Football History

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Stewart Ferguson was a college football coach who did things in a style quite differently than most any coach in any sports you have ever known about. Author Peter Oltchick picked up where his dearly departed Father-In-Law, Journalist Bill Bell left off to complete a book on the famed Coach Fergie. From special coaching contracts to barnstorming antics of the gridiron, the adventures of Stewart Ferguson are a refreshing story of a unique coach.

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This is something that sports fans probably take for granted in the modern scoreboard when attending an athletic event. These generally large appendages are an information hub for what is happening in the event.

The questions arise: Who invented the scoreboard concept and when? What problem did the invention and resolve?

-Arthur Irwin and the First Football Scoreboards

A great piece of gridiron history comes from a famous baseball player who designed the template for the modern scoreboard. Timothy P Brown tells the tale of Arthur Irwin and his invention.

-Transcribed Conversation on Arthur Irwin Scoreboard with Timothy Brown

Hello, my football friends. This is Darin Hayes of PigskinDispatch.com. Welcome once again to The Pig Pen, your portal to positive football history. And welcome to another evening when we will be honored with the presence of Timothy P. Brown of FootballArcheology.com. Tim, welcome back to The Pig Pen.
Hey, thanks, Darin.

And the honor is all mine. All mine, sir.

No, no, it's me and the listeners. We get this weekly treat where you reminisce about a piece you've written recently and your daily tidbits. We get to talk to you about it, pick your brain, and learn something new about football history. Tonight, we will go up on the scoreboard and learn a little about that and some of its associations with other sports.

Then, I'll let you talk about this gentleman and his invention. Yeah, so this one is one of my favorite stories in a while, largely because this is one where I just really learned something. It's one of those where, you know, I don't know, I'm, you know, I probably put in 20, 30, 40 hours of research in the past on maybe more, you know, on a couple of different topics related to early scoreboards and game simulations and things like that. And I'd always seen them as three separate things floating around, you know, in the ether that wasn't connected.

And then, for some reason, I was, you know, checking into, you know, doing another dig on scoreboards. And I came across a mention of an Irwin scoreboard, which, if I'd seen it before, I don't remember it. So I dig into that.

And all of a sudden, it's like, everything makes sense. Everything is connected, so it was just like this great revelation for me. So, I mean, the story is that there's this guy, Arthur Irwin, who, perhaps people who are into old-time baseball would know because he played like 13 years in the majors.

He was also a player-manager in the latter part of his playing career. And then he, you know, once he was done playing, he continued managing. So, there was a point in his career when he was managing the Phillies.

And as was the case back then, baseball players needed jobs after the season. So, being an athlete, he got a job as a trainer at Penn, you know, University of Pennsylvania. So, you know, back then, the trainers were like the guys who would physically condition athletes across sports.

They were the guys who would diagnose, you know, they didn't have sports medicine per se back then. So they were the guys who'd figure out how to resolve a Charlie horse, you know, how to, you know, fix a sprain, tape them up. So that was his role.

But while he's there, he designs and builds a scoreboard. And I think it was actually before they had Franklin Field, but, you know, he builds a scoreboard for, you know, for Penn. Because prior to that, everybody used baseball scoreboards, you know, if they were in a baseball stadium or they didn't have any scoreboards.

So he builds this thing, and it's got the rudiments of what scoreboards have today. You know, down a distance, you know, it said who had the ball and who was in possession. It had a little thing up at the top, a little kind of a football field graphic that they'd moved this football along, you know, as the team progressed on the field. So things like that.

Then he ends up patenting it. So, you know, there are drawings on his patent application that show the format of this scoreboard. And then I found a couple of early photographs of his scoreboards, you know, up there on the field, and they look, you know, just like his patent application.

So then what happens is, you know, he builds a business while he builds multiple scoreboards. And, you know, in some cases, they permanently install in locations, and in other cases, as he moves them around, you know, they're like the Goodyear Blimp; they show up at different places. But, you know, he's hired to do it.

