Butts and Bryant meet as friends, exchange warm greetings before the Georgia-Alabama game at Legion Field, Birmingham, Alabama, in 1960.

It’s a story that refuses to lie down and be quiet, even half a century later. In 1963, James Wallace “Wally” Butts, former coach of the University of Georgia’s football team, sued Curtis Publishing, the Post’s parent company, for libel. The case went all the way to the Supreme Court, which decided unanimously against Curtis Publishing. Fifty years later, there is growing doubt that it was the right decision.

To understand the doubt, you need to know the background of what the Post claimed was the most shocking sports story since the Chicago Black Sox scandal—a story that began with an overheard phone call and ended by damaging the credibility of America’s most popular magazine.

On September 13, 1962, George Burnett, an insurance salesman in Atlanta, called a friend at a local public relations firm. As sometimes happened in those days, the phone lines became ‘cross-connected.’ Instead of hearing his friend’s voice, he heard a telephone operator identify two famous college football coaches. One was Butts, the athletic director and former coach at the University of Georgia; the other was Paul “Bear” Bryant, coach at the University of Alabama.

Instead of hanging up or announcing his presence, Burnett remained on the line and listened. Over the next 15 minutes, according to what Burnett told the Post, he heard Butts give Bryant details about Georgia’s plays and strategies. In particular, he described the formations that his school’s football team would use against Georgia in the opening game, just eight days away.

Burnett feverishly took notes. When the conversation was done, he had six pages in all.

After the coaches hung up, Burnett redialed the number he originally called. This time the call didn’t get crossed over, and he reached his friend at the public relations firm. Burnett told him what he’d just heard. The friend replied that Butts was, in fact, at the firm and using a phone in a back office. Both men knew Butts and liked him, and after discussing the matter, they agreed to forget the whole business.

The next week, Alabama defeated Georgia, to no one’s surprise. Bryant’s team had been widely expected to win. What was unusual was the score: 35-0. Few gamblers would have bet on which team would win the game. Most of the betting action would concern the difference between the teams’ scores. A gambler who knew the point spread would have been particularly large could have made a lot of money. And Butts was close friends with gamblers.

The lopsided win bothered Burnett. He broke his silence and mentioned the matter with another friend, who passed it on to the new Georgia coach, who informed the University of Georgia’s administrators. They asked Butts about the incident. Butts didn’t deny the charge; in fact he admitted he’d discussed Georgia’s plays with Bryant. But he said the whole incident had been misinterpreted. The next day, Butts resigned from the university.

The university’s regents then called Burnett to a meeting, where they grilled him on what he’d heard. They brought up the fact that Burnett might not be a credible witness since, they’d learned, Burnett had written some bad checks in the past. Perhaps he was hoping to gain by making these charges.

Burnett left the meeting convinced the university was going to dispose of the problem by discrediting him. Expecting to face an accusation of slander from Butts, Burnett spoke with his attorney, who suggested he take his story to The Saturday Evening Post.

Solemnly Wally Butts leads a Georgia football team in locker-room prayer.

“The Story of a College Football Fix” appeared in the March 23, 1963, issue. On March 28, Butts sued Curtis Publishing for $10 million.

The case was heard in the Atlanta federal court, where a jury awarded Butts $60,000 in damages, and $3 million in punitive damages. Stunned, Curtis Publishing appealed the verdict. The 5th Circuit Court upheld the decision in 1965.

Curtis appealed again, believing it could get a favorable hearing in the U.S. Supreme Court, which had recently handed down an important decision concerning the rules of libel. In that case, L.B. Sullivan, the public safety commissioner in Birmingham, Alabama, had sued The New York Times for libel after the paper ran an appeal for Martin Luther King Jr.’s legal defense fund. He believed the wording of the appeal, which criticized the city’s police, had defamed him personally. At the time, several southern states had libel cases pending against newspapers they felt were unfairly reporting on their racial problems.

When the Supreme Court ruled unanimously in favor of The New York Times, Justice Hugo Black explained that malice “even as defined by the court, is an elusive, abstract concept, hard to prove and hard to disprove.” In this instance, the Supreme Court declared that a public official could not be libeled unless a publication showed intentional malice; that is, acting with reckless disregard for the truth.

