There will be one certainty about Sunday`s playoff game between the Bears and the Giants in Soldier Field: Anything can happen.
The first of six previous Bears-Giants playoff games ended with a game-saving tackle by Red Grange, the man whose offensive talents made pro football a popular sport.
The most recent Bears-Giants playoff ended when a battered, bloodied, bawling Y.A. Tittle limped off Wrigley Field a frustrated loser because the Bears had scored their only touchdowns on 1- and 2-yard sneaks by quarterback Bill Wade.
One Bears-Giants playoff was decided by a little New York tailor named Abe Cohen. Another hinged on a play called ”Bingo Keep It.”
But let`s get on with it. Proving that truth is stranger than fiction, here are accounts of the six times the Bears and the Giants played for the National Football League championship.
Dec. 17, 1933–The Bears won 23-21 in front of 26,000 at Wrigley Field. Each Bear earned $210.34 and each Giant $140.22. Bob Elson broadcast the play- by-play on WGN radio that foggy, misty day. If excitable John Madden sees the plays this Sunday that Elson saw, Madden might go wacky trying to diagram them on instant replays.
For example, Giants` center Mel Hein almost won the game on what he called ”the shortest forward pass on record.” All six Giants` linemen lined up to Hein`s right side, making him an eligible receiver. Quarterback Harry Newman moved right up behind Hein like a T-formation quarterback. ”I handed the ball to Newman between my legs,” Hein recalled, ”and he immediately slipped it right back into my hands.”
Then the fun began. Newman dropped back without the ball, pretending to look for a receiver. Then he faked a fumble and pretended to look for the ball that Hein had slipped inside his jersey. Ten Bear defenders (everybody except safety Keith Molesworth) rushed to get the sack or fumble recovery.
”The idea,” said Hein, ”was that I`d just stroll to the goal line with the ball stuffed up my shirt. But after a few yards, I got excited and started to run. Molesworth, their safetyman, saw me and knocked me down. I got about 30 yards, but didn`t score.”
Got that one diagrammed, John Madden? Then, how about this one.
The Giants took a 21-16 lead on the spontaneous great-grandfather of the
”flea-flicker” play. Newman handed to Ken Strong. Strong swept end, saw that he was hemmed in, spied Newman across the field and still in the backfield and heaved him the ball. ”He was quite surprised,” said Strong, who then streaked for the goal line himself.
”I was in the end zone waving to Newman,” said Strong. Newman saw Strong and passed. ”I caught it,” said Strong, ”and fell into the first-base dugout.”
Bears` coach George Halas was furious. ”Newman to Strong to Newman to Strong,” Halas fumed. ”Who would be foolish enough to dream up such a play?”
With less than three minutes remaining, the Bears went ahead 23-21 on their basic jump pass and lateral play from Bronko Nagurski to bareheaded end Bill Hewitt to Bill Karr, the end who wore a helmet. It was the same kind of lateral Buddy Ryan`s defenders love to pull after an interception.
Finally, on the game`s last play, the Giants almost won with the same pass-and-lateral stunt. Wingback Dale Burnett caught Newman`s pass. Burnett had only Grange to beat, and Hein was roaring up to take Burnett`s lateral the instant Grange went for the tackle.
Grange, playing his final NFL game, had lost a step or two. But he was as smart as ever. ”I could see he wanted to lateral,” said Grange, ”so I didn`t hit him low. I hit him around the ball and pinned his arms.”
”It saved the game,” said Halas. ”Red flung his arms around Burnett in a bear hug . . . the greatest defensive play I`d ever seen!”
Dec. 9, 1934–The Giants earned $621 per man for their 30-13 victory in front of 35,059 at the Polo Grounds. Each Bear earned $414.02.
”When I went to mass,” Halas recalled years later, ”it was 9 degrees, and the ground was freezing into a solid sheet of ice.”
Abe Cohen didn`t go to mass that morning, but he proved to be the answer to the Giants` prayers with the basketball shoes he produced at halftime in the famous ”sneakers game.” Cohen, a tailor, longtime fan and volunteer clubhouse attendant, was dispatched in a cab to find the footwear that enabled the Giants to keep their feet and outscore the Bears 27-0 in the final nine minutes.
Team captain Ray Flaherty had suggested to coach Steve Owen that the Giants switch shoes. Owen didn`t know where gym shoes could be obtained on a Sunday in Manhattan. Trainer Gene Mauch was also the trainer at Manhattan College and thought there were sneakers in the school fieldhouse. So Cohen hailed his cab and went on his mission. When he returned with the shoes, Strong and other key Giants put them on.
”We were helpless,” said Nagurski. ”We had to mince about. We were down more than we were up.”
”An emissary of the Giants broke into the Manhattan College gym and took the shoes,” said Halas. ”One by one, the Giants changed into tennis shoes. I shouted for our players to step on their feet, but that didn`t work.”
The Bears, Strong recalled, ”started with new pointed cleats. By the end of the half, they were nubs. If they had had new cleats for the second half, they would have walloped us.”
After the game, Halas made a vow that he kept as long as he coached: ”No Bear will ever go into another game without tennis shoes in his equipment bag.”
