‘THE. DAYTON HERALD, MONDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 1942

i
1 DEPARTMENT WAR DEPARTMENT = W.
‘s, Materiel Division Air Corps, Materiel Division Air Co;
-ield, Dayton, Ohio. == Wright Field, Dayton, Ohio |= Wright
y a mild
ice that
son that
eversals
smeared
; Navy
Ly, mn
.. Tech,
i uacy's| [VI

be long
l many
ng: Sat;
standing

id “Mary | -

jeadlock
arolina’s
-mouth’s
ennessee
2ch over
Minne-
western;
‘4A over
ne over
rer Col-
er Van-
r Great
° Wash-
sie with
te over
n over
Princee
Indiana
ym over
TCA
da Penn

hers we
get the
then it’s

y. Cross

 

ns are
2casion-
ams as
Chicago
a under
almost-
: Bears

s have
re than
league
ng the
f they
: they’!
council
ing for
\erwise,

t only
by the
variety
j took
ie New
peared
‘ooklyn
played
ad col-
h, but
In the
might
| Dud-
ho has
Pitts-

sched-
Bears,
inals—
‘s. The

home
played

league
t least
ms ab-
1e Na-
lo not
ve nine
idently
sched-
ay the
isional
ar, to

 

B05
Lys-
my
ced

O.,
res’
ter
aar
1ed
vill

of

    

 

~~By BELL CUNNINGHAM —

Just to get ’em good and mad,
I am about to relate a little un-
written history incident to the
time Boston College socked the
famed Tennessee Volunteers in
the Sugar Bowl of Jan. 1, 1941.
It isn’t why B. C. won, but at least
it didn’t hurt their chances.

The Eagles received the Sugar
Bowl bid that year after narrowly
Squeezing by Hoi!y Cross in a bad
game of football. Tennessee was
already in, the Vols having been
signed by the Louisiana burghers
after the second win on their
schedule, which chanced to be
from Duke. Knowing they were
in, and figuring Boston College a
probable choice because of its vic-
tory over Tulane, Tennessee had
scouted the Eagles exhaustively.
I don’t know whether they got
their’ information first hand, or
procured it from third parties, but
they had a lot of it.

B. C. had practically nothing
on Tennessee. They made an effort
to get a line on tne Vols from the
Tennessee - Vanderbilt game, a
traditional finale down that way,
but it rained hard that day, and,
anyhow, Vanderbilt didn’t have
much of a team,

Major Is Away

I took off from Boston, in due
course, and went -down to Knox-
ville to write a few pieces about
Maj. Neyland’s fine eleven. Most
of it, unfortunately, had to be
fiction. The Major was away.
They prevaricated neatly and said
he was in Florida on a fishing
trip. It developed he was in Phila-
delphia checking Boston College
movies and scout reports with Ray
Morrison, the Temple coach, an
old southern boy and then but re-
cently through as head coach at
Vanderbilt.

The Tennessee team was dis-
banded while the Major was away.
They were due ic hitch back to-
gether in a couple of weeks and
resume training FOE the New
Orleans game.

The local publicity man was a
swell gent, and friendly as could
be. He even aad me over to his
house for Thanksgiving dinner, or
some sort of dinner—anyway we
had turkey. ~But I’ve never seen
a bright man who could go so
suddenly blank. He was glib, even
voluable, until the talk got ’round
to football. Any sort of question
about Tennessee formations
Tennessee plays and he’d go as
vague as the face on the barroom
floor after it had on walked on
& week,

of the institution, the. beauties of
the campus and the matchless
hospitality of our fine southern
friends and went on down to Bir-
mingham, Ala., to make a speech.
This was a football job for an
Alabama alumni group, and had
nothing to do with the Tennessee
junket, except that the two pieced
together conveniently into one
general excursion.

I could call rames from this
point, but there’s no point in get-
ting anybody lynched even at this
late date, so I shall be as vague
as Tennessee’s Jack Joyner, the
press man, except about facts.

I checked in that afternoon in
the Birmingham hotel, and the
local banquet committee- and
others started to call. Finally a

nameicss, but who is ; well known
all over
ence, came in with another man
and said, “It’s mighty nice of’ you
to some down here, and I was
wondering if there wasn’t some
way we could really make it worth
your while. For instance, would
a little information on Tennessee
be of any use to you?”

“It certainly would,’ said I.
“Who’s got any?” Then I went
ahead to explain how I’d_ been
stumped back up the line.

“Well, you know John Blank
here?” he said, introducing the
man who was witk him.

“No,” said I, “but I’m happy
to,” and we shock hands.