Which is what the court decided the Post had done. They upheld the lower court’s decision for Butts. But the award of $3 million was appealed, and eventually Butts accepted $460,000.

Over the past 50 years, journalists have revisited the case, wondering how the Post managed to lose the case. There was proof the phone call had taken place. Burnett was a credible witness. Butts was not. Other investigators, both at the University of Georgia and the state attorney general’s office, corroborated what Burnett reported. So why did the Post lose all three trials? The reason might be one, or several, of the following:

• The Post’s attorney was not nearly as good as Butts’ lawyer, who was very skillful in diverting suspicion away from his client.
• The Post‘s attorney knew little about football, while Butts’ attorney had an incredible knowledge and could use this knowledge to discredit the value and usefulness of Burnett’s notes.
• The jury was unfavorably impressed that the Post editors didn’t bother to attend the trial but sent depositions of their testimony instead.
• The Post didn’t pass the story for review among its other editors, who could have caught several minor errors in the story, and would not have approved the sensationalistic tone in the introduction, which stated, “The corrupt here were not professional gamblers but two men—employed to educate and to guide young men. … How often do teachers sell out their pupils? We don’t know—yet. For now we can only be appalled.”
• The magazine was operating out of its depth. It had been trying to rebuild its popularity by engaging in what its publisher called “sophisticated muckraking.” It had successfully dug into several political scandals, and had often run stories about college athletics. But when challenged in this case, they mounted an indifferent defense with the wrong lawyer, and never even showed up in court to speak on their own behalf.

Yet none of these factors changed the fact the phone call took place, other inquiries backed up what Burnett said, and the fact that during the opening game, Georgia players had taunted the Alabama team by calling out the code names of their plays before they were run.

The Supreme Court’s decision in this case still baffles students of journalism law. So the question remains: why did the Post lose the case?

To further understand why doubt lingers, we recommend Fumble: Bear Bryant, Wally Butts and the Great College Football Scandal (New York: Harcourt, Brace, Jovanovich, 1986). The author, James Kirby, taught law at the University of Tennessee and had been dean of Ohio State University’s law school. In 1963, he investigated the Post’s allegations on behalf of the Southeastern Athletic Conference.

Why Did the Post Lose its $10 Million Libel Case? The Saturday Evening Post

After citing the number of deaths that had occurred in college games, sports writer Furman Bisher concluded that the game was definitely getting rough. “It seems to me that the effort to knock an opponent senseless has become more and more obvious in coaching intent.”

In his story, he paid particular attention to the University of Alabama’s team, then coached by Paul ‘Bear’ Bryant.

‘Bear’ Bryant, as seen in the days when he coached the University of Kentucky team.

He never said Bryant encouraged or condoned violence, but the implication was there. And Bryant thought the inference was strong enough to be considered libel. On January 4, 1963, he launched a $500,000 suit against the Post.

This lawsuit was still pending when the Post published another exposé on college football. In “The Story of a College Football Fix,” which appeared in March 1963, the Post charged that James Wallace ‘Wally’ Butts, Jr.—the University of Georgia’s athletic director, and recently demoted football coach—had given away game secrets to Bryant that affected the outcome of a Georgia-Alabama game. From this sprang another lawsuit against the Post. This time, Bear Bryant and Wally Butts both sued the Post for libel, each man asking for $10 million in damages.

Coming Up: Curtis Publishing Company vs. Butts 

50 Years Ago: Bear Bryant Sues the Post for a Football-Violence Article The Saturday Evening Post

Alex Karras passed away October 10, 2012, at age 77. Mr. Karras was an All-Pro defensive tackle for the Detroit Lions. In addition to a 13-year career in football, he was a bar owner, actor, color commentator for Monday Night Football, and professional wrestler (briefly).

He was also a writer, as the 1971 Post article “Football, Anyone?” proves.

His writing skills might strike you as only slightly less surprising than his acting talent, which caught many people unaware back in the early 1970s.

