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TWO 2/23/2013 2:07:35 PM
(These op-ed columns normally appear on Saturdays, and this week the Feb. 26 story will be published, as usual, on Saturday, Feb. 23. It will remain up a full week, until March 2. There is a method to my madness, as you will see.)
Check your calendar: our youngest grandson will be a full two years old on Tuesday, February 26, and it occurred to us we’d probably be long gone before he’s old enough to even remember us. We should be disintegrating into dust by the time he is pushing puberty.
Too bad. Truly a short shrift; no time to really get to know us, poor fellow!
I once wrote some stories based on Henry Wadsworth Longears, the stuffed rabbit my youngest daughter grew up with (and still has tucked away in a drawer someplace.) The grandson’s mother turned twenty-eight on February 20. My God, we ARE getting old!
However, I recently persuaded David Roberts to let me borrow his studio so I could record the “Henry Stories” (at least the first one) as a birthday present for young Hutson — that way he will at least know what his old grandpa sounded like!
The grandson’s name, by the way, is Hutson — and that alone is unique. Hutson. Not HuDson. HuTson. H-u-t. With a T — as in Hutsut-Ralston-on-the Rilla-rah and a Brawla-Brawla Suet!
How many people do you know named Hutson? According to the National Census Bureau in Washington, there have been only nine in the U.S. and twenty-one worldwide since the agency was established in 1903. Google lists about 389,000 entries under “Hutson,” but not one is a Christian or first name — just sur names — mostly organizations, not people.
The most prominent human entry is Don Hutson, the first Superstar wide receiver in NFL history; he attended the University of Alabama (where our Hutson’s dad is an Endodontics intern, Birmingham branch) and he (Hutson, not Faucette) played eleven seasons for the Green Bay Packers. A Hall-of-Famer (inducted in 1963 along with Sammy Baugh and Jim Thorpe,) Hutson’s number (14) was retired in 1951; and the renowned receiver passed away in 1997, at 84.
After-dinner speakers and self-appointed TV sports aficionados say Jerry Rice is the greatest wide receiver ever, but most claim Hutson could have been Rice’s equal if he’d played at the same time (or vice versa). Rice’s record is precisely twice Hutson’s 99 touchdown receptions, but Rice played nine more seasons with 16 games each year, plus playoffs, to Hutson’s eleven years with 10-12 games and no playoffs. Say what you will, Hutson’s remarkable record was in the books for forty-four years!
Speaking of NFL records, Hutson held twenty-two when he retired, including the most consecutive league-leading scorer (5), most league receptions for touchdowns (9), most receptions (488), most receiving yards (7,991), most receiving yards in a season (1,211), and most touchdowns in a season (17). The majority of these achievements have never been surpassed. Not by Jerry Rice or anyone else. Wow.
In college, Hutson played on the same team as “Bear” Bryant. After the Rose Bowl in 1935, Bryant referred to himself as the Crimson Tide’s other end. In that game against Stanford (Bama won 29-13) Hutson caught six passes for 165 yards — and two touchdowns! Double wow!
1988’s Super Bowl XXII (Washington 24, Denver 10) was dedicated to Don Hutson. He was escorted out on the gridiron to conduct the pre-game coin toss. His name was seldom mentioned during Super Bowl XLVI, but, to Cris Collinsworth’s credit, Scott Norwood’s was.
Ironically, Al Michaels was the play-by-play man when that unfortunate Bill missed a 47-yard field goal attempt with just eight seconds to play in Buffalo’s 1-point world championship loss to the Giant’s. Collinsworth, who had spent his entire NFL career with the Cincinnati Bengals (after an illustrious four years at the University of Florida) was thirty-two years old that memorable day in 1991 (I was 60).
In 2013 my wife, looking over my shoulder while writing this, asked, “I wonder what Norwood’s doing today?”
Scott Norwood, born the same day as me in July (only in 1960) is now fifty-three and lives in Fairfax County, Virginia (I know this because I once lived in Princess Anne County.) He is the father of three kids, now burgeoning adults, all of whom is forbidden to mention football or the Super Bowl in his presence.
Norwood’s second greatest claim to fame is that he inspired the Sean Young character “Ray Finkle” in Jim Carrey’s Ace Ventura, Pet Detective.
I sucked the meat off my final chicken leg as I tailgated while watching the 4th quarter of the Super Bowl. “Last I heard,” I mumbled, chewing rudely, “he was selling insurance and houses.”
My wife said, “Oh. . . I’m going to Wendy’s and get some Frosties. You want one?”
“Don’t you wanna watch the end of the game? There are still six minutes to play! And all the lights are back on!” The blackout came at a most propitious time — gave me thirty-four minutes to go to the bathroom and find more to eat.
She shrugged. “What for? Baltimore’s going to win, anyway.”
I was thinking about last year’s Super Bowl. I still admire that at fifty-three Madonna could do multiple squats, while singing and dancing and not even breathing hard. I noticed Beyonce was all sweaty at the end of her routine.
But I particularly enjoyed the young rapper and hip-hopper who shared the stage last year with Madonna and gave the audience “the bird”. That impromptu gesture had to net the culture icon a cool million, if she ever collects on the bet.
“Watch me!” she said. “I’m gonna give ‘em all the finger!”
“No, you ain’t!”
“Betcha a million dollars I do!”
Back to the present, my wife asked, “Is your favorite quarterback still in the game?” When I nodded, she said, “He’ll throw a touchdown pass, and his team will win. He always does. Number 52 will have as many Super Bowl rings as he has murder indictments . . . Come on, Sammy, wanna go for a ride?”
Of course, she was right. Sam, our dog, always wants to go for a ride . . . .
Although traveling has become something of a chore nowadays, we are heading out to celebrate Hutson’s second birthday at Birmingham’s Science Center (they have free wheelchairs).
In the meantime, I’ll have to enjoy his recent photo as a screensaver on my computer. He greets me each morning, and I cannot help but chuckle in sheer delight. His face is the last thing I see when I log off at night.
Hutson. A kid as unique as his name.
I wish I had about sixty more Super Bowls to watch. That would make me 142. Hutson will only be sixty-three, the brat.