 

“Well, John here,’ he said,

Me ae OF Riv Cael ng staf
Aided In Tennessee Bowl Defeat ;

Of

Well, I wrote anoTe the history

southern gentleman I shall leave).

‘that Southeastern Conter-{

“knows more about ‘Tennessee
than Neyland does himself. He
concentrates on scouting them.
He never does anything else on
any Saturday in the fall. He’s
positively a better authority on
Tennessee than anybody at Ten-
nessee.”’

This John was @ member of the
coaching staff of another South-
eastern Conference college that
plays Tennessee every year in one
of the south’s biggest games.

“Yeah,” he said, in a matter-of-
fact way, “we hate their guts.
We’re for anybody who’s playing
"em, even a Yankee team. What
do you want to know about ’em?”

“Anything you'll tell me,” I
replied.

“OQ. K.,” he said, “here’s their
basic formation. ‘But: they’re a
funny ball club. A lot of their
success is their trick blocking in
the line, Their piays look like a
lot you’ve seen, but when you
start to break ’em down, you'll
find that there’s a lot of funny
business in their blocking assign-

 

e
D BRIE Oe Ss

a4 olor
A Setu

a0. Bush’s decision..t@ return
asa anager-ef Tis Indian-
apolis Indie j 9 dy break
for nerican Assecfation. Lil
Donie_ will aKe things hot for
everybedy concerned mpires,
howeVér>-mady not be-st60 pleased
over Bush’s retu Small as he
is, Donie_jea tough hombre on the
field gfid the men in blue always
have “te~bealer st Bush’s
teams.
_ Donierfetired several years ago
becauSem@diacd aith. we returned
to the game as,owrier-president of
the Indianes~Last season he hired
Gabby*Hartnett, who was probably
the Sgighe pata Anage the
minors. Gabby receivet $10,000 to
masterming é tribe to a sixth
place 4% and an additional $2,500
for beekstop-duty. Bushuwill save

at least $7,500 andling the
reins himself and hiring a right
handgffian 1 for about $5,000.

 

 

ber, Welght Hao touch-
dewns while j ten-
Sort é e each.

  

 

DEARBORN, ¥ MICH. — sax steceessesseees: a) pe ssedias |
¥ aA 5 2

Q n oo a aa he Sad acs yn e
2 AC i ‘

te a eeehax <5) as Bz: . :
bebom a for comparhyndPM
runner 00.s é. . Agee
"Ti eeein- ony 007 OUT wet patie, leer eee ee tins Se

 

ments up. front. Neyland’s a

genius. There’s no doubt about it.
On this one, now, the guard fakes
his charge here and then pulls
out this way...”

“Wait a minute,” I said, “this is
tricky business. Instead of my
trying to draw it. why don’t you?
I’m afraid Ill miss some of it.
You sketch and keep talking. ri
take notes.”

“O. K.,” he saia, and’ he rolled
up his sleeves ata went to work.
Tennessee Analyzed

He drew 14 sheets full of dia-
grams. I must have taken 25
pages full of notes. It took us
three or four hours, but I’ve never
heard a team so completely and
exhaustively analyzed down to and
through the fifth string quarter-
back. The guy knew where every
man’s foot was on every play. He
knew every tip-off. every sequence,
every shift, everything, in fact,
but the signals, and he probably
knew them, too.

Before midnight, I had bound
that bale, insured it and had
shipped it air mail special delivery
to Head Coach Frank Leahy,
Boston College A. A., Boston Col-
lege, Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts.
They tell me that when Mr. Leahy
opened that bundle, he took a:
hurried look and yelled for his
coaches so loudly they thought the
house was on fire.

The game was played in due
course and Boston College won.

Next day in the lobby of the
dear old St. Charles, a New
Orleans scribe said, “You’re not
doing anything. Come on upstairs
and see Neyland. He’s up there
packing up to leave. I guess he
feels pretty low about the ball
game. Let’s go up and cheer him
up. 29°

As it chances, I didn’t know the
Major very well, having met him
only casually, so I more or less
did the heavy standing around
while the other mien talked.

“... and there's one thing about
that ball game that has really got
my goat,” he was saying to my
friend. ‘We were beaten all right.
Maybe we'd have been beaten
anyway, but there’s something
darned peculiar about the whole
thing. I don’t think we have ever
played a team we had so much
information on as we had on
Boston College. We felt we knew
everything. about them, everything
that they could do. Yet, when we
got in the ball game, it developed

.|that they knew more about us

than we did about them. I can’t
figure it out.’

The scoreboard could.