Karras’ post-football career began in 1966. Author George Plimpton talked his way into training with the Lions for a season, hoping to eventually play with the team as a third-string quarterback. In the book he produced about his experiences, “Paper Lion,” Plimpton frequently mentioned Karras. The book was eventually made into a movie, with Alan Alda starring as Plimpton. Alex Karras played himself and was so believable that he was soon offered other roles in movies and TV shows.

He began his writing career after his team failed to renew his contract because of what was called “diminishing athletic prowess.” Fortunately he was just beginning to prove his prowess as an entertainer, writer, and—we think, justifiably—humorist. To wit:

I can honestly say I never did have much fun playing football. I’m not trying to degrade the game, it’s the situation I was in. Basically, it is a rough sport, and when I speak of sense of humor, I mean being able to forget it off the field and make fun of the things you have to do.

We have summer camp that lasts six weeks. This means going twice a day starting in July, when the temperatures are in the mid-80’s or higher. If anyone enjoys that he must be a little sun-tetched.

There’s not much to do—it just consumes a lot of time. You’re there early in the morning, in the afternoon, and at a meeting in the evening at 8. This lasts until 9:30 and we have curfew at 11. There’s really not a helluva lot to do between 9:30 and 11. I always wanted to be able to have fun in that hour and a half, so I thought of many things I could do.

I always wanted a pet. Last year, at the age of 35, I decided to buy a pet and take it to camp with me. My pet and I could spend that hour and a half together. I didn’t really think a dog or cat would be fitting, cooped up in that cubicle we live in.

Finally, I came up with a great idea. A clam. I bought one and put it in one of those pails we use. My clam and I spent many weeks together in my room. We really didn’t do that much, just look at each other and spit. That little clam would spit and I would spit back. At the end of the evening when the coaches said lights out, I would play his favorite record—”Ebbtide.”

My clam and I had everything going until some damn, dumb rookie who got thirsty picked up my pail for a drink. He didn’t even use a dipper; he just tipped the pail up and swallowed everything in that bucket, including my clam.

… I’ll tell you what happened to us in New Orleans, which I think is ridiculous. I hope the Commissioner will take a stand on this.

Alex Karras with actress Lauren Hutton in a scene from "Paper Lion."

We had won five or six games straight, and our intentions were to go to New Orleans and have a good time. We played the Saints the following day and it looked like we’d had a good time. We were playing just well enough to be leading by one point and felt good about that.

New Orleans had the ball on their own 27-yard line, 27 seconds left to play in the game, fourth down, and called time out. We were waiting for the punting team to come out and the darndest thing happened.

The only person to come on the field was a stubby looking fellow with an odd type helmet. I haven’t seen a helmet like this since the banana-peel helmet of the Knute Rockne days. I’m not quite sure, and I hate to say this if it isn’t true; but on top of the helmet was a beanie-shaped thing with a propeller on it, and the propeller was going in the opposite direction propellers should go. It was the darnedest thing I’ve ever seen. I asked the referee if this was the new punter. No, he was their field goal kicker.

He was going to try and kick a 63-yard field goal. That was the funniest thing I’d heard in my life, and about five guys on our team who heard this went into convulsions laughing and had to leave the field as did three of theirs. I flipped with the fellow on the outside to see if I could play there, as I wanted to look over the little halfbacks who look like frogs on kicking teams. I wanted to watch this funny, funny sight a guy trying to kick a 63-yard field goal. It was the darnedest thing I’d ever heard.

The only other guy who was serious at the time was their center. They can thank the Lord, for he did snap the ball correctly, and it did go into the quarterback’s hands, who placed it down.

I never will forget the laugh. We laughed for about 62 yards. Then we got real serious about the whole thing. Tom Dempsey kicked a 63-yard field goal and beat us.

The Post editors concluded the article with this contemporary critique of the budding journalist.

Alex Karras is the defensive left tackle of the Detroit Lions and has been for 13 years. Despite the violence of his trade, he is a gentle and literate giant off the field, a devoted father, president of the parent-teachers group in his home town, and is willing at all times to offer his talents as an after-dinner speaker for worthy charitable causes. Looking 10 years younger than his 36 years, and oddly unmarked either physically or spiritually by his career, he has a strain of throwaway humor that suggests a locker-room Mark Twain. Most teams facing Karras put two men on him, so greatly is he feared, and it is reported that they can’t see anything funny about him.

