Scott Adamson, Author at Adamsonmedia.com

The Galloping Ghost goes pro

A hundred years ago, college football was considered the pinnacle of the sport. And once a star player finished his classroom obligations and university gridiron career, polite society expected him to either move on to the business world or learn the coaching craft.

Halfback/quarterback/defensive back Harold “Red” Grange, however, had other ideas.

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

You know the joke about elite players going to school and majoring in football? In a way, that’s what “The Galloping Ghost” did.

And at the time, it caused quite a bit of controversy.

On November 22, 1925 – a day after leading Illinois to a 14-9 victory over Ohio State in his final game as an amateur – Grange signed to play professionally for the Chicago Bears. There were rumors he was already being paid by agent C.C. Pyle, although he insisted he didn’t partner with Pyle until after the season-ending contest.

Regardless, the NFL team promised to pay him $30,500 per game, which is the equivalent of nearly $565,000 in 2025 money.

Not a bad deal for a 22-year-old who still hadn’t earned his degree.

“I have received many alluring offers to enter fields of enterprise in which I have had no training or experience,” Grange told the Associated Press. “I believe the public will be better satisfied with my honesty and good motives if I turn my efforts to that field in which I have been most useful in order to reap a reward which will keep the home fires burning. I am leaving college temporarily but will return later.”

Illinois athletics director George Huff, football coach Robert Zuppke and even Grange’s father, Lyle, wanted the superstar to seek employment away from the field.

Ultimately, however, Lyle Grange supported his son’s decision.

“I am sorry that he did not accept the other offers made him,” his dad said. “But as long as the boy has decided to play professional football, I hope he will be a success and make the best of it. Harold is capable of looking out for himself and I have a lot of faith in him.”

At the time the NFL – just six years old – was not much of a draw at the box office. The hope was that bringing Grange into the league would change that.

He was to play six games with the Bears to close out the season and then embark on a barnstorming tour in Florida.

The deal was arguably the biggest sports news of the year.

From a November 23, 1925 Associated Press story:

Harold “Red” Grange, the reigning football hero of the moment, will don his fighting togs again Thanksgiving Day but he will not wear the famous “77” of collegiate days. For Red has turned professional to follow, as he phrases it, the business he knows best. Declaring that he had no training that would enable him to accept other alluring offers, the strawberry blonde warrior of the chalked field signed a contract yesterday that will place him in the Chicago Bears lineup for six games, after which he will invade Florida during the holidays.

A November 25 editorial in the La Crosse Tribune even provided Grange with a backhanded compliment on his decision to play for pay:

People who think that Red Grange is making a mistake in postponing his ‘career’ for professional football should consider that the game already offers a career in itself, comparable to that of league baseball. It is a less honorific career, perhaps, than one of the professions. We do not take presidents, supreme court judges or ambassadors from the ranks of ball-players. But we have had governors and congressmen who began their careers on the diamond.

The NFL certainly got what it paid for.

Grange’s Turkey Day debut against the Chicago Cardinals was played in front of more than 36,000 fans at what is now Wrigley Field, and 70,000-plus paid for seats at the Polo Grounds to see the Bears tangle with the New York Giants in his next outing.

Grange was the indisputable star of the show, and drew huge crowds everywhere he played.

When he couldn’t come to terms with the Bears in 1926, Pyle formed a new league (the short-lived American Football League) and new team (New York Yankees) to showcase the generational talent.

As it turns out, Grange never did return to Illinois to get his degree. He did, however, wind up in the Pro Football Hall of Fame – one of 17 charter members. He is also in the inaugural class of the College Football Hall of Fame.

A devastating knee injury in 1927 took away his speed, but he became a star DB during his last few seasons of pro ball. He retired in 1935 after playing in 237 games. He went on to be an assistant coach for the Bears before dabbling in acting. Later, he worked in everything from broadcasting to motivational speaking and private business.

(Grange was even tapped as commissioner of the 1940s iteration of the United States Football League. More on that here:

adamsonmedia.com/nfl-aafc-pro-football/

After hanging up his cleats, Grange was asked if jumping to pro ball in 1925 was the right decision.

