| The greatest oversight in NFL history continues. If you look very closely inside the
walls of the Pro Football Hall of Fame, you will find a hole. Not a hole in the ground.
Not a hole in a wall. A hole in its soul.
It is a hole that will not be plugged until justice is served and the player who had
the statistics of Dan Marino, the brashness of Joe Namath and the shooting-star quality of
Gale Sayers is inducted into the Hall of Fame. As far as I am concerned, professional
football will shed tears of sorrow as long as Benny Friedman is not a member of its Hall
of Fame.
What’s that? You don’t remember Friedman? Well, that’s because he played
about, what, a thousand years ago? The time for him to go into the Hall of Fame was 1963
with its first class.
Perhaps a bit of a history lesson is in order. Friedman, who played from 1927 through
’34, was the first great passer in the history of the NFL. He was as famous as Ernie
Nevers (who is in the Hall of Fame) in their day and ranked just behind Red Grange (who is
in the Hall of Fame).
He was bigger than the teams he would play for. Back in the day, the headlines would
read, "Friedman’s team wins." You don’t see that anymore. The
headlines these days don’t say, "Elway’s team wins" (and John Elway
will undoubtedly be in the Hall of Fame someday).
It wasn’t until Sammy Baugh (who is in the Hall of Fame) came along in 1937 that
the NFL again saw the likes of a quarterback in Friedman’s class. There are those who
will say that Arnie Herber (who is in the Hall of Fame) was an awfully impressive
quarterback in the 1930’s and ’40’s, but I think he was a notch below
Friedman.
Friedman was a pioneer. He was unstoppable. He was the first quarterback ever to scare
the daylights out of the opposition through the air. The fact that he is not a legend is
due more to our own poor memories than any failings on his part.
Check out the numbers.
The first four years of his career were Herculean. He was first-team All-Pro each year.
Friedman led the league in TD passes each of those years, throwing 11, nine, 20 and 13.
That may not make you jump up in your seat in these more pass-happy days, but back then
nobody else was within shouting distance. Back then, a half-dozen TD passes a season was
superb.
In fact, Friedman’s 20 TD passes in 1929 was every bit as impressive as
Marino’s all-time mark of 48 TD passes in a season set in 1984.
How can Friedman’s 20 TD passes equate with Marino’s 48? Simple. Just look at
the ball. Just look at the rules.
Let’s start with the ball. It was much bigger in Friedman’s day. Thicker.
Rounder. Less tapered. Much more difficult to throw than today’s ball.
My gosh, he was practically throwing a watermelon.
Now let’s look at the rules. Throwing the football back then was fraught with the
same peril as a high-wire act without a net. The slightest misstep and … splat!
Quarterbacks received a stinging slap on the hand by the rules with more frequency than a
rowdy 3-year-old in an antique store. Quarterbacks couldn’t throw the ball unless
they were five yards behind the line of scrimmage. Plus, if they threw an incomplete pass
into the endzone, it was considered a turnover, which makes Friedman’s 20 TD passes
in 1929 downright mind-boggling.
Given the rules of the day, it’s no wonder all other quarterbacks could usually
count their TD passes in a season on one hand. Given the rules, it’s no wonder teams
usually strictly adhered to the ground.
Yet there was Friedman the pioneer, throwing the ball on first down at a time when this
was practically considered blasphemy.
Just how far ahead of the pack was Friedman? His teams ranked first in the league in
scoring in each of his first four years in the NFL. Heck, he was so much better than any
other quarterback in football that, in 1929, New York Giant owner Tim Mara decided he
wanted to acquire Friedman, who was playing for the Detroit Wolverine team at the time. To
do so, Mara bought the entire Detroit team.
"It was a bargain," football historian Bob Carroll once wrote.
Of course, much of this argument is based on statistics, always a dangerous endeavor.
As former Ohio State coach Woody Hayes once said, "Statistics always remind me of the
fellow who drowned in a river whose average depth was only three feet."
Fair enough. Instead, I’ll let the naysayers drown in a river of accolades from
the newspapers of Friedman’s day.
Portsmouth Times, Nov. 6, 1930: "As a passer, Benny
appears to have no equal. Griff’s gang (the opposing team) could have used a squadron
of airplanes, a couple of dirigibles and some blimps as they tried to stop the air
raid."
Chicago Herald-Examiner, Nov. 28, 1927: "They had a
million ideas about winning the game, but not a darn man to stop Friedman’s
passes."
New York World, Oct. 15, 1928: "He’s a master, this
Benny Friedman. He can throw a football with almost as much skill as Waite Hoyt can throw
a baseball. He can smash and rip through an opposing line with as much power and drive as
any other player in the country today. He can skirt around the ends with almost the speed
of a Hinkey Haines. And, when it comes to tackling, he is second to none. … There
were a lot of other former college heroes on the gridiron, but Friedman far overshadowed
them."