Alex Karras: Football Hero, Post Contributor The Saturday Evening Post

Dog on the Field

Dog on the Field
by Lonie Bee
from October 18, 1941

One of the indignities of the job. Rover is going for a touchdown and ignoring the ref’s whistle. This 1941 cover is by artist Lonie Bee, who, although little known today, illustrated for magazines like Collier’s, Good Housekeeping, Cosmopolitan and Woman’s Day in the ’40s.

Ref Out Cold

Ref Out Cold
by Stevan Dohanos
from November 25, 1950

Stevan Dohanos, one of the best and most prolific of the Post cover artists, witnessed such a catastrophe at a Yale-Dartmouth game in 1949. Darned if the callous son of a gun didn’t immediately think, “ah, this would be a great Post cover!” But despite being steamrollered by a young Goliath, the real referee survived just fine. It’s a rough game.

Third Down, Goal to Go

Third Down, Goal to Go
by Thornton Utz
October 15, 1949

This bird’s-eye (blimp’s eye?) view shows how rough situations, like the one above, can come about. The football is nearly on the 0-yard line and the ref is in the way of a thundering herd rushing in to see what they can do about it.

It’s hard to imagine what it takes to paint a crowd like this. If you have an eagle eye, you’ll spot a lot of detail along that wall: coffee cups, pop bottles (glass—a complete no-no at sporting events these days), binoculars, and one man to the left using an umbrella to try to retrieve his hat. Thornton Utz painted this for a mid-October Post cover in 1949.

Football Pile-up

Football Pile-up
by Constantin Alajalov
from October 23, 1948

Russian-born artist Constantin Alajalov had a wry way of depicting everyday American life, which he happily did for many Saturday Evening Post and New Yorker covers. The poor ref in this 1948 cover doesn’t have a clue who to start whistling at.

Coin Toss

Coin Toss
by Norman Rockwell
from October 21, 1950

We can’t salute referees without this classic 1950 cover by Norman Rockwell. The artist liked to wander over to the local high school football field during breaks from the easel, and watch the kids play. This sunny October scene also boasts a fairly detailed crowd of noncombatants in the background.

But, Ref!

But, Ref!
by Lonie Bee
from October 22, 1938

Here’s another cover by West Coast artist Lonie Bee. In fact, the model in this 1938 cover looks like the same referee who was working hard to get that dog off the field in the 1941 cover. Bee did half a dozen Post covers, all with a sports theme. The title for this one is apt: But, Ref!

Now, sit back and enjoy the game—and maybe lay off the refs a bit.

Classic Covers: Saluting the Referees The Saturday Evening Post

There are few things that are as ingrained into the American psyche as the Super Bowl. Every year—even months ahead of time—we know that we will: dress up and give out candy for Halloween, exchange gifts for Christmas, and get together with friends for pizza and wings for the Super Bowl. It practically is a religious holiday among die-hard fans, and even those who hate the sport still attend parties and watch “just to see the commercials.”

How big of an event is it? It is estimated that over 173 million people will tune in to the game Sunday evening—over half of the population of the United States. Consumer spending is expected to surpass $11 billion, as many as 1 in 10 workers will miss work the Monday after, and Americans will have eaten over 1.25 billion chicken wings after all is said and done.

And that’s nationwide. The impact the event has on its host city is virtually unfathomable. “There will be over 100,000 people in Indianapolis for the Super Bowl this year,” says Susan Williams, president of Indiana Sports Corporation, a non-profit lobbying group that was instrumental in bringing the event to Indianapolis. “We have been planning for this for three years. It is a huge civic engagement.”

And it is not just the sheer number of people that the city is preparing for. The cultural importance that our country places on this game, combined with the reality of living in the internet age, have indeed meant that Indianapolis has undergone a massive undertaking.

First of all, the enormity of this event means that keeping the venue safe from threats both domestic and abroad is something that the city has taken very seriously. “Fifty percent of the planning so far has been spent on safety and security,” explains Williams. “There are people here from Homeland Security, the FBI, the Secret Service—every possible public safety entity. This ranks right below a presidential visit in terms of security.”