Strong shrugged off his two touchdowns and told reporters: ”I`m no hero. Abe Cohen, over there, is the real hero.”
And Lewis Burton wrote in the New York American, ”To the heroes of antiquity, to the Greek who raced across the Marathon plain, and to Paul Revere, add now the name of Abe Cohen.”
Dec. 21, 1941–The weather was an unseasonably warm 47 degrees. The band played the new fight song, ”Bear Down, Chicago Bears.” Yet, only 13,341 fans saw the Bears, who had beaten Washington 73-0 the year before, retain their title with a 37-9 victory at Wrigley Field. The players` shares were $430 for each Bear and $288 for each Giant.
World War II, not football, was on peoples` minds on the second Sunday after Japan`s sneak attack on Pearl Harbor. The morning headlines told of submarines attacking tankers off the California coast. Before long, Halas and the touchdown scorers in this game–Norm Standlee, George McAfee, Ken Kavanaugh–would be in military service themselves.
Talk about ball control. The Bears had 53 offensive plays to the Giants`
10, but led just 9-6 at halftime on three field goals by Bob Snyder. Standlee rushed for 89 yards, more than the entire Giants team, and scored two second- half touchdowns. That $430 winner`s check sounds skimpy, but it was more than enough to cover last-minute Christmas shopping. New Lionel trains were selling for $7.95. And women`s silk hose (soon to disappear from civilian use) were selling for $2 for three pairs.
Dec. 15, 1946–The Bears won 24-14 in front of 58,346 in the Polo Grounds to earn $1,975 apiece. Each Giant picked up $1,295.
In the final quarter, coach Luke Johnsos, up in the press box, sent down a message to Halas on the sideline during a timeout: ”Now!”
Quarterback Sid Luckman approached Halas and asked, ”Now?”
”And I,” Halas recalled, ”told him, `Yes, now.` ”
They all agreed that, with the score tied 14-14 and the ball on New York`s 20-yard line, it was time to call ”Bingo Keep It,” the play Luckman had practiced all season in the hope he would have an opportunity to use it.
New York`s linebackers were keying on McAfee, so Luckman faked a handoff to his All-Pro halfback. As the blockers pulled one way, Luckman bootlegged the ball on his hip and swept the other way. He evaded a defender at the 10, picked up blocks from center Bulldog Turner and guard Ray Bray and scored his only TD of the season.
”Nobody touched me,” said Luckman. ”Easiest run of my life.”
Pregame headlines screamed about a ”Fix Scare.” Commissioner Bert Bell announced that two Giant stars–quarterback Frank Filchock and fullback Mel Hapes–had been offered $2,500 apiece, a $1,000 bet on the game and an off-season job if they would ”ease up.” The players rejected the offers but failed to report them.
After both players talked to the police, Bell ruled that Filchock could play against the Bears but Hapes could not. Filchock, who had his nose broken on the fourth play, passed for both Giant touchdowns.
”We lost, but we lost on the square,” said Steve Owen. ”I`ll never believe that Hapes or Filchock had anything to do with gamblers.”
The final score hit the spot exactly. The Bears were favored by 10 points.
Dec. 30, 1956–Halas kept his vow about having footwear for an icy field in his players` game bags, but Paddy Driscoll was coaching the Bears now and the Giants outshoed them again to win 47-7 in front of 56,386 at Yankee Stadium. This time, the winner`s share was $3,779 and the loser`s $2,485.
The Bears slipped and skidded even after they changed into cleated sneakers. Mel Triplett, Alex Webster, Kyle Rote, Frank Gifford, Charlie Conerly and the rest of the Giants kept their feet in standard basketball shoes.
But shoes didn`t decide this one. The people wearing them did. People like Rosey Grier, Rosey Brown, Jim Katcavage, Dick Modzelewski, Andy Robustelli, Emlen Tunnel and Sam Huff.
”They smashed us from the start to the finish,” said Rick Casares, the NFL rushing leader, who was held to 43 yards on 14 carries. ”The Giants hit you hard on one play, harder on the next.”
The big victory margin was reflected in the statistics. Conerly completed 7 of 10 passes for 195 yards. Gifford caught 4 for 131. The Bears rushed for only 67 yards.
Driscoll coached one more season. In `58, he was replaced by Halas, who thirsted for one more championship.
Dec. 29, 1963–Halas finally got it with a 14-10 victory in front of 45,801 at Wrigley Field that put $5,899.77 in each of his players` pockets. Each Giant earned $4,218.15
Most fans over 35 remember that the Bears intercepted five of Tittle`s passes and that interception returns by Larry Morris and Ed O`Bradovich set up Wade`s two TD sneaks. And younger fans have been reminded of these facts.
But to those who watched on television, two other pictures remain clear.
First, in the closing seconds of the game, there was the Old Man, George S. Halas, on the sideline. Sixty-eight years old, jaw jutting defiantly, oblivious to the numbing 11-degree cold, quenching his thirst for that one last title.
Then, there was the frustration and pain etched on Tittle`s bloodied face after he had played and lost so gallant a game.
