Word: namath
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Some think Joe's reputation as an eternal swinger has been exaggerated, and his devotion to football underrated. Says Veteran Receiver Don Maynard, Namath's favorite target over the years: "Everything you hear about Namath's personal life, divide it. Everything you hear about his professional life, multiply it." Not that Joe is an incipient St. Christopher, whose image in metal he wears round his neck. True, he turned down the drinks pressed upon him by coaches and friends two weeks ago in Houston with a nonchalant, "Haven't you heard? Tomorrow is game...
...drawl. Namath's lazy inflections still suggest that his forebears fought under the tattered banners of Beauregard and Breckinridge. But as every true fan knows, Namath was born and raised in the Pennsylvania steel town of Beaver Falls (pop. 14,404), the youngest of four sons of a Hungarian-born steel puddler. Joe is sincere about his deep family ties. In his autobiography, / Can't Wait Until Tomorrow...'Cause I Get Better Looking Every Day (written in collaboration with Writer-Sportscaster Dick Schaap), Namath proudly observes: "When I was growing up, my mother was a maid...
...head coach's insistence and ultimately led Beaver Falls to a western Pennsylvania championship. His college boards kept him out of Maryland and Notre Dame, so he headed south to Alabama and the ineluctable embrace of Coach Paul ("Bear") Bryant. No one has ever dominated the Bear, but Namath at least baited him to a draw. Bryant did suspend his errant pupil once for breaking training. On the other hand, Bryant's own mother would likely quail at the thought of slinging an affectionate arm over his shoulder and calling him "Bear"-a gesture Joe regularly indulged...
Sonny Werblin, the Jets' high-rolling owner, got Joe with what was until then the biggest salary-cum-bonus offer ever given to a football rookie. Namath quickly won the starting assignment from Regular Mike Taliaferro and the man who had beaten him for the Heisman Trophy, Notre Dame's John Huarte. Before Joe, the Jets might as well have been the Pottstown Firebirds for all anyone cared about them; their only fans were grumpy football buffs who could not afford to pay scalpers' prices for scarce New York Giant tickets. Werblin knew what he was about...
Debaucheries. No, you can't, and Joe most decidedly did not. Even as his tactical wizardry turned the stiles at Shea Stadium, his caterwauling got more and more notice from the New York fans and press, who had not had a bona fide rakehell hero since Babe Ruth. Namath helped embroider his image with statements like, "My weaknesses are clothes and blondes; I like any place in New York where there are girls and pleasant company." He also set himself up in the shooting gallery by snapping at reporters who quizzed him about a bad game: "Booze and broads...