The widespread media coverage of the Super Bowl has also presented unique challenges. There will be 5,000 credentialed media in the city, all of whom will require internet access, access to technology, and hospitality. However, Williams is full of hometown pride and believes Indy is up to the challenge: “An entire floor of the JW Marriott has been transformed into a media center,” she says. “Every single member of the media will have access to equipment, and there will be very high-level volunteers who will act as concierge to ensure that their every need is attended to. That’s why they like coming here: we’ve hosted several Final Fours and the 500 every year, and Indy knows how to deal with it.”

In addition to the special media and security preparations, the city has had to prepare with the physical realities of hosting so many people. Every downtown hotel is sold out; train tracks have been shut down; the downtown post office has been temporarily decommissioned and mail rerouted. It is estimated that visitors will spend between $100-200 million dollars in Indianapolis over the Super Bowl weekend, which is welcome news to local vendors, but presents a logistical nightmare to planners.

This is the reality of the Super Bowl in this modern age. The more cynical among us might say that such importance being placed on a simple sports game shows that our country’s priorities aren’t quite in order, and they might have a valid point.

However, according to Williams, the event will provide a lasting positive impact in Indianapolis outside of the realm of sports. “This has really brought out the best of Indianapolis,” she says. “It’s brought the community together in an incredible way.”

Over 8,000 volunteers will participate in the events surrounding the Super Bowl, which Williams believes will strengthen the community. The city will also benefit from several more physical and concrete improvements:

• Over 200 near-Eastside homes were rehabbed in preparation for the event.
• Volunteers surpassed their goal of planting 2012 trees around the community to commemorate the event.
• 46 murals have been painted around the city by both local and national artists.
• Arsenal Technical High School (an inner-city public school) will get keep the turf field and fitness center created for the New York Giants to  practice in.
• Arts and music should flourish on newly-redesigned Georgia Street downtown.

So, even after this year’s celebration wraps up on Sunday—and we look ahead to the next American holiday—Super Bowl XLVI will leave its mark on Indianapolis and the country as a whole.

The Modern Super Bowl The Saturday Evening Post

Rosey Grier’s Needlepoint

Rosey Grier’s Needlepoint
From November 1, 1974

This cover was designed by a needlepoint expert—Rosey (Roosevelt) Grier, a former pro for the L.A. Rams and the New York Giants.

According to this issue, Grier appeared on a talk show in the 1970s and “one of the guests brought her work and Rosey was so taken he spent—after she taught him—the entire program pulling yarn through canvas. Later, Rosey would haul his sewing to card games. If he had a good hand, out would come the needlework from under the table, an unusual alternative to the poker face.”

Grier at the 2008 Movieguide Faith and Value Awards Gala.
Photo from lukeford.net

Johnny Unitas by Leifer Neil

Johnny Unitas
by Leifer Neil
From December 12, 1964

Widely considered one of the NFL all time greats, Johnny Unitas of the Baltimore Colts appeared on the cover in December 1964. By this time, photographs had replaced work by artists that the Saturday Evening Post was so known for. Not that photographers aren’t artists, as this great shot by Leifer Neil shows.

The article in this issue was ironically called, “The Runaway Colts.” This referred to an outstanding season in 1964, one of Unitas’ (and the Colts’) best. The title has no bearing on “Bob Irsay’s Midnight Ride,” abandoning Baltimore for Indianapolis, which didn’t occur until 1984. Although he had been retired for a decade by then, Unitas and fellow players were outraged by the move. Unitas passed away in 2002.

“Quarterback Pass” by Maurice Bower

"Quarterback Pass"
by Maurice Bower
From October 12, 1935

Artist Maurice Bower was brilliant at capturing moments of high-energy action, as this 1935 cover will attest to. Other great examples of this were Bower’s many covers of another kind of athlete: horses. Galloping, muscles straining, nostrils flaring and manes flying—see “Maurice Bower’s Horse Power” from 2009.

