The night 'the mentor' out-clevered himself

Yes, it’s possible to be TOO clever.

It happened to the Kansas City Chiefs before and during a Monday night game against Buffalo in October of 1973.

That was the season that O.J. Simpson — still a respectable and popular figure all across America — broke the NFL rushing record with 2,003 yards.

Simpson gained 157 of those yards on 39 carries against the Chiefs, and scored two first-quarter touchdowns as Buffalo won 23-14.

But the story of that game, and how O.J. got set up for those two quick TDs, has never been told — at least as far as I know.

It involved a player who’d had several beers prior to kickoff.

But let’s look at the backstory…

Serious football fans who aren’t just kids probably remember the name of the late Hank Stram.

Even for NFL junkies who might be a little bit fuzzy on Stram — who shamelessly called himself “The Mentor” — there is always that tape of Super Bowl IV.

Stram agreed to wear a microphone during the game against the Minnesota Vikings.

In case you’re wondering about Stram’s ego, and his willingness to share it with the world, imagine asking someone like Bill Belichick to wear a live mic in the Super Bowl.

Matter of fact, Stram might have been the only head coach who ever would have agreed to such a stunt in the Super Bowl — and there now have been 54 of them.

There was history involved, too, since the game at Tulane Stadium in New Orleans was the fourth and final Super Bowl that officially matched the champions of the NFL and the American Football League (which the Chiefs had won by defeating the Oakland Raiders).

IN CASE you aren’t a Super Bowl nerd, Vince Lombardi’s Green Bay Packers won the first two Roman numeral games — handling the Chiefs following the 1966 season, and then Oakland a year later.

But Joe Namath and the New York Jets shocked Baltimore in Super Bowl III, and then Stram got some revenge as Kansas City totally manhandled the Vikes to leave the four “true” Super Bowls even at 2-2 between the leagues.

The tape of Stram on the sideline in that game against Minnesota has become a classic, in part because Hank was showing off (“Let’s matriculate the ball down the field, Lenny…”), but also because he had no problem violating one of sport’s unwritten rules — insulting the opposition and making it public.

Stram made fun of the Vikings throughout the game, at one point telling anyone who would listen: “This is like stealing.”

The most memorable conversation on that Super Bowl tape occurred when the Chiefs — who already led 9-0 on three field goals by Jan Stenerud — recovered a fumbled kickoff late in the second quarter.

The Chiefs got to the Minnesota 5-yard line, but gained nothing from there and faced a third-and-goal.

Stram grabbed backup wide receiver Gloster Richardson and you can clearly hear him say, “Gloster, go tell (QB Len Dawson), 65 toss power trap. It might pop wide open.”

THE PLAY was designed to sucker a couple of all-pro stars, end Jim Marshall and tackle Alan Page, and use their speed and aggressiveness against them.

It worked brilliantly, as Marshall burst into the backfield at the wrong place and the trap left Page in a spot to get drilled by pulling guard Mo Moorman.

A huge hole opened up for tailback Mike Garrett, who hopped into the end zone — giving the Chiefs a 16-0 lead.

In the midst of all the joy on the Chiefs sideline, Stram did some preening for the microphone.

“Hey, 65 toss power trap,” Stram said. “Popped wide open. The mentor called that one, boys. I’m the mentor.”

Stram was more than the self-promoting star of that Super Bowl.

He was a hugely successful coach who helped bring the AFL into the spotlight, a terrific spotter of obscure talent (he drafted Hall of Famer Stenerud from Montana State through a loophole that allowed teams to lock up players who intended to compete for another season in college).

Hank was also an offensive innovator who came up with a formation called the “Walking I” — in which three backs lined up vertically behind Dawson.

That weird set-up was unveiled in a preseason game against the Chicago Bears, a match that Stram desperately wanted to win, since it was the Chiefs’ first exhibition against an NFL team after losing Super Bowl I to Green Bay.

The mentor had a point to prove, and the Chiefs scored 66 points against Chicago.

Bears legendary coach George Halas was asked if he’d ever seen a formation like the “Walking I.”

