Scott Adamson, Author at Adamsonmedia.com

Lincoln’s epic day

When you think of the greatest players in Los Angeles/San Diego Chargers history, names like LaDainian Tomlinson, Junior Seau and Dan Fouts quickly come to mind.

But the greatest individual performance by a Bolt? That came on January 5, 1964, courtesy of fullback Keith Lincoln. And the stakes couldn’t have been higher.

**Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Bluesky @scottadamson1960.bsky.social**

Sixty-one years ago, the American Football League – after just four seasons – had established itself as a major threat to the NFL. The last clubs standing in the 1963 campaign were the Chargers (11-3) and Boston Patriots (8-6-1), who met at San Diego’s Balboa Stadium in the AFL Championship Game.

The Chargers had the league’s best record while Boston had to defeat the Buffalo Bills (also 8-6-1) in an Eastern Conference playoff game to earn the right to play for the crown.

It was never a contest as San Diego rolled to a 51-10 victory.

Obviously, a rout of that magnitude suggests the Chargers had superlative play across the board, and that was certainly true.

The winners outgained the Pats 610 yards to 261, and a smothering defense recorded several sacks totaling negative 42 yards and forced a pair of turnovers. Jumping out to a 14-0 lead, it was 31-10 at the half and San Diego scored all 20 second half points.

Winning QB Tobin Rote capped off a league Most Valuable Player season with a terrific championship game performance, throwing for 173 yards and two TDs and rushing for another score.

On defense, Paul Maguire and Bob Mitinger each had interceptions.

However, Lincoln closed the day with 206 ground yards and two touchdowns on 13 carries; reeled in seven receptions for 123 yards; and completed a 24-yard pass on an option play. He was voted title game MVP, picking up 38 of 39 votes.

Days before the clash Boston coach Mike Holovak inadvertently predicted the future when asked how to stop Chargers halfback Paul Lowe.

“We don’t expect Lowe to gain 200 yards, but we’re not going to key on him,” Holovak told the Associated Press. “Key on Lowe, and Lincoln will kill you.”

The Patriots boss was right, although Lincoln said after the game he felt out of sorts in the first quarter.

“I didn’t feel real good there early in the game,” Lincoln said. “My legs sort of went out after I made those first couple of runs. The heat got me. I just didn’t seem to have life in my legs. I felt I might have trouble running the 100 as fast as (Chargers 320-pound lineman) Ernie Ladd.

“This is the greatest game I ever played, but running 50 yards seemed like running a mile.”

Lincoln’s first four carries went for 56, 67, 11 and 44 yards – an astonishing 44.5 yards per carry average.

“Our offensive line was just too much,” the 6-1, 215-pounder said. “Our line just tore them open. Not often do you see any of Boston’s linebackers getting knocked down, but today they were.”

He got no argument from Patriot defensive end Bob Dee.

“Lincoln is the best back in the league, bar none,” Dee said. “One time about five of us hit him and we couldn’t bring him down.”

And Chargers coach Sid Gillman had high praise for his star freight-toter as well.

“Lincoln is the best all-around back we have on the squad,” Gillman said.

No question, Lincoln’s exploits in the AFL Championship Game were epic, but he was hardly a one-hit wonder.

In an eight-year AFL career – seven spent with the Chargers – he rushed for 3,383 rushing yards and scored 19 touchdowns on the ground while tallying 19 more TDs on 2,250 receiving yards (165 catches).

He was a five-time AFL All-Star and two-time First Team All-AFL selection.

In the AFL Championship Game the following season, Lincoln was immortalized again as the recipient of “The Hit Heard ‘Round The World.” He was crumpled by Buffalo linebacker Mike Stratton on a vicious collision that broke one of Lincoln’s ribs and knocked him out of the game midway through the first quarter.

The Bills dethroned the defending champs with a 20-7 victory.

Lincoln, who was voted into the Chargers Hall of Fame in 1980, starred at Washington State before playing pro ball and was nicknamed the “Moose of the Palouse.” A member of the Cougars’ Hall of Fame – setting a school career rushing record (1,501 yards), a single season punting average record (43.4 in 1959), and a career punting average record (40.3) – Lincoln passed away in 2019.

Still, his legend and legacy live on.

64 trips around the sun

I can finally relate to a Beatles song.

Yep, if I were to listen to When I’m Sixty-Four (which I don’t plan to because, honestly, I think it’s god-awful) it’d hit pretty close to home as I celebrate my 64^th birthday today.

