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TIME: Almanac 1990
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1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
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1990-09-17
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SPORT, Page 52Just a Super Bowl of CrescendosTwo tough teams and two imaginative coaches promise a realcontest for onceBy Tom Callahan
Super Bowl XXIII, like most things in football, began with Paul
Brown. He hired Bill Walsh in the 1960s to assist in coaching the
new Cincinnati Bengals. When Walsh got his own command in San
Francisco, reserve quarterback Sam Wyche followed along to tutor
passers. Together Wyche and Walsh scouted and drafted Notre Dame's
Joe Montana. In two triumphant Super Bowls, Montana has been the
player of the game. Now he is the central figure in a third.
Meanwhile, Brown retrieved Wyche five years ago to coach
Cincinnati -- as it happens, the 49ers' opponent this Super Sunday
in Miami. For the first time in many a Roman numeral, perhaps in
the whole stolid history of the most consistently disappointing
annual spectacle in America, a two-sided chess match is not only
promised but guaranteed. The only question about Walsh and Wyche
is which of them is wormier with ideas. Their imaginations are so
active that the very canons of the sport are under strain. The
National Football League is worried.
Wyche, like every fan from the beginning of time running out,
or at least since the onset of two-minute warnings, got to puzzling
over why even sluggish teams always seem able to move the ball at
game's end. Increasingly, he has had the Bengals operating in a
hurry-up mode from the start, dispensing with huddles, relying on
sinister (defined: left-handed) quarterback Norman ("Boomer")
Esiason to communicate the plans aloud in a complicated tongue. The
effect has been to freeze the other team's situation specialists
on the sidelines or create a confusion of too many men on the
field.
Two games ago, however, the Seattle Seahawks started swooning
on third downs, and last week Buffalo coach Marv Levy suggested his
Bills might also feign strategic injuries in the American
Conference championship game. Fearing a sham, commissioner Pete
Rozelle issued a fuzzy decree on "the spirit of the rules" and
momentarily turned Wyche's ingenuity into an offsetting penalty.
Cincinnati beat Buffalo anyway, 21-10, but the theme of Super Week
was established. Some 2,200 journalists, double the U.S. press
corps at the Moscow summit, will be concerned with ethics.
All the fancy stuff aside, Cincinnati is as rugged a team as
has ever employed a passer named Norman, a runner named Elbert and
a linebacker from Dartmouth who serves on the Cincinnati city
council. Councilman Reggie Williams does boast a salty tattoo on
one bulging forearm, depicting a piece of music. "It's a
crescendo," he says. "You have to have a certain rhythm in your
life." While scoring 18 touchdowns, rookie Elbert ("Ickey") Woods
has smoothed the black edge off several unenlightened symbols that
have crept into currency in Cincinnati. Fans have taken to calling
the stadium "the Jungle," and throughout the games they chant like
a minstrel chorus, "Who dey think gonna beat dem Bengals?" Ickey's
popular touchdown "shuffle" would be the last straw were it not so
preposterously white that it somehow saves the day.
The rabble wanted coach Wyche cashiered last year, when the
team won only four games (its total losses this season). So many
of his inventions were exploding on the pad, Wyche acquired the
nickname "Wicky Wacky" and waited woefully for general manager
Brown's expected summons. When Brown did call, it was with advice,
and not on X's and O's but on p's and q's. The man who founded the
Cleveland Browns and gave them his name, who was fired once himself
and had to live for a time on his face-mask patent, basically
ordered better nutrition and more sleep. The sagest maneuver of the
season may have been the removal of the cots from the coaches'
offices in Cincinnati.
Public opinion has never stampeded Brown, 80. In fact, it has
tended to lock him in place. In 1950, after the short-lived
All-America Football Conference disbanded, the leftover 49ers and
Browns were derisively absorbed into the N.F.L. "They don't even
have a football," remarked first commissioner Elmer Layden. Before
Cleveland's big-league debut against the champion Philadelphia
Eagles, Brown gathered his rinky-dinks all around -- players with
names like Groza, Motley and Graham -- and delivered a pep talk of
two sentences. Referring to the star of both the Eagles and the
league, he said dryly, "Just think. Tonight you're going to get to
touch Steve Van Buren."
The Browns won the game that night, the title that year and
the decade on balance. Montana is Van Buren now, and it is the
decade that the 49ers are after. For the first time in his ten
seasons, San Francisco's darling quarterback has had an internal
rival, one with the disturbing name of Steve Young. Montana is only
32 but has charted enough maladies, highlighted by back surgery two
years ago, to feel older. His favorite receiver and off-field
running mate, Dwight Clark, 32, retired with creaky knees this
season. "Losing Clark," coach Walsh theorizes, "may have started
Joe toward that feeling of isolation that inevitably comes to the
old pro."
Walsh's delight in taking quarterbacks apart and putting them
back together again also affected Montana's spirit. Recognizing
the opponent's quandary in preparing for both -- Montana is a
drop-back passer, Young a rollout runner -- Walsh coyly invented
a quarterback controversy. He cut it out only when Joe started
rolling steel balls in a clenched fist while quoting Y.A. Tittle
on the three ages of athletic life. "Y.A. told me that when you're
young, they love you. When you're in the middle, they hate you. But
when you're old, they love you again."
By that standard, Montana must be a codger. Since his 34-9 and
28-3 displays against Minnesota and Chicago, the Bay Area has never
loved him more. Esiason won most of this year's quarterback awards,
but Montana has no peer at the moment. Along with Walsh's brain
and Montana's arm, a 49er composite features receiver Jerry Rice's
hands and Roger Craig's legs. The handiest all-around back in
football, Craig is one of three ex-Nebraska runners on call. "It
isn't just that they're sound fundamentally," Walsh says, "it's
that they love the game so."
Going for five straight, the National Conference has been alone
in adoring the Super Bowl lately.Washington mistreated Denver last
year by 32 points. The '80s average spread has been 20, the only
single-digit margin coming in the 49ers' 26-21 victory over Forrest
Gregg's Bengals of 1982. It is said coach Gregg succumbed to the
tensions that go with a $100 ticket and a 120 million -- viewer TV
audience. Wyche has taken a lighter tack. His first marching order
to the players is "Go for that shaving-cream commercial you've
always wanted." It's a smart start.