“I’d probably do the same thing,” he said. “I wouldn’t sell the friendships and contacts I’ve made in professional football for anything. About the only thing I’m sure I wouldn’t do is make some of the investments I did, but I guess there are a lot of people in the same boat with me.”

Here to serve

The soup kitchen at the recreation center on Redemption Avenue was especially busy two weeks before the Thanksgiving holiday, and Nate Raimi was spooning out his vegetable medley special just as fast as he possibly could.

“How’s it going, buddy?” he said to the bearded man whose shaky hands were holding a Styrofoam bowl. “I threw in some navy beans in this batch, and I think it might be the best soup we’ve had in a while. There’s bread and tea over there on the table … and feel free to come back for seconds. Or thirds.”

Two years earlier, Raimi had met with an official from the World Metahuman Clearinghouse in hopes of getting funding for a project designed to help him spread compassion throughout the world.

Working under the not-so-secret identity of “Compassion-Nate,” his superpower was setting off a chain reaction of empathy to all those he encountered. Unfortunately, the WMC not only refused his request for a grant, but he soon learned the group wasn’t interested in his brand of heroism.

A world full of compassionate people would lessen the need for superheroes, and that was bad for their business. Thus, some of the more cut-throat officials were determined to stop him – by any means necessary.

Despite the threat, Nate still did what he could, and bringing a bit of hope to people who had little or none was why he spent much of his time as a volunteer.

Yet, while serving those in need took up a good bit of his time, he was also learning all he could about Clancy Orion.

Orion had become an internet sensation when he prevented a drunk driver from hitting a group of children at a playground. The social media world dubbed him “Captain Hysterical” after he claimed his ability to crumple the front end of the vehicle and stop it cold was due to high adrenaline, or “hysterical strength.”

Nate discovered that was not the case. Orion was actually an extraterrestrial from the planet Wolf 1061c who had been on earth for a decade. There was a significant number of superheroes who feared he was the vanguard of an imminent Wolfian invasion, although Nate was not among them. He looked for the best in people – human or alien – and Orion’s actions suggested he was here to help rather than harm.

Captain Hysterical was an observer, perhaps, but not an occupier.

Today’s immediate concern, however, was feeding the hungry, and assisting Nate in that endeavor was an old friend, known in crimefighting circles – appropriately enough – as “Old Man.” O.M., as Nate calls him, had gained a bit of notoriety when he apprehended Professor Purloin at Rickman Plaza back in 2023. However, he was quickly forgotten as Spectacular Man and Frau the Fearless dominated headlines with their flashy uniforms and over-the-top theatrics while catching more colorful villains.

Older people often go unnoticed, which worked to his advantage, but it also meant Old Man found himself on the outside looking in lately when the world needed a hero.

With his services no longer wanted, he showed up every weekday at the soup kitchen to lend Nate a hand. Of course, his guise made him look more like a customer than a volunteer – a ragged Jaxon cap, blue and red flannel shirt, and polyester pants pulled up almost to his nipples.

“Hey, O.M., do you mind going back to the kitchen and checking on the soup?” Nate asked. “We’re getting near the bottom of this pot.”

Old Man nodded.

“On it. I ever tell you about the time I used a can of minestrone to stop a grocery store robbery?” said O.M., whose rambling stories would often throw evildoers off their game and allow him to take the upper hand. “Rascal walked in and pulled out a pistol while I was on aisle 5A – that’s the soup, rice and beans aisle – so I grabbed a can of low sodium minestrone, took aim, and clocked him right in the noggin. He went down like one of them Jenga towers and I moseyed on over and kicked his weapon away. You remember what I told the police when they showed up?”

Nate chuckled.

“I do … but you’re gonna tell me again, anyway.”

“I said to the officer, I said, ‘The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a can of soup.’ He got a chuckle out of that. And you gotta admit … it’s a dang good line. Probably shoulda copyrighted it now that I think about it. Superheroes need a catchphrase.”

