The Baltimore Colts had entered Super Bowl III as 18-point favorites over the AFL’s New York Jets. The underdogs were quarterbacked by the flashy Joe Namath and the brash Alabama native boasted in Miami, “We’re gonna win the game. I guarantee it.”
The Colts were infuriated by this brash statement and quashed the first drive by the Jets, however big games are won on injuries as much as luck and after the bruising fullback Matt Snell knocked out the Colts’ safety and the secondary was open for Don Maynard, who scored 2 TDs.
The NFL champs never really challenged the upstarts, as their all-star OB missed several opportunities to hit receivers in the end-zone. The victory acted as a turbo-charged boost for the AFL, however the Jets have never come as close to the Super Bowl again.
Betters lost millions on that game. No one ever questioned the outcome. The Jets seemed to have simply outplayed the NFL juggernaut.
In 1984 I ran into Bubba Smith at the Deauville Film Festival. I was attending the gathering for the French magazine ACTUEL. The Colt defensive lineman was in France to promote the comedy film POLICE ACADEMY.
Not #2 or #3.
The original.
Most reporters were huddled around Steve Guttman, the star of the comedy. Bubba was sulking off to the side. He wasn’t on my list of interviewees. ACTUEL was more interested in my speaking with Rock Hudson about acting with James Dean in GIANT.
That rendezvous wasn’t until after tomorrow’s screening of George Stevens’ western epic, and I introduced myself to 6-7 280 pound ex-NFL All Star as a longtime admirer. His fearsome tackling at Michigan State had earned the enormous lineman the motto ‘Kill Bubba Kill’. I half-expected him to crush my hand, but he smiled when I told him how much I liked his acting.
“Just playing myself.”
Neither of us had anything scheduled for the afternoon and I suggested that we retire to the Bar of the Hotel Atlantique. It had a great view of the beach,
I told him about being a Boston Patriots fan.
“Tough luck.”
The Pats were my team. Their 1983 season had been 8 wins versus 8 losses. The Baltimore Colts had beaten them twice. Both games had been close I was more interested in the past and Bubba told me how it was to play with Johnny Unitas. He said great without any reservation, but I was dodging the real question and after my fourth glass of wine I leaned over to ask Bubba Smith, “The Colts were such a favorite in Super Bowl 3, how did you lose to the Jets?”
“They got to the quarterback.” Bubba answered without caring who heard that accusation. Most everyone in the bar was French. Few of them had ever heard about Joe Namath’s boast about winning against the Colts. They were frogs and they worshiped soccer. Not football.
“The game was fixed?”
A shrug indicated that the answer was mine to decide and I remembered Unitas throwing the ball to the Jets defender and Morall’s 3 interceptions.
“Who fixed the game?”
It was a stupid question undeserving of an answer and Bubba stood away from the bar. A few of the froggies gawked at him. They had never seen a man or woman that huge.
“Excuse me. I gotta get back to work.” Bubba Smith went over to watch Michael Winslow delight the reporters with his imitations of a helicopter. I laughed at him too.
The retired footballer avoided me the rest of the festival, especially after spotting me dining with Rock Hudson. Bu I didn’t mention Bubba’s confession to the editorial staff of Actuel. None of them were interested in a rumor about a football game in 1969. The editors were having trouble with my article with Rock Hudson. My typing was atrocious.
While I’ve never seen a replay of Super Bowl III, several bookie friends of mine had listened to my story and mumbled under their breath about how the Mob had threatened the lives of Earl Morall’s and Unitas’ families. Bubba said nothing, but the opposing quarterback had a big mouth.
“We’re gonna win the game. I guarantee it.” Joe Namath’s words were carved in stone thanks to strong-arm gangsters. Sometimes there is such a thing as a sure thing. although these days games are never fixed by players. They make too money.
Refs on the other hand controlled the game from start to finish.
Not that I’m pointing any fingers.
In truth I know nothing and I’m happier that way.
Knowing even less would only make me happier.
ps Anita Bryant sang the National Anthem in 1969 whose later anti-gay campaign was immortalized by David Allan Coe’s 1978 song “Fuck Anita Bryant”.