“Inflating Football” by Harrison McCreary

"Inflating Football"
by Harrison McCreary
From October 16, 1926

Equipment sure has changed since the Roaring Twenties. For one thing, you needed a good set of lungs just to keep the ball inflated. Secondly, it is hard to imagine the helmet provided much protection. A really cute touch to this illustration by artist Harrison McCreary is the 4-leafed-clover pinned to the boy’s sweater for luck. Apparently, the need for a good set of lungs continued into the 1940s—see below.

“Grandma and Football” by Russell Sambrook

"Grandma and Football"
by Russell Sambrook
From October 26, 1940

In this 1940 cover, the helmet looks a bit more sophisticated, but that ball still needs to be inflated the hard way. If I were this young man, I would do it myself and let grandma get on with her apple peeling. I don’t know how the game will turn out, but something tells me a rockin’ apple pie is in his future.

“College Man’s Number” by George Gibbs

"College Man’s Number, 1900"
by George Gibbs
From October 27, 1900

The Saturday Evening Post started out as a newspaper. It didn’t sport a cover and start looking like a magazine until 1899. So, with a virtually new format, artist George Gibbs paints a football cover. Gibbs did several early Post covers as well as inside illustrations and covers for other prominent magazines of the time such as The Ladies Home Journal and Redbook.

We hope you enjoyed our multi-decade gridiron salute and have a great time watching the Super Bowl!

Covers: Celebrating Football The Saturday Evening Post

Celebrate the Super Bowl with a laugh!

From September/October 1995

Ever notice how far away that goal is? Try looking at it when a bunch of big, angry guys are chasing you. Post cartoonists look at the funny side of football.

"Do you have the same thing in Parmesan?"
From January/February 2006

No Cheeseheads this year, but fans do have to dress the part.

"He’s going to feel that tomorrow."
From September/October 1995

And you have to be ready for it to get a little rough.

"My wife thinks that I put football before marriage,
even though we just celebrated our third season together."
From July/August 1999

Women!

"Football is a game where 22 big, strong men run around for two hours while millions who really need the exercise sit and watch."
From November/December 1998

Okay, so women do understand the game.

"Boy, you should hear their coach!"
From November 25, 1950

You would think hearing one coach rant and rave would be enough.

"Relax—the game is over!"
From October 5, 1957

Hey, the team didn’t get this far by giving up. Enjoy the game!

Cartoons: Super Football The Saturday Evening Post

Cartoons: Autumn The Saturday Evening Post

The first intercollegiate football game—played November 6, 1869, in which Rutgers beat Princeton, 6 to 4—bears little resemblance to a modern version of the game.

This “prehistoric” football was a hybrid of existing sports that combined the rules of soccer and rugby in a more physical, more dangerous game.

Today, we can debate whether modern football is too violent for college students, but there is little question about the 19th century version. Then, it was a harsh, brutal sport which became so hazardous that, during the 1905 season, 18 college players died from injuries sustained on the football field.

President Roosevelt considered outlawing the sport that year. Instead, he ordered colleges to impose rules to make the game less lethal. Since then, football has changed continually. As talk show host Cenk Uygur observes, “There is no tradition of football, outside of change. The game has changed countless number of times. The shape of the ball has changed; the number of people who play has changed; the tackling and blocking rules have changed; the forward pass itself is a change to the rules; and how many yards you needed for a first down changed.

Trivia tickler: How many yards did you need for a first down when the game first started? None, you just had to keep possession; teams were known to sit on the ball for a whole half.

[To read “How Teddy Roosevelt Ended Unfettered Football and Saved the Game,” click here.]

In 1945 James Hopper wrote for the Post about the game he played when he was quarterback for the University of California in 1899. Reading his account, you realize how much more the words “contact sport” could mean.

“I was already playing long before 1899; therefore am I able to describe for you the flying wedge, a play still vaguely famous in men’s minds.

"We Really Played Football in the Gay Nineties"
by James Hopper
November, 1945

“Unlimbering this heavy gun, we left the ball on the ground in charge of the quarterback and strolled back some thirty yards to get a good start, the joke on the defensive team being that it couldn’t stir as long as the ball remained on the ground and wasn’t put in play. Leisurely we formed ourselves into a solid v-shaped wedge and got going, gradually picking up momentum till we were rumbling along like a juggernaut. At the last, last moment, our quarterback whisked the ball back to us, thus freeing our opponents just as we mightily crashed into them. It was a cute play.

