Rosey Grier’s Hobby

In Rosey Grier’s Needlepoint for Men, Grier comes out about his needle craft hobby, juxtaposing it with his own defensive-tackle frame. Specifically, the cover photo of the how-to book is meant to rattle the architectures of masculinity, “breaking down those old sex roles,” as he puts it. Welcoming readers with an expression of confidence and eagerness to disrupt convention, the hulky footballer gazes directly into the camera, seated on the floor, surrounded by his accomplishments in yarn. 

In the early 1970s, Rosey Grier would hang out in a Beverly Hills craft store, where he befriended Babbs Shoemaker, who mentored his interest in needlepoint. Inspired by his new avocation, Grier began questioning the gendered nature of craft and connecting with historically male traditions of embroidery like the Bayeux Tapestry and the tapestries from the Gobelins factory and Aubusson.

“It’s something anyone can do, if they just want to,” Rosey said. “You can have a lot of fun with it, jive around with it, and just relax with it. I get keyed up a lot, you know, and I can sit and do something like this and kind of get away from It all. Pretty soon you’re just into those little holes, man.”

The first-timer can trace original needlepoint patterns such as an alphabet, sports equipment, a moody-looking pool table, and this very specific project suggestion: “If you happen to have a boat, coasters monogramed with your flag initial would be really groovy,” followed by ten pages of sail flags with no color or photos; Rosey wanted you to stitch it up and show him how it turned out.

At first he got a lot of kidding, he said, especially from his pro football friends who thought that any publicity about Rosey’s interest in needlepoint would be demeaning to the professional athlete’s he‐man image.

“I am too into myself to let anything like that bother me,” Rosey said, in the soft, slow drawl he acquired as a youngster in his native Cuthbert, Ga., where he was one of 11 children of a farmer. “I know who I am, which is a heavy trip, because a lot of people don’t know.”

My opinion? Rosie loved his needlepoint and his Esquire interwoven socks. And there wasn’t any man alive who’d ever give him shit about it.

Life Sometimes Hurts

I wasn’t close to my father, who was a rather opaque person. He wasn’t unkind — I mean, he didn’t have any malicious thoughts toward me, just a kind of a vague indifference. Eventually, I started to feel the same, even forgetting for years at a time that even he existed as he was a puzzle that just couldn’t be solved and I had my own life puzzles to make sense of.

My dad was an amusing character who was an excellent artist, loved to play basketball, always had a bedroom as cold as an ice box, and loved to talk about Roman Gabriel and “Marvelous” Marvin Hagler. He lived with his grandmother for many years and they would have cheeky little spats about her 49ers pennant hanging lovingly next to her La-Z-Boy. (I remember it being vintage–even in the 80’s–and the helmet had a single bar face mask) 

As I’ve said on this blog before, I never chose any of my squads–I inherited them–and he made sure that he indoctrinated me into the Rams being my team of choice at a young age. Gary Trujillo Sr. was born in Los Angeles, Ca. and died in Stockton, Ca. on February 1st. He, unfortunately, was stricken by cancer. I talked to him a few days before he passed during halftime of the Lions/49ers contest. The conversation was short but comfortable, not at all sad or seemingly final. He was surrounded by his family and they were chatting and passively watching the game. R.I.P, Dad. I hope you found the peace you never found in life, and I really wish things could have been different between us.

P.S.–Sorry for driving your car into that ditch in front of your house when I was 12.

The 49ers Should Die of Gonorrhea and Rot in Hell…

…would you like a cookie?

• “There ain’t no good in an evil-hearted woman”–Waylon Jennings

• “Expert” prediction time! Lions 27 49ers 24…or whoever has the fewest turnovers. Because as legend Jim Everett likes to say, “If you don’t take care of the onion it’ll make you cry.”

• I was tickled by Rams legend and Hall of Fame Defensive End Jack Youngblood’s response to this inquiry. The fact that there is even a “debate” is kind of wild and mind boggling.

It Had to Be Stafford and the Rams, Right?

The “Lion King”

You just knew it would work out this way, didn’t you?

Detroit wins its first NFC North Division title and hosts the first-ever playoff game at Ford Field and the opponent will be the Los Angeles Rams who are quarterbacked by … Matthew Stafford the former face of the franchise.

When he was drafted first overall by the Detroit Lions in 2009 out of the University of Georgia, Stafford was to be the savior of a city’s bedraggled football team that had the ignominy of finishing 0-16 the year before and hadn’t won a division title in 25 years.