As O.M. made his way toward the kitchen the feeding line kept forming, and Nate noticed a smartly dressed woman walk through the front door.

Maisie Petra was well-known around the rec center. She was a homicide detective and could often be seen cruising through the neighborhood, one that she had grown up in and still cared for.

What wasn’t well-known was that she was also Violet Femme, a crusading hero who often clashed with the sinister Havoc Club. She had actually worked with Old Man on a few jobs, but her encounters with Nate had mostly been “off the clock” and informal. He provided a shoulder to cry on when her crimefighting partner, Yellowhammer, was killed, and the two had stayed in touch ever since.

On this afternoon, however, she had some business to discuss with the man furiously ladling soup.

“Care to try my special, detective?” he asked.

“I know it’s delicious, but I had an early lunch,” she said. “When you get a minute, though, I’d like to talk to you about something. I understand you have some information I might be interested in hearing.”

Old Man was just coming out of the kitchen with a huge pot of soup and lit up when he saw Maisie.

“Hiya, kid!” he chirped. “This ain’t a raid, is it? If so, you’re too late. Poker game broke up more than an hour ago.”

Maisie laughed and, after O.M. put the soup down on the serving table, walked over to give him a hug.

“You taking care of yourself, Old Man? I see you’re still a fashion plate.”

O.M. pulled his pants even higher.

“Never needed a fancy costume,” he said. “Just gimme some thrift store britches and a bad guy to bamboozle, and I’m raring to go. Anyway, I overheard you saying you need to talk to Nate … forgot I had my hearing aid set on supersonic.”

O.M. grabbed the ladle from Nate.

“Go talk to your girlfriend,” he said with a wink. “I got this.”

Maisie and Nate stepped toward the back of the rec center and he produced a thumb drive.

“This has everything we know about Clancy Orion,” he said.

“Lots of interesting stuff on there. I guess for our purposes, though, the headline is that he can only eat tomatoes.”

Nate handed the thumb drive to Maisie.

“Please keep this between us, Maisie,” he said. “I’ll let O.M. know. Oh … and I’ll be in touch about Thanksgiving.”

Maisie waved at Old Man as she left, and Nate returned to take control of the soup ladle.

“Well?” O.M. asked.

“Well, I let her know he can only eat tomatoes, which changes our meal plan a bit,” Nate said. “But, we’ll make it work.”

O.M. gently patted Nate on this hand.

“You’re a good egg, my boy. You think he’ll accept your invitation? If I was him I’d be a little paranoid, especially with everything going on at WMC … and the world.”

Nate nodded.

“I’m pretty sure he knows who we are and knows our intentions. I hope he comes … he’s lightyears from home, and Thanksgiving can be a tough time. I hate to see anybody spend it alone.”

These characters were featured in earlier flash fiction pieces. In case you forgot them, here are links to their origin stories.

Compassion-Nate

Old Man

Death of the Yellowhammer

Captain Hysterical

Dempsey’s ‘miracle’ kick

Cam Little’s 68-yard field goal against the Las Vegas Raiders last Sunday set a new NFL record, so the Jacksonville Jaguars kicker now stands alone with the longest three-pointer in league history.

But for how long?

His effort was of the “no doubt about it” variety, meaning it would’ve been good from 70 yards – a mark he had already met in a preseason game, incidentally. It was an impressive feat, and something he’ll always remember.

Thing is, though, it’s not gonna stand … not for any significant length of time, anyway. It might be broken later this season – or even as early as tomorrow. What once seemed next to impossible is now a probability.

The former record holder was Justin Tucker, whose 66-yard boot set a new standard back in 2021.

But this year alone there have been six field goals made from 60-plus yards, and 22 kickers have split the pipes from at least 55 yards away.

On October 19, both Dallas’ Brandon Aubrey and Green Bay’s Lucas Havrisik drilled 61-yard field goals, marking the first time in NFL history two 60-plus yarders had been made on the same day.

Yet, there was a time when a ball that cleared the crossbar from that distance was the ultimate rarity – and that time was November 8, 1970.