Well, “celebrate” is probably too strong a word. I’ll have a fun day with Mary (all days spent with Mary are fun), eat a couple of mini strawberry bundt cakes and then likely fall asleep while watching the Fiesta Bowl. I’ll be forgetting old acquaintances and never bringing them to mind long before the clock strikes 12.

Back in the day I’d stay up until midnight (and beyond) on New Year’s Eve, blowing kazoos and hooting and hollering, but time doesn’t need my conscious presence to change. Seeing a ball drop in Times Square isn’t nearly as important as allowing my head to drop on a cool, fluffy pillow. I call it “New Year’s Noddin’ Off Eve.”

So, what’s it like being 64? After having a few hours to process it, I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s very much like being 63. My routine is basically the same.

I woke up, drank coffee, talked to Mary, commiserated with our animals, walked, and wrote. I was on a stretch where I was rambling roughly 10 miles per day, but we recently moved and have had a lot of distractions, so I’ve been topping out at the seven-mile mark the last few weeks. Still, not bad for a geezer.

Speaking of geezers, I think I’m in pretty good shape for someone my age. In fact, I’m in better physical condition now than I was 20 years ago.

I became a vegetarian in 2008, gave up cigarettes in 2010, don’t eat fried foods anymore and drink alcohol very rarely. I even weigh the same (155) that I did in high school. That’s a far cry from 44-year old me, who could often be spotted sucking on a lung dart while wolfing down a “Super Snack” and chasing it with a Tall Boy.

What’s a Super Snack, you ask? It’s a plate of barbecue flavored potato chips, dry roasted peanuts and pretzels smothered in squirt cheese and microwaved for 12 (not 11, not 13, but 12) seconds.

It sounds disgusting, but I loved it at the time.

Anyway, after years of smoking and eating garbage, I decided to change my lifestyle. I didn’t want to wind up sitting on the edge of my bed crying, nibbling a cold toaster pastry while adorned in only underwear and one sock. So, I cleaned up my act and got healthier.

Truth be told, 64-year old me could kick 44-year old me’s ass in a fight. (No worries of that happening, of course, because time travel has yet to be perfected and thus a temporal paradox is not possible).

Thing is, while I’m eligible for senior citizen discounts now and get called “sweetie” by servers at restaurants, I don’t think I act like I’m 64 – or how I once thought 64-year-olds were supposed to act.

When my dad was that age, I was 20 and 12 years younger than my closest sibling (I was one of those “Well, hell, Jean, that wasn’t supposed to happen” babies). Pop was a small, wiry man, and spent a lot of time plopped in his lounge chair puffing on unfiltered Lucky Strikes and slurping stale, black coffee. He didn’t listen to music and only watched TV when there was a baseball game on. Dude also had a wicked sense of humor.

I loved him dearly and miss him every day but, man, he seemed old. And I plan on spending my 64^th year much differently than he did.

For one thing, I don’t have a lounge chair … I perch on a futon.

I’ll never smoke again. The mere thought of lighting up a cigarette repulses me.

I have two cups of coffee (sweetened by monk fruit extract) in the morning, and no more.

And today I was on a brisk pre-dawn walk, put in my earbuds, and started things off by listening to The Hungry Wolf by X. Could never envision Pop be-bopping down the road with a boom box on his shoulder and saying, “Damn, Billy Zoom can shred it!”

And as for sports, I enjoy watching soccer more than anything else. If I’d ever seen Pop viewing a televised soccer match, I’d assume he was in a hostage situation. He showed up for my high school games but later told me, “I”m proud of you, son, but I had no idea what was going on out there … and didn’t want to learn.”

That said, there are days – and those days are increasing in number – when I most certainly “feel” 64.

Sometimes I’ll go to the gym and shoot baskets, and the next morning I ponder calling the fire department to come and use their hydraulic rescue tool to extract me from the bed.

My balance? It’s pretty much shot. I put on my pants while standing up, and in doing so I look like a drunk competing in a potato sack race. There’s lots of hopping and wobbling involved, and occasionally involuntary flatulence.

And during the course of any given day – without warning – one of my gears will slip. I’ll be walking along just fine and then suddenly it’ll feel like a muscle snapped. The result is an audible yelp followed by what appears to be some strange form of post-modern interpretive dance as I try to avert a face-plant.