Alas, the best laid plans.

Rather than fully “Restore the Roar,” Stafford helmed the Lions to nothing more than three second-place divisional finishes and three road Wildcard Playoff Round losses. His final three seasons in Detroit – all under ill-equipped Coach Matt Patricia – resulted in successive last-place divisional finishes and a grand total of 11 wins.

On Sunday, Detroit beat Minnesota, 30-20, to put a bow on a 12-win season that saw a new banner ascend to the rafters.

The team’s success this season can be directly attributed to, you guessed it, Matthew Stafford. Or at least the Lions’ return on his departure.

When Detroit sent Stafford to the Rams three years ago this month it was anyone’s guess how it’d turn out. The only other player as part of the package – then-Rams’ quarterback Jared Goff– took Los Angeles to a Super Bowl three seasons earlier, but to much of the football world he appeared to be a serviceable quarterback. Nothing more, nothing less.

The bounty for this trade of Stafford was a third round and two first round draft picks.

Goff’s legacy in L.A.

In the interim, while Detroit waited to see what the new regime of General Manager Brad Holmes and Coach Dan Campbell would do with those picks, most of Detroit pulled for Stafford and lived vicariously through he and the Rams’ magical 2021 season that resulted in the 23-20 Super Bowl LVI victory over the Cincinnati Bengals.

It was not until April’s NFL Draft that the final tally on the Stafford Trade was known:

Thanks to Draft Day trades by Holmes, those three draft picks became five. Those picks became defensive back Ifeatu Malifonwu, wide receiver Jameson Williams, defensive lineman Josh Paschal, running back Jahmyr Gibbs, tight end Sam LaPorta, and defensive end Broderic Martin.

And, because the Lions were fairly devoid of talent that first year Holmes, Campbell, and Goff were in town, they wound up with the second overall selection which became Aidan Hutchinson. Add to the mix Lions’ Offensive Coordinator Ben Johnson and suddenly Goff was more than serviceable.

So it seems only fitting then that for the Detroit Lions – one of just four NFL franchises to never appear in a Super Bowl (Browns, Jaguars, and Texans are the others) – to move to the next round this post-season they must first vanquish the city’s once favorite son who returns wearing a decidely different shade of blue and a Super Bowl ring on his finger.

I haven’t a clue what sort of reception Stafford will receive from the Ford Field faithful Sunday night (I suspect it will be respectful gratitude for his time served), but I do know that for this franchise to fully shake the “Same Old Lions” label it will need to finally sever ties with any affinity it has for Stafford and a major part of that will be the fans making life miserable for he and his Rams’ teammates, thus enhancing the chances of a Lions victory.

Has one franchise ever witnessed its past, present, and future all converging at such a critical moment?

This piece was contributed by Doug Hill, who just happens to be a very nervous Lions fan. You can check out his blog and podcast here: https://thesportsfanproject.com

More Horns in the Mailbox

Can anyone name the book?

I had a pretty cool mail day today, receiving a card back from former Rams Defensive Back Rod Perry. (imagine an idiot scurrying back from the mailbox, drenched, in a sheet of rain. Yep, that would be me. I also received a book from my ex-girlfriend: a gorgeous, spoiled rotten, pill-popping hypochondriac)

Perry was a two time Pro bowl selection who during the first six of the eight seasons he was with the Rams made the playoffs, played in four NFC Championship Games and also in Super Bowl XIV against the Pittsburgh Steelers.

“He studied film, he analyzed routes that receivers were going to run–their breaking points,” said former head coach Chuck Knox. “He knew where his help was going to be in various coverages, and he really was a great student of the game. He overcame a knee injury to become one of the best corners in the National Football League.”

Perry, a Fresno,Ca. native, was seemingly always meant to be a Ram. “I always dreamed of playing in the Los Angeles Coliseum,” said Perry. “I remember watching a game that was played there when i was young with my dad. It was the Dallas Cowboys and the Rams and I just said, Wow.”

***

I also received a stack of 1989 Score from Bob over at I’d Rather Be Sitting in a Ballpark. This brings my grand total of cards with the guys in horns to 73, so thank you so much for your generosity and helping me build up my collection, good sir. Please give his baseball blog a gander if you get a chance, especially if you’re a fan of the Cubbies.