 

heap cto oan]

So eh

st

Ql

 

ni

™~

RES a RS SS CM y “

SO Ob EC). ob orem re ern

 

pi

MOR

=>

nest

ISemHOHoO B22ZHWHaAD

> bem fue

ot Sd

pic

wa
wk
oft
aly
br:
ing
os

worn 3

“as Pit

Maw

Ph DB Rees:

ners oO&

 

+@

 

Cuddy Divorces Mild Bill Terry #.

 

St. Bernard Of Press Coop Adop ts Branch Rickey

As Newest Object Of at Defensive Mien

By JACK CUDDY

NEW YORK, Dec, 1.—(UP)—
Sweet Wilyum Terry, the Memphis
choir singer, has departed from
the New York baseball scene. We,
personally, will miss him much,
because we had played the role of
self-appointed defender during

Terry’s wrangles with New York)

sports writers.

Now | that Bellicose Bill: has
resigned as director of the Giants’
farm system, we will have no one
to defend, unless we espouse the
cause of Branch Rickey, the choir
singer from St. Louis who already
is getting off on the wrong tootsie
in his relations with gentlemen of
the metropolitan press. David
Harum Rickey, you will recall, is
the new president and general
manager of the Dodgers.

We
Rickey as swell fellers because
they’ve been strictly on the up-
and-up with us. And we always
speak of a man as we find him,
entirely unprejudiced by the com-
plaints of others. However, in the
case of Terry, we were sort of a
lone voice crying in the wilderness.
After Memphis Bill became mana-

ger of the Giants in 1932, his

brutal frankness, lack of diplomacy
and scorn of certain other mana-
gers who had sycophant leanings,
lured him into unfortunate verbal
exchanges with various New York
sportswriters and made him a
quick target for their barrages of
black-and-white bullets.

During the eight years before

/Terry succeeded John McGraw at

the Giants’ helm, he had been one
of the game’s greatest first base-
men—a brilliant fielder and a

 

P)
he
nd
we
ds
rs

ge

ve
Is.
ed
se
He

st
at

ig
is
ul
id

regard both Terry and

Giants’

 

BILL TERRY
mark of .401—the last major to
top .400 until Ted Williams Bened

the trick in 1941.
But even as a player, he was a

confirmed independent, and on
certain occasions a rebel against
the master-minding of McGraw.
Terry's ability and independence
as a player made him popular with
the writers, against whom he had
no-ire. His belligerence was aimed
in other directions.

When he became manager, he
thought this happy situation would

-continue,.without -any..change in

his own attitude. He didn’t realizy
that as pilot he was front man for
the club, the buffer between his
players and the press, and that it
was almost as important to main-
tain cordial relations with the
writers as it was to turn out win-

poeetaiuiter in 1930 he ted hel ce

National circuit with a batting|

Hence, alisoush Sweet Wilyum
proved a managerial genius in

‘many respects—winning the pen-
-|nant and world series in 1933, a}.

yéar after he had taken over the
last-place club, and winning flags
in ’36 and ’37—he was. constantly
under fire from. the- press coop.
The strain of this feud, coupled
with the fact that key players of
the McGraw regime were fading
out, caused- a -recession in the
fortunes. They finished
third in 1938, and then dropped
into the second division for three
consecutive seasons.

The writers slammed Terry un-
mercifully and unceasingly. Crowds
fell off at the Polo Grounds, an
Bill gave over the managerial p
to Mel Ott, popular little outfielder,
a year ago. Terry took control of
the club’s farm system, which then
comprised nine minor clubs, but
which probably will have but one,
Jersey City, in 1943 because of war
conditions,

It is rumored that Terry may
take over the futile Phils, in some
capacity. Bill could do a good job
there, if he evaded contact with
the press. He’s a master of base-
ball economics. But we know Bill’s

 

 

 

attitude toward writers will not

change, He’s a wealthy man now,
one of the richest in the game.

§| He doesn’t have to change; and he
wouldn’t if he had to—because he’s |

that kind of a feller,

“Meanwhile Branch Rickey,
elderly and apparently benign, is
an entirely different type. Branch
is not a firebrand. Instead, he goes
in for the old “oil.” Already the
writers are complaining that

‘Branch is so complacently evasive

to’ pertinent. questions, that he
lends the impression he thinks the
metropolitan baseball Boswells are
a bunch of “dopes.”

One of the writers told us re-
cently: “Rickey must think he’s
still talking to the. boys in St.
Louis.” We replied: “Now, now—
that’s not very complimentary to
the St. Louis lads.”

“Maybe you're right,” -he said,
“put there’s a lot of difference
between handling three or four
writers in St. Louis and 20 or 30
in New York.”

Looks like Branch will soon need
our help.

 

ar

 

si
t]

fc
Ic

fi