Halas grumbled: “No, and I don’t ever want to see it again.”

MINNESOTA coach Bud Grant, who was on the losing end of Super Bowl IV, once said of Stram: “Hank would rather cheat you than beat you fair and square.”

Cheating at golf and racquetball, no doubt.

But on the football field, Stram always wanted to prove he was cleverer than any opponent.

And that brings us to 1973 in Buffalo…

The two leagues had merged by then, and the Chiefs struggled to start the season with Dawson injured. Backup QB Pete Beathard was handed a team that was 3-2-1 at the time of the Monday night meeting with O.J.

For whatever reason, the NFL had fiddled with its “taxi squad” rules, and in ’73, each team could designate seven players over the “active limit” — but the unusual part was that you didn’t have to name your “inactive” players until an hour before game time.

Naturally, Stram tried to figure out ways to use that strange rule to his benefit.

That night in Buffalo, though, it bit him.

Oh, for context you need to know that the seven inactive players generally wound up in the press box, assuming there was room.

Buffalo had a new stadium at the time, and the press working area was connected to a nice lounge that had snacks, soft drinks…

And beer.

ABOUT A half-hour before kickoff, two or three of us (media members, that is) wandered back to the lounge area for something to eat.

We ran into a group of Chiefs players, which wasn’t terribly unusual. A few of them were slugging down beers, which WAS unusual, but not really against any sort of rule.

I mean, the inactive players were little more than fans for the night.

Except…

We noticed that defensive back Kerry Reardon was chatting with some Buffalo people, while across the room, reserve running back Warren McVea was pounding beers with two or three other players.

The reason that scene looked noteworthy was simple: Reardon and McVea generally alternated as the Chiefs’ main kick returner, with the other one inactive.

I asked Reardon: “Who’s taking kicks if both of you guys are up here?”

Kerry’s eyes got wide, and he replied that he was positive that McVea was on the active list.

He hustled over to McVea, who was enjoying his fourth or fifth brew, and said: “Mac, you were on the active list. You’re supposed to be playing.”

McVea’s eyes popped wide open, and he shouted, “Oh, gosh!”

Except he said something else instead of “gosh.”

WE ALL watched Warren dash for the elevator, still clutching a beer.

Everyone assumed that with so many coaches and team staff on the sideline, McVea could never fool the whole gang, but we were wrong.

Buffalo kicked off to start the game — remember it was Monday night, the crowd was howling, the whole shebang — and Warren McVea was standing on the goal line.

Kerry Reardon was right behind my shoulder, and he said: “I should have run down there and told Stram that Warren was sick or something.

“I can’t watch.”

Good decision.

McVea caught the kick, started running forward, and then began dribbling the ball like a basketball player making a move to the hoop.

The Bills recovered around the 20-yard line (as McVea was sliding into the pile, feet first).

O.J. scored on the first play to make it 7-0, and now the crowd was REALLY into it.

BUFFALO kicked off again, and this one would have gone out of bounds inside the 5-yard line – except that McVea made a fantastic catch, kept both inbounds by dragging his toes like an All-Pro wide receiver, and the Chiefs’ reward was starting on their own 2-yard line.

I’m pretty sure that the coaches figured out what was up after that fiasco.

Certainly somebody smelled Warren’s breath when they went to chew him out for the ridiculous play.

Meantime, the Bills quickly got the ball back and O.J. dashed in again to make it 14-0.

The Chiefs were never in the game.

The Kansas City media group all looked around a few times, and guys were asking each other: “How do we write this?”

I suppose we all spotlighted O.J., or Dawson not being there, or something.

No one wrote that the game was decided by a kick returner who was hammered.

No one had a guts to ask Stram about it, either.

Not a chance.

After all, he was the mentor.

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Steve Cameron’s “Cheap Seats” columns for The Press appear on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. He also contributes the “Zags Tracker” package on Gonzaga basketball each Tuesday.

Steve’s various tales from several decades in sports — “Moments, Memories and Madness” — run on Sundays.