There were the usual suspects in this stack like Jim Everett, Jerry Gray and Jackie Slater, but I was intrigued by the draft pick card of a guy named Bill Hawkins. His name just wasn’t ringing any bells.

Well, Hawkins was drafted out of Miami (FL.) University, and he played four years at Defensive End with the Rams before retiring with a second knee injury. He now owns a law firm in Port Salerno, Florida. Of course, I just had to contact said law firm to request an interview–although I haven’t heard back as of this posting. You’re probably wondering, “Why in the hell would this busy, important, big shot lawyer get back to some dinky, trivial, insignificant blog!?” Well, you’d be right. I think, actually I know, that I was probably drinking a little bit too much hooch (whiskey/ ginger ale highballs) and it seemed like a good idea at the time. So,….uh….sue me and I’ll plead temporary insanity.

Happy Holidays

“Go Rams”

I received this card in the mail the other day and besides signing the cardboard ex-Rams running back Mike Guman was kind enough to send me a personal note wishing me and my family a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. What a class act.

Receiving the note reminded me that I should probably do the same to everyone who reads this silly blog. I hope everyone gets what they wanted in their stockings, enjoys some sloppy smooches under the mistletoe, and imbibes on some funny eggnog…and most importantly enjoys their time with loved ones. May your happiness be large and your bills be small. Life is short, ladies and gents, so enjoy every second of it. And for god sake, don’t miss the toilet if you find yourself queasy and hungover the day after New Years and you’ve got the inclination to hurl.

***

Deacon is really killing it here with the popped collar, leather jacket, open shirt with a gold chain ensemble. Effortlessly cool and classic.

Dick Butkus Almost Became a Ram

To some, Dick Butkus was as much a part of Chicago as Navy Pier and deep-dish pizza. To George Allen, Butkus was an L.A. kind of guy.

When he was head coach of the Los Angeles Rams in 1970, Allen tried to acquire Butkus from the Chicago Bears. In Pro Football Weekly, Mal Florence of the Los Angeles Times wrote, “One NFL source reported that Allen offered all-pro defensive end Deacon Jones and fullback Dick Bass to the Bears for Butkus,” but the proposal was rejected.

Allen was determined to keep trying. The timing seemed right to make it happen.

In Butkus’ first five years (1965-69) as their bone-crushing middle linebacker, the Bears finished with winning records just twice and never reached the NFL playoffs. The low point came in 1969 when the Bears were 1-13.

Though he wasn’t looking to leave Chicago, his hometown, Butkus was fed up with the losing and resented what he perceived as meddling from Bears owner George Halas in the decisions of head coach Jim Dooley.

“Things have reached a point where we’ve got to make some changes,” Butkus told the Los Angeles Times, “but I don’t blame the coaches. Dooley can’t do what he wants to do. The coach’s hands are tied, and that’s not the way to build a strong football team.”

That wasn’t the situation in Los Angeles, where George Allen had control of the football operations.

With his contract expiring after the 1969 season, Butkus was considering becoming a free agent. His attorney, Arthur Morse, told the Chicago Tribune that Butkus was so frustrated by the losing “there is an outside chance he will be playing for another team next year.”

Allen pounced on that chance. He hoped the Bears would trade Butkus to the Rams rather than risk having him walk away as a free agent.

Allen had been the Bears’ defensive coordinator when Butkus joined the team in 1965. After the season, Allen left to become head coach of the Rams. He took over a team that had experienced seven straight losing seasons (1959-65) and immediately turned them into winners.

The Rams never had a losing season with Allen as their head coach and he twice took them to the playoffs. As Dave Anderson of the New York Times noted, “George Allen was a winning coach who knew how to construct a winning team with winning players. He preferred experience to potential.”

To Allen, Butkus, 28, was just the kind of impact player who could turn the Rams into a Super Bowl team in 1970. The Rams had an outstanding defense, with the likes of linemen Merlin Olsen, Diron Talbert, Coy Bacon, and Deacon Jones, linebackers Maxie Baughan and Jack Pardee, and defensive backs Kermit Alexander, Ed Meador, Richie Petitbon (a former Bears teammate of Butkus) and Clancy Williams.

(Asked about Butkus, Deacon Jones, a savage sacker, said to the Chicago Tribune, “I called him a maniac. A stone maniac. He was a well-conditioned animal, and every time he hit you, he tried to put you in the cemetery, not the hospital.”)

