In baseball lore, the most consequential substitution took place in 1925 when an otherwise forgotten first baseman named Wally Pipp took himself out of the lineup for a day to be replaced by a kid named Lou Gehrig, who then played every game for the next 14 seasons. Now, this autumn is the 50th anniversary of the equivalent unexpected sea change in football.
George Shaw was the starting quarterback for the Baltimore Colts in 1955, having been taken No. 1 in the NFL draft that year, thanks to a lottery pick. A year later, he was already on his way to stardom. But then, on that fateful Sunday, Shaw tore ligaments in his right knee, and an unknown rookie who was often still called You-ni-TASS loped onto the field. Despair gripped Baltimore. Their hero was down. And his substitute?s first pass was intercepted for a touchdown. The Colts were creamed that day.
It was only a few weeks later, though, when someone in the Colts? locker room idly wondered when Shaw would be back. Gino Marchetti, the old World War II veteran, leader of the Colts? defense, looked up. Perhaps Marchetti was the first to grasp what majesty had been unleashed, unawares. “It doesn?t matter,” he declared. “Unitas is the quarterback now.”
And John Constantine Unitas will always be the quarterback.
The saga of Johnny U is told in a wonderful new biography by Tom Callahan, and it is worth reading not only to be reminded how special Unitas was ? this gallant fable of a man who seemed to drop out of nowhere ? but how different it all was in football back then.
The Colts, whom Unitas would soon enough make champions, were a picaresque band of carousers who still had to hold down second jobs ? even during the season. Unitas himself was a paint salesman. When Alan Ameche, the fullback, and his wife bought a row house, the team pitched in to fix it up. Unitas himself laid in the kitchen floor.
Upon the field, it was just as radically different. The reason that there simply can never be another Unitas was because no quarterback since his era has been allowed to control the game as he did. Field general was what we called quarterbacks then. They were just that. Unitas decided on what plays to run, plotted strategy on the fly.
Unitas? huddle, as described by a teammate, was “his cathedral,” as he conducted reverent services where he alone spoke unless he invited a response.
It is not their fault, but as magnificent as quarterbacks like Peyton Manning or Tom Brady might be today, they simply are not allowed to command the modern game as Unitas did his. Nor, it is doubtful, can any quarterback ever be as tough as Unitas or as beloved by his fellows.
Tom Callahan told me that what most affected him was that even though Unitas has been dead for four years and all his Colts are now old men, when he interviewed them, it was vital for every player to impress on Callahan that “Unitas admired me” or “Number 19 trusted me.”
There is always a faster gun, a stronger guy, a prettier girl. Only every now and then, in sports or anything, can you safely say, “Well, they?ll never be another one like that.” Tom Callahan?s book reminds us so beautifully that Johnny U was that rare bird who came amongst us.
Frank Deford?s column also appears as commentary Wednesdays on National Public Radio?s Morning Edition. Deford is a Baltimore native and an award-winning author who has written 14 books. He can be reached at [email protected].