The lowly New Orleans Saints – on their way to a 2-11-1 worksheet in their fourth NFL season – trailed the Detroit Lions, 17-16, with just two seconds left in the game.

Instead of opting for a long bomb in hopes of a miracle finish, New Orleans boss J.D. Roberts (in his first game as head man after Tom Fears was fired) called Tom Dempsey’s number.

The 264-pound second-year kicker out of Palomar Junior College was asked to attempt a 63-yard field goal, which seemed ridiculous.

The longest field goal in league history was 56 yards, that set in 1956 by Baltimore’s Bert Rechichar in the Colts’ 13-9 victory over the Chicago Bears.

But long odds were hardly new to Dempsey, who was born with a congenital condition that left him with no toes on his right foot and no fingers on his right hand.

In fact, he wore a specially designed (and NFL-approved) shoe that featured a 1 ¾-inch-leather block at the toe. The 23-year-old had a powerful right leg, and the sporting world was about to learn just how strong it was.

So, with the ball at the Saints 45 (goal posts were located on the goal line in 1970), the snap to Joe Scarpati was placed down at the 37.

Sixty-three yards and an inch or two later, New Orleans had a 19-17 victory and the Crescent City had a new folk hero.

“We were beaten by a miracle,” Detroit coach Joe Schmidt said.

There were 66,920 fans at Tulane Stadium that day, and I’m guessing most claim to have witnessed the “miracle.” But Detroit’s Errol Mann made an 18-yard field goal 12 seconds earlier, sending thousands of them toward the exits.

“I knew I could kick the ball that far, but whether or not I could kick it straight kept running through my mind,” Dempsey told the Associated Press. “I knew I had to hit the ball awfully hard and would need a little extra time.

“There’s so much involved in kicking a 60-yard field goal. You’ve got to try and hit the ball as hard as you possibly can, and yet, kicking it straight is a hard thing to do. It just happened that I hit it right that time and it happened at the right time.”

Dempsey had already kicked three field goals in the game and wanted to try a 55-yarder earlier.

“We didn’t let him kick that shorter one,” Roberts told AP. “He was upset and I said, ‘Well, if you think you can get high trajectory on it, we’ll kick a long one a little later.’ But I didn’t think it would be that long.”

Who would have?

Certainly none of the Detroit players.

“Tom Dempsey didn’t kick that field goal,” Lions linebacker Wayne Walker said. “God kicked it.”

But no good deed goes unpunished, and three days after Dempsey’s historic kick, Dallas Cowboys president Tex Schramm said he was going to protest the use of Dempsey’s shoe. Schramm’s reasoning was that it gave the kicker an unfair advantage because of its sledgehammer-like design.

There was immediate backlash at the suggestion someone born with basically half a foot had an “advantage,” and Schramm withdrew his protest on November 13.

“It was a mistake and bad timing on my part,” Schramm said in an interview with The Times-Picayune of New Orleans. “I will not pursue it. I want to apologize to Tom Dempsey, the Saints and the people of New Orleans for the impression my remarks created. It was not my intent whatsoever to criticize Tom. That 63-yarder was a heck of an accomplishment and a tremendous tribute to him.”

(As a quick aside, in 1977 the NFL made a rule mandating that “… any shoe that is worn by a player with an artificial limb on his kicking leg must have a kicking surface that conforms to that of a normal kicking shoe.” It became known as the Tom Dempsey Rule, although Dempsey had no artificial limbs).

In 1992, the Detroit Free Press asked Dempsey to look back on his accomplishment.

“I always practiced kicking from 65 yards away,” he said. “Lots of times I’d kicked 70-yard field goals in practice, so I didn’t pay any attention to the distance on this kick.

“All I noticed was the goalposts looked a little small.”

The record stood for 43 years, although Denver’s Jason Elam tied it in 1998. It was broken by Broncos kicker Matt Prater’s 64-yard field goal against the Tennessee Titans on December 8, 2013.

Still, for those of us “old school” fans, Dempsey’s achievement remains one of the truly great moments in National Football League history.