Butkus, replacing Myron Pottios at middle linebacker, would make that defense otherworldly.

“It is believed Butkus would like to play for the Rams,” Pro Football Weekly reported.

(One reason Los Angeles appealed to Butkus was he planned to become an actor. He began appearing in TV shows such as “Emergency,” “McMillan & Wife,” and “The Rockford Files” in the 1970s. He eventually moved from Chicago to Malibu and spent half his life as a Southern California resident.)

Allen and Butkus hung out together during the Pro Bowl game in January 1970 and then sat together at a Fellowship of Christian Athletes awards banquet at the Century Plaza Hotel in Beverly Hills, fueling speculation a trade was in the works.

Asked about his impressions of the Rams, Butkus told the Los Angeles Times, “The Rams have improved each year since Roman Gabriel has been starting at quarterback. I see the man who has everything. Gabriel leads, reads, and attacks. Most quarterbacks can’t read defenses.”

He also told the newspaper, “I want to stay with the Bears. I hope the situation can be changed because I want to play there. My contract is up and I haven’t signed a new one. I’d like to know that things are going to be better before I do sign.”

The Bears did enough to convince Butkus to stay. He re-signed with them in May 1970. He never did reach the playoffs with them.

The Rams, meanwhile, gave up the second-fewest number of points in the NFL in 1970 and finished 9-4-1, but Allen alienated team owner Dan Reeves and was fired. Reeves told the New York Times, “I had more fun losing.”

Thank you, Mark, at RetroSimba for contributing this piece.

A Trip to the Card Shop

I like pictures of men. Okay, before anyone permits their mind to wander into the latex gutter, I’m talking about pictures of men on cardboard performing athletic feats. (although sometimes they may just be standing around looking stern or even “pretending” to be playing in an actual contest) About once or twice a year I get the hankerin’ to go to a card shop to placate my desire for these pictures of men. You see, I’m a collector. 

I nodded at the proprietor who barely looked up and headed to the back room where dusty boxes were stacked and categorized by teams. We are all middle-aged adolescents in this dungeon, all of us eerily quiet except for the shuffling of cardboard and the occasional belch or a whispered exclamation due to someone finding a critical piece to a now perfected and completed set that would never be gawked at or enjoyed aesthetically. No, it would sit there, sealed in a box as a rectangular coagulation of cardboard. A congealed brick consisting of pictures of men. These men whose pictures of past glories hadn’t seen the light of day for years, were unearthed from a box for a mere moment only to be shoved into the darkness of yet another box. 

But at least my tactile heroes were now owned and in my possession. And wasn’t that the point? Is it that we find these exquisite objects visually stimulating? Do they impose visceral order in the world, or are we glossing over abandonment issues and existential anxieties? Perhaps it’s just the simple thrill of the chase or the enjoyment of arranging and rearranging things? An obsession with paper or nostalgia? Incapable of solving this mystery I took my cache and paid while the proprietor (now apparently enthralled by an over 50-year-old episode of Andy Griffith and couldn’t be bothered to look up) acted as if I was inconveniencing him for giving him money. 

As I was leaving a homeless man asked me for some change. He had his hooch (orange Mad Dog 20/20 which no doubt would be ejected violently from some hole in a few hours) in a brown paper bag which gave him plausible deniability and was a sort of tacit agreement between scallywags and the police as long as he was minding his own business and not screaming obscenities at ghosts. Besides, the fuzz had better things to do. 

“Didja get anything good?”

“Ah, just a stack of Rams.”

“Oh, you’re a California boy, huh? I’m from around here so I’m an Oilers fan myself.”

I nodded and gave him a dollar. I know what you’re thinking, and I just didn’t have the heart to tell him.

The Legend of Crazylegs Hirsch

Great halfback, outstanding receiver, and movie actor: all by a person named Crazylegs. It’s unlikely that anyone today would take seriously a person named Crazylegs, but everyone–especially opposing defenses–took Elroy Hirsch very seriously indeed.  He was an unmatched combination of physical prowess, skill, and charisma that revolutionized the game of football.

Elroy Hirsch got his nickname from his unusual style of running, with his left foot seemingly pointing to the side. The gait gave him a sense of wobbling while he ran, but it did not hurt his speed or cutting ability. “His legs were like the pistons of a car, that is a car with a tank full of Jack Daniels,” said one of his coaches. Hirsch came to prominence as a running back at the University of Wisconsin, and after he broke off a 62-yard touchdown run against an opposing team a sportswriter bestowed on him the name he would carry for the rest of his life. 

