the gangs, you might escape harm but you also might be in trouble the rest of your life. If you stayed decent, you stood a good chance of being clobbered every day. So I went hot and heavy for basketball -- and I feel it saved me from being cut up. Basketball is big stuff in New York. If you're good in it, everybody respects you. Nobody would want to ruin your shooting eye or your shooting arm."
Beamon was even better in track, and his prep coach convinced him to stick with it. Beamon went to North Carolina A&T to be near his ailing grandmother. He wasn't thrilled by life there, and after his grandmother died he transferred to Texas-El Paso, a growing track power. He worked on his speed and perfecting a technique in which the jumper does not so much jump as walk in the air.
While Beamon had an outstanding season in 1968, he almost didn't qualify for the finals at the Olympics. He fouled on his first two qualifying jumps. Before his last try, Boston told him to relax and to take off a foot before he reached the board if he had to, but to be sure not to foul. Beamon followed the advice and qualified.
The night before the finals, Beamon had been concerned, his mind going over his personal problems. He had lost his scholarship at Texas El-Paso for participating, with other blacks, in a boycott of a meet against Brigham Young, a Mormon school whose racial policies disturbed them. He also wasn't getting along with his wife.
"Everything was wrong," he said. "So I went into town and had a shot of tequila. Man, did I feel loose. I got a good sleep."
On his record jump, Beamon got terrific speed on his approach, stretched out his last step to the board, and got his feet together when he landed. When he came to earth, his momentum propelled him forward out of the pit. "I eased up on my last step before I hit the board, and that makes the difference when I jump well," Beamon said. "My mind was blank during the jump. After so much jumping, jumping becomes automatic. I was as surprised as anybody at the distance."
While Beamon received mostly accolades, there also were detractors. The critics harped on the conditions -- a following wind of 2.0 meters per second (the maximum allowable velocity for a record), a lightning fast runway and, most important, the thin air of Mexico City. Beamon's defenders point out that the other competitors, which included the world record co-holders, had the same factors going for them and they didn't jump close to Beamon.
Still, the criticism bothered the sensitive Beamon. "Some people said I made a lucky jump in the Olympics," he said. "After a while, that kind of talk gets into your mind."
When he was on the podium receiving his gold medal, Beamon remembers thinking, "Where do I go from here?" Fear of the void seized him.
Beamon never again came close to matching his record jump. He barely competed between 1970 and '72, saying he had a consistent leg injury. He went back to college, at Adelphi, and graduated with a degree in sociology in 1972. The next year, he joined the new professional track tour and consistently jumped 25 and 26 feet, respectable for most, but not for the world record holder. He faded from the sport.
Currently, Beamon is enshrined in the National Track and Field Hall of Fame and the Olympic Hall of Fame.
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