“But what is really interesting about the wedge, of which exaggerated stories have been told, is the fact that it could be stopped. Sure, you could stop it! All you had to do was sling yourself very exactly at its precise apex. It then went up in the air and shattered like a house of cards. At least that is what you were told had happened when you woke up twenty minutes later.

“There being no forward pass, and hence no fear of a forward pass, the team on the defense lined up tight, its line a solid wall, its backs close up. When you lowered your head- and bucked that, you bucked a fortification. You had help, though. The help was not so much ahead, in the form of blocking, as it is today; it came from behind. As you bucked, your whole team massed at your tail and enthusiastically shoved you through. Through you went like a straw driven through a fence by a Middle West cyclone.

“Once through, even then it wasn’t as it is today. You couldn’t call the thing off by touching one knee to the ground as the modern back does. Touching the ground with the knee didn’t count. Also the ethics of the period demanded that you continue. Even asprawl you went on, clawing the earth for a possible half inch, spinning like a firecracker, twisting like a worm, crawling like a snake, while the fellows on the other side piled up on you one by one, and your own fellows, trying to help, piled up on you one by one, so that when the referee, a skeptical fellow, at last became convinced that your progress was truly halted and blew his whistle, you were established beneath a mountain of pigskin stalwarts with arms and legs sticking out like the guns of a battleship.

“Under there you lay very quiet, knowing that this was the only kind of rest you got in this game, holding your breath because there was no breath to breathe, tucking your hands under you to escape the prowlings of still ambitious cleats, and holding the ball tight in your armpit, for always, at that time, some sly sucker would be trying to steal it from you.

“In my last game we had in our equipment a maneuver that deserves special description. We called it the Kangaroo and it was built about our fullback, a rangy customer named Pete, who was fast and springy. As the center snapped the ball to me, Pete would already be on his way toward the line at a deceptively careless trot whose every step, as a matter of fact, had been carefully calculated. I handed him the hall as be reached a certain spot, also accurately predetermined, and he then leaped up into the air. This was all he had to do—leap up into the air. For at the same moment, I grabbed the seat of his pants, and gave a mighty upward heave while the two halfbacks grabbed each a thigh and gave a mighty upward heave. High through the sky Pete went sailing, to alight well behind the enemy line.

“The only inconvenience about this play was that, landing on the other side, Pete landed entirely alone. Before our protective intentions could get to him, he usually had been well worked over already by an irritated foe who questioned the honesty of this sudden arrival out of the air.”

Read the full article. It’s a fascinating and hilarious account of life on the scrimmage line before modern-day regulations made football both less lethal and more interesting.

My, How the Rules Have Changed The Saturday Evening Post

Another terrific face appears on the November 1933 Country Gentleman cover by artist Henry Hintermeister. While the kid may be small, his concentration is intense. The dog, however, is just concentrating on the water bucket. We all have our priorities.

You Can Be the Water Boy
Frances Tipton Hunter
November 27, 1937

How do you become suddenly popular when you’re the smallest kid in the neighborhood? Get a brand-new football for your birthday. Artist Frances Tipton Hunter painted the cutest kids, and the November 27, 1937, cover is a picture-perfect example. The adorable tyke shifts attention away from the bigger kids, who, apparently, would like to get a game going. It appears that negotiations involve offering him the exalted position of water boy in exchange for use of the ball. Is this the same boy concentrating so intently on the game on the 1933 Country Gentleman cover mentioned earlier? Hmmm.

When did the first football cover appear on The Saturday Evening Post? Would you believe October 27, 1900? This painting of what appears to be a rousing game came from an artist who rarely scored a coveted Saturday Evening Post cover. His name remains “Unknown.”

It’s crunch time for the boys in artist Frederic Stanley’s November 1926 cover. Unfortunately, what is being crunched appears to be the boy on the bottom. Did we mention this can be a rough sport? Need further evidence? See Norman Rockwell’s November 1925 cover. Ouch! Right in the breadbasket.

Let the games begin! But may all your football memories be less painful!

Classic Covers: Are You Ready for Some Football? The Saturday Evening Post