Hirsch joined the L.A. Rams as a halfback in 1949 but was almost immediately moved to flanker because of his explosiveness, enabling him to become the most exciting receiver of his time. It was his best season in 1951 when he caught 66 passes for 1,495 yards and helped the Rams win the NFL title 24-17 over the Cleveland Browns. Hirsch scored 17 touchdowns that season, six of which were outstanding 70 yards or more, and his accomplishments and success during that 1951 season remain almost unparalleled in NFL history.

Hirsch’s good looks and gridiron-generated fame led him into the movie business while he was still playing for the Rams and earned him the moniker, “Glamour Boy of the Gridiron.” So popular was he throughout the nation, and especially in Los Angeles, that Republic Pictures made a film, Crazylegs (1951) about his life. And who better to play the lead than Crazylegs himself? Hirsch said, tongue in cheek, “Hollywood made a movie of my life, and the film had me proposing to my wife on the football field – I would never misuse a football field that way.”

Hirsch was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1968 and the College Football Hall of Fame in 1974 and gave perhaps the shortest induction speech in NFL history: If any of you think this isn’t tough, I wish it were a kick-off and I were being clobbered, believe me. Thank you very much, (presenter Hampton Pool), ladies and gentlemen. You know I’ve had a lot of wonderful things happen to me in my life. I’ve been married for 22 years to a very lovely woman. We’ve always gotten along, basically. I have a wonderful son, 18, who has never given me any trouble, and a very lovable daughter. I’ve even carried it so far; I have 22 in-laws and I get along with all of them. And I’ve made a lot of wonderful friends, both in college and professional football. And these are enough to enrich any man’s life. But, believe me, the biggest honor is today, and I thank you all for it.

The speedster became athletics director at the University of Wisconsin after his playing days until retiring in 1987. Elroy “Crazylegs” Hirsch died on Jan. 28th, 2004 in Madison, Wisconsin, the home of his alma mater.

Horns Cage the Cards in a Dive

“To flourish in the face of absurdity we have to become absurd ourselves.” –Albert Camus

A friend called, waking me from an afternoon siesta, and asked me if I wanted to go to a “saloon” to watch the game. This place looked like something straight out of the 19th century and had a Saints helmet on the roof which was essentially the husk of a VW bug painted gold with the famous fleur-de-lis added. We grabbed a few beers (noting the interesting bouquet of Pine-Sol and urinal cakes) and watched the end of the game in which the house favorite lost to their rivals, the Atlanta Falcons.

The clientele was already drunk so they drowned their disappointment on the dance floor, twisting, jerking, and swerving like intoxicated apes and spilling a bit of their drinks with every random undulation. A woman walked up to me and pointed an extended claw in the general direction of the cigarette machine, her perfume so dense it was making me dizzy. I had no idea what she was saying (cajun accent) but nodded my head and that seemed to pacify her for the moment as she smiled and pirouetted back to the now booze-slicked dance floor. 

The Horns dominated the Cards in the game I popped in to watch as Kyren Williams gave me Todd Gurley flashbacks and gained more yards than the entire Arizona team after 3 quarters. The young man from the Catholic school with the Golden Dome ran with a perfect balance of grace, power, and violence and paced the team with 204 total yards and 2 touchdowns. Matthew Stafford absolutely owns the team from the desert with a 5-1 record and had obviously bathed in the fountain of youth before the contest. The good guys win 37-14. 

As the game was coming to a close a clearly intoxicated woman asked me to dance, and I tend to follow the momentum of poor choices, so I agreed. She was an old-school scumbag in a way that she’s never had an e-mail address and she yearns for the original recipe for meth. We danced and slipped to “Hot Blooded” by Foreigner as my friend laughed uncontrollably in my peripheral vision. Of course, the Rams shirt I was wearing didn’t escape unscathed by the random and ongoing dance floor drink spillage as I disappeared into the sea of baseball caps advertising beer or heavy equipment.

We pulled out of the gravel parking lot in an area of town that had never even heard of the term gentrification, where the structures knew only a world of beige, rust, and shit-brown. There were two guys smoking cigarettes, wearing cowboy hats and matching flannels arguing about their favorite truck manufacturer. 

 “I’m sorry, man. I guess I expected that place to be something different.”

“Are you kidding me, I loved that place!”