Fourth and One

Professional sports have captivated the imagination of the crowds as long as sports figures have been heralded as heroes. The interest doesn’t end on the field, however, but continues into the boardrooms of the executives, in the classrooms of the coaches and in the homes of the athletes. It is this reason why player and coach autobiographies sell through the roof online and in bookstores. It’s the chance to unveil what’s behind the curtain, even if the stories and opinions are only mildly entertaining and/or insightful.

One sub genre of the player autobiography that is all but obsolete, however, is the “season in the life” memoir, in which the athlete documents their exploits over the course of a single season. From the long and hard practices of getting berated by the head coach to the late night drinking escapades with teammates, these books often stand out for their rawness, filled with the technical jargon heard only in team meetings, the vulgarity that the newspapers couldn’t print and the behavior that couldn’t yet be captured on an iPhone camera.

The Long Season, written by former St. Louis Cardinals pitcher Jim Brosnan, was the first of its kind to detail the absurdities, subtleties and first hand accounts of what it was like to be with a major league sports franchise. Published in 1960, Brosnan described his 1959 season that included contract disputes, bull pen conversations and perspectives on professional baseball, and was well received by both baseball fans and book worms alike. This would lay the groundwork for publishers to find athletes willing to put pen to paper and capitalize on the new literary genre.

One such athlete was the late Lee Grosscup, a former All-American quarterback at the University of Utah who kept a journal of his tumultuous 1962 season as he bounced around from the New York Giants to the Minnesota Vikings to the New York Titans of the American Football League. His memoir would be published in 1963 as Fourth and One.

Early in the book, Grosscup, being interviewed by Maury Allen of the New York Post about his ambitions as a writer, recalls his conversation:

“You should do for baseball what Brosnan did for baseball,” Allen suggested.

“Maybe I will,” I said. Why not?

I haven’t read The Long Season. I haven’t read Ball Four, the classic yet controversial book written by former pitcher Jim Bouton that MLB Commissioner Bowie Kuhn called “detrimental to baseball.” I have yet to read Instant Replay, Jerry Kramer’s account of their 1966 season in which the Packers defeated the Dallas Cowboys in the Ice Bowl on their way to winning Super Bowl II against the Oakland Raiders. Therefore, I have nothing to compare Grosscup’s book to, aside from the reputation that these other books carry.

Fourth and One isn’t controversial by today’s standards, perhaps not even by the standards of the day. No one on any of the teams that Grosscup played for is mentioned to have indulged in or abused steroids, amphetamines or painkillers. The nights out drinking are tame, more of a way for teammates to blow off steam and build camaraderie than an attempt to get into trouble. There’s a couple of waitresses that catch Grosscup’s eye, but he’s faithful to his wife Susan, and his voyeurism doesn’t devolve into lust.

Being an early entry into the genre, it’s unlikely that Grosscup, or his publisher, would even include these events if they did happen. But while the book may lack the sensationalism that would be found in other player “tell all” memoirs, the book in many ways is timeless as much as it is a product of its time.

The most notable example of is timeliness is the career trajectory of Grosscup himself. Having an uncertain college career before transferring to the University of Utah, Grosscup impressed the world when he passed for 316 yards against Army Cadets in a 39-33 losing effort. New York Giants scout and eventual head coach Allie Sherman witnessed the event, and persuaded Giants management to take Grosscup in the first round.

He was supposed to be the one to replace aging Giants quarterback “Chucking Charlie Conerly.” He was lauded as one of the nation’s premier college passers that had the potential to be a great quarterback in the NFL. But with each season that the Giants fell just short of becoming NFL Champions, Charlie kept coming back for one last shot. In 1961, the Giants made a trade with the San Francisco 49ers to get Y.A Tittle, the 42 year old quarterback brought in to split time with Conerly, before ultimately taking over the starting role and leading the Giants to the NFL Championship in which the Green Bay Packers crushed New York, 37-0.

Once the 1962 offseason workouts began, and with Conerly officially retired, Lee expected an opportunity to start, but Allie Sherman had other plans. He made a trade for St. Louis Cardinals quarterback Ralph Guglielmi, making Lee expendable. Lee went to Minnesota, reporting to head Norm Van Brocklin AKA “The Dutchman.” He competed with Fran Tarkenton but couldn’t win the heart of the Dutchman. He was shipped to the New York Titans of the American Football League. He had his moments with the laughing stock of the AFL, only to be sidelined with injuries for most of the season. Even when he wasn’t playing, Lee and the rest of the Titans squad are burdened by the pain of playing for owner Harry Wismer, who was unable to pay his players after going broke.

Lee’s one year journey shows that for most of the men who wear an NFL uniform, the difference in talent between the starter and the back up is marginal. No job is safe unless one is on track for the Hall of Fame, but even that is no guarantee - most everyone is one injury, one bad play or one unconvinced coach away from riding the pine. After Lee re-aggravates a previous knee injury, he fights tooth and nail to not miss a game, even trying to convince his wife that the injury won’t hold him back if he plays out of the shotgun formation, that way he won’t have to put weight on his knee as he dropped back to pass. One wonders if Grosscup is trying to convince her, or if he’s trying to convince himself. It’s a journey that almost 60 years later is all but common in the NFL.

In between his training camp battles and week to week preparation, Grosscup reveals snippets of his personal life and behind the scenes conversations and lectures with his teammates and coaches. He passes the time reading From Here To Eternity, going out to movies and bars with teammates and cites Van Brocklin as saying, “The 49ers have always been a bunch of pussies. They’re front runners. If you let them get a couple of quick scores they’re liable to run right out of the park. Stay even with them and they’ll be ready to quit in the third quarter.”

The flaw in Grosscup’s book, however, is that it’s too external. Too much dialogue, not enough interior monologue. Too many play by play game summaries, not enough detail on his in depth thoughts on the nature of pro football. Grosscup was often regarded as a man who never quite fit in as a football player - someone who was more well read with effete interests, though he claims not to be an intellectual. “I was lost somewhere between a sweaty jock and a pair of horn rimmed glasses,” as he puts in his book.

But Lee’s thoughts about football are few and far between. He has a few comments on the physicality of the game, such as when he writes, “Having a reputation as a headhunter or hatchet man in the N.F.L was nearly as precious as being a gunfighter in the days of the old West, I thought,” as well as offering his reflections his father’s obsession with winning an how it impacted him as an athlete. But Grosscup largely feels at times like the tangible participant, rather than the narrator, of his own story.

Books written since Fourth and One that have the same “a season in the life” narrative have predominantly been written by journalists who embed themselves with a team for a year and capture the interaction, personality, habits and outcome of the season, painting a nuanced portrait of the men who you otherwise wouldn’t know much about outside of a newspaper column or a post game locker room interview. Roy Blount Jr.’s About Three Bricks Shy of a Load, Paul Zimmerman’s The Last Season of Weeb Eubank and George Plimpton’s Paper Lion all stand out as staples of the genre.

But what makes these books great isn’t simply the capturing the events that occur within the team, but rather it’s the opinions expressed by writer that adds thought provoking commentary on what goes on inside the organization and how the stream of consciousness adds context, perspective and personality that otherwise may not be apparent at face value.

After reading Fourth and One, I didn’t feel that I knew much more about Grosscup, even though I knew much more about what had happened to him in his 1962 season. This isn’t to say Grosscup is subdued throughout the book. His gradual decent into frustration, anger and defeat can be felt throughout as his goal of becoming a starter is an exercise in futility. But compared other books written in the same vein, either by players or the embedded writers, it doesn’t pack the same punch, nor offer the same unique perspective on such an exclusive profession.