My legs ache every night – although having two cats sleeping on them could be a factor.

And I can’t remember the last time I had uninterrupted slumber. I’m gonna have to get up and pee at least once – and usually twice. Or three times.

Otherwise, though, I try to take baseball legend Satchel Paige’s approach to getting on in years.

“Age is a question of mind over matter,” he supposedly said. “If you don’t mind, it don’t matter.”

So here I am, the subject of a bad Beatles song, starting on my journey to 65. I’m not as young as I once was, but that’s OK … I’m still kicking.

Instead of feeling old, I simply feel lucky.

And I need all the luck I can get when I’m trying to put my pants on.

The Super Bowl Series

**NFL commissioner Pete Rozelle (left), seen here with Chicago Bears owner George Halas, had cooled to the idea of a best-of-three Super Bowl Series by 1973.**

Major League Baseball has the World Series.

Basketball culminates with the NBA Finals.

And the NHL crowns its king with the Stanley Cup Finals.

But football? Unlike the other three that require multiple victories for a title, two NFL teams square off in a one-game, winner-take-all spectacle known as the Super Bowl.

But what if there was a Super Bowl Series, a best-of-three format to determine pro football’s ultimate champion?

As odd as it might seem now, it was actually discussed during the 1973 NFL owners meeting.

I was researching the late, not-so-great NFL Playoff Bowl when I stumbled across this novel idea.

The first mention came in the June 7, 1960, edition of the Miami Herald. Sports editor Jimmy Burns was notebooking NFL meetings when he relayed a throwaway comment by league commissioner Pete Rozelle.

After suggesting that the NFL – then 13 teams – was eying expansion to 16 franchises, Burns wrote that Rozelle said, “Then there might be the possibility of a two-out-of-three playoff for the NFL championship.”

I scrambled to find some other reference to what seemed like a pretty big deal, yet found nothing during that time range.

But …

Al Davis, owner of the Oakland Raiders and one of the great movers/shakers/agitators in professional sports history, brought it up ahead of the NFL’s annual meeting of minds in 1973.

Sudden death overtime and adding a two-point conversion were on the agenda, and then Davis proposed the boldest innovation of all.

Davis was a member of the NFL’s four-person competition committee, so he wasn’t merely howling at the moon. He was serious.

“I believe it’s provocative and has a lot of merit,” Davis told wire service reporters in April, 1973. “The games would be played on three successive weekends and we’d eliminate the Pro Bowl. I had never explored the Super Bowl Series idea before with the other committee members (Paul Brown of Cincinnati, Tex Schramm of Dallas and Jim Finks of Minnesota), but I think it has a lot of merit.

“The commissioner is determined that pro football not stand still like some other sports but take a step forward. I think some of the proposals we’ll be discussing this week will become a reality. The country would be excited about it – it would be dynamic – and the series would give us more of a gauge of a true champion.”

George Allen, whose Washington team came up short to unbeaten Miami in Super Bowl VII, was on board.

“I’m in favor of a two-out-of-three Super Bowl Series,” he said.

The NFL was a juggernaut entering the 1973 campaign, and after completing the merger with the American Football League in 1970, it was up to 26 clubs. If Rozelle thought 16 was the threshold for a best-of-three championship, surely he would be all-in now, right?

Nah.

“The plusses are obvious,” Rozell told United Press International. “A better gauge, more television. But I have certain negative feelings about it. The logistics would be tough, not knowing where you were playing the following week. I think right now I’d rather have the impact of one shot.”

Davis, of course, disagreed.

“As for the last Super Bowl, Miami proved itself the champion on that day – no question,” Davis said. “But in the future a three-game Super Bowl Series might be a better test to decide who’s best. Each of the three networks (NBC, CBS and ABC) would get a game to televise, and we might play one at night. It might be a home and home arrangement. Maybe it won’t take place this year, but it might in the future.”

(One glaring problem there was that if a team swept, there would be no third game – thus one network would be left with no Super Bowl Series contest and the subsequent loss of major advertising dollars).

Turns out, not much came from that particular owners meeting.

Proposals such as the two-point conversion and sudden death overtime were voted down, and the Super Bowl Series never even came to a vote.

More than 50 years later, it’s still an interesting concept, though. Remove the physical toll it would take on the players from the equation, and it makes a lot of sense.

However, with the standalone Super Bowl an international cultural event and the NFL season already long – and brutal – one game to claim the Lombardi Trophy is enough.