Remembering the Green Bay Packer who drove me under the couch

In 1961, on the heels of Mantle/Maris and the greatest team of all time, I took it for granted that the New York Football Giants would be the Yankees of the NFL. 

Good grief, who wouldn't? They had Sam Huff, Andy Robustelli, Rosey Grier, Jim Katcavage, Jimmy Patton, Frank Gifford, Kyle Rote, Del Shofner, Rosevelt Brown, Y.A. Tittle -a roster of Olympians comparable to any team in sports or the movies. They had vanquished the Eagles, with Sonny Jurgensen, then toppled Cleveland, with the great Jim Brown. I was absolutely certain they would win the NFL Championship Game. No doubts. None.

I was nine.

That fateful Sunday, the Green Bay Packers crushed us, 37-0, a defeat so overwhelming that I hid behind the living room couch for the entire last quarter. My parents, terrified over my disappearance, were on the verge of phoning the police. 

So came about my first life revelation that my favorite teams would not always win, and that the superheroes in jerseys were not gods, but guys - fallible and flawed, like the rest of us. That day, my world changed. It never changed back.

That day, one of the destroyers of my childhood naivety was Paul Horning, who I am sad to say - in case you missed it - died yesterday at the ripe old age of 84. Actually, I don't hold Horning accountable for the death of my innocence. The Packers' middle linebacker, Ray Nitschke, did far more damage. And frankly - as with most of their humiliations over the last 60 years - the Giants themselves supplied much of the pain. 

(Quickie side rant: In the late 1950s, as the Giants weighed a successor for head coach Jim Lee Howell, three candidates emerged: Offensive line coach Vince Lombardi, defensive coordinator Tom Landry and Allie Sherman, the human clipboard. Of course, they chose the clipboard. The rest is history.) 

So, Paul Horning - "the Golden Boy" - is gone. What a life! Movie star looks. Notre Dame. Heisman Trophy. Cheerleaders. Supermodels. Booze. Gambling. Carousing.  Suspension from the game. Fame. Wealth. Wow. Nobody can say he was cheated out of a swing. Eventually restored to the game and voted into the Hall at Canton, because - well, of course! We're talking about Paul Fucking Horning!

So, as the late Freddie Mercury one sang, in the most frightening Boomer anthem of all time... 

"... And another one's gone, and another one's gone, another one bites the dust..."

Rest in Peace, sir.  I write this from behind the couch.