Chicago Tribune, Oct. 28, 1928: "Friedman has shown the
graduate players that his mastery of gridiron strategy is complete. His judgment of play
is extraordinary, his reputation as a placekicker of the highest and his ability as a
passer unequaled."
I didn’t see anything about him walking on water, but that may be because I saw
only a limited number of stories. Newspaper accounts from the NFL’s diaper days are
tough to come by.
So why isn’t Friedman in the Hall of Fame? Let’s look at the ammunition in
the arsenal of his critics, whose battle cry seems to be, "Ready, aim, misfire."
Criticism: His career was too short. After playing full time for only
four seasons, he was primarily a part-time player during the next four years.
Reality: Hall of Famer Nevers performed in the NFL at the same time as
Friedman, and Nevers played only five pro seasons, so the length-of-career argument is
bogus. Careers were often much shorter in Friedman’s era than in the modern day. One
of the main reasons Friedman didn’t play as much after his first four years in the
NFL is that he became a college coach. Reason? It paid better. That may be hard to believe
today, when even scrubs are paid enormous sums of money, but it was the case in the old
days. Bronko Nagurski (who is in the Hall of Fame) left football to go into pro wrestling
because he and George Halas (who is in the Hall of Fame) couldn’t reach an agreement
in contract negotiations. Cliff Battles (who is in the Hall of Fame) retired because
George Preston Marshall (who is in the Hall of Fame) wouldn’t pay him enough money.
Joe Kopcha, who was a frequent All-Pro guard, retired to practice medicine. Dan Fortmann
(who is in the Hall of Fame) quit the game to become a doctor. In addition to money,
Friedman also became a part-time player after four years because of a leg injury that made
him less of a threat. Don’t hold that against him. Gale Sayers (who is in the Hall of
Fame) played only seven years in the NFL, and the last two years of his career were
virtually nonexistent because of injury. Like Sayers, Friedman belongs in the Hall of Fame
because of how dominant he was while at the top of the heap. Furthermore, during three of
his "non-glory" seasons (1931-33), Friedman still finished sixth, third and
second in the NFL in TD passes.
Criticism: In a Hall of Fame discussion a long time ago, one of the
former players brought in to talk about the candidates under consideration said Friedman
didn’t play much defense.
Reality: According to the rumor mill, the player who made that
criticism came into the league after Friedman’s leg injury, which kept the
quarterback from doing much on defense. Recall the 1928 New York World write-up
quoted earlier in this column that said of Friedman, "And, when it comes to tackling,
he is second to none." Plus, who cares if he played much defense before or after he
hurt his leg? I’ve heard that Friedman was often played at defensive back. Deep
defensive back. Like a placekicker on kickoffs, to be used only when a play threatens to
go the distance. This was prudent strategy. An offensive weapon as outstanding as Friedman
should not have been put in harm’s way. Take a good look at the Hall of Fame, and
you’ll find too many quarterbacks to mention who never played a down of defense.
Criticism: Friedman lobbied too hard to get into the Hall of Fame and
stepped on too many toes. Friedman would type up letters extolling his virtues as a Hall
of Fame candidate as though they had been written by stars such as Red Grange and Ernie
Nevers. Then Friedman would send the letters to Grange and Nevers for their signature.
When Nevers first got the letter, he was confused. He signed the letter anyway and added a
postscript that read, "I don’t know who wrote this letter, but I agree with
everything they say about Benny." Once Friedman had the signatures, he would send the
letters to Hall of Fame voters. Friedman could also annoy people with his king-sized ego.
Consider this passage from an article he wrote in the December 1953 issue of
"Sport" in which he noted that quarterbacks no longer had to carry the ball,
block or play defense like they did in his day: "I feel sure I could play quarterback
in professional football today. I’m 48 years old and have been out of the National
Football League for 20 years, but I’m confident I could do the job as well as, if not
better than, the present-day big-league quarterbacks, most of whom are half my age."
Reality: Friedman was not the most humble guy in the world, but so
what? He was into public relations before it was in vogue. The reputation of Joe Namath
(who is in the Hall of Fame) was enhanced because he had the audacity to guarantee a Super
Bowl victory and then help his team deliver the upset win. If being brash and immensely
confident helped Namath’s stature, then why penalize Friedman for the same qualities?
As far as Friedman not being very tactful, no one has made more enemies over the years
than Al Davis (who is in the Hall of Fame).
Add it all up, and you have a tremendous oversight still taking place. The Hall of Fame
is a grand and glorious institution. It deserves better than to be without Friedman’s
presence. Most experts will tell you that Friedman’s window of opportunity probably
closed a long time ago. I say it’s time for the voters on the Hall of Fame seniors
committee, and then the national board of selectors, to open that window, open their
minds, open their history books and right the wrong that is Benny Friedman not being a
Hall of Famer. |