He then has people, and he staffs the operation when a scoreboard is being used. And in the course of all that, you know, they had to develop a system of, you know, they didn't have really telephones on the field, and they didn't have walkie-talkies or, you know, those kinds of things. So they developed this signal system, what they would call wig wagging back in the day.

So a guy or two on the field would follow the plays and, you know, use these contortions, something similar to the semaphore flags of, you know, in the military or like referee signals, you know, they contorted their bodies, or they spelled out letters. They would essentially communicate with the guys operating the scoreboard, the down and distance, who had substituted whatever information they had. And so, you know, it became this thing that, you know, for the big games in the East, you pretty much, you know, it became an expectation. You have an Irwin scoreboard up there, and everybody knew what the Irwin scoreboard was.

So when they built Harvard Stadium, then I think they, you know, I've never gotten a real, I've got one image that isn't too great of an early scoreboard there. So, you know, I think it was an advanced version of an Irwin scoreboard, but he ended up hiring a guy whose name was Eddie Morris. He ends up being the wigwag.

You know, he always wore a red sweater and a white hat. And for about 20 years, everybody at this guy was following along. Sometimes, he'd be out on the field doing his signals up to the guys in the box or up on the scoreboard.

And so he became like, before mascots, he became like one of the mascots, you know, something like that. And so anyways, you know, then they also started at Harvard, where he would signal in, like who made the tackle, who ran the ball, those kinds of things. And so they were selling, you know, scorecards that had the number of each of the players.

Now, the players didn't wear the numbers, but there was a number on a scorecard for Smith and Jones. And then if Smith made the tackle and Jones made the run, they'd signal that and they'd post those numbers, the corresponding numbers up on the scoreboard. So it was just a way to, you know, for the people in the stands to kind of know who the heck was who, because nobody wore numbers and they all look the same and, you know, whatever.

And they're just running in these mushes. You know, that was the nature of football at the time. So then eventually, you know, then later on, obviously they added numbers to the players, you know, on their jerseys.

The other thing that he did was they would do the Irwin scoreboards in the gymnasiums or in theaters. So they do it, especially for an away game, and they'll get connected by telephone or telegraph. And then, so it became a thing where you'd pay some money, go to the theater, and you could watch the game as a simulation based on what was happening down in Philadelphia, you know if you were in Boston.

And they even did it in Boston. They do games at Harvard, and for the big games, like the Princeton and Yale games, those would sell out. And so people who couldn't get into the game would go to the theater to watch the simulation. And then, so, I mean, it's just kind of crazy stuff like that.

Now that that image you have from 1893 and so, I mean, listeners, you can go to the show notes, and we have a link that'll take you right to Tim's article, and you can, you can see this image, and it's sort of like a sketch of what the intention of what the board should be for 1893. But it's really interesting because at the top, as you said earlier, they've got a thing called field board, and it's got an image of a football that sort of slides down, and the points of the ball indicate what yard line, I guess, the ball is on for the, for the next down. And it almost reminds me of the modern day, if you're watching an NFL game and you follow on nfl.com or cbs.com and you want to know real play because you can't watch a game or whatever your, you know, your wife makes you go shopping or something.

You can see, you know, where the plays are going. So it was kind of interesting, you know, 130 years ago, when similar technology started then. So that's really cool.

Yeah. Yeah. From a representation.

So, and that image is right from his, it's just the front page of his patent, you know, documents. So yeah, I mean, fundamentally, you know, everything that he had listed on his early thing is right there, you know? So, and as you said, you know, I mean, I do that where I'm like, I'm watching one game, and I got another one on my computer that I'm just, you know, tracking the, the progress of the game. Right.

So, right. Yeah, it's definitely very cool. So now the other thing that's really, that's pretty bizarre about this guy is that he ends up, you know, so at the time, you know, I mean, he was a ball player, so he was traveling a lot of the year and then he would, you know, when he's doing these scoreboards, he's traveling basically on the East coast.

And at one point, he was diagnosed, I don't know if he was formally diagnosed with cancer, but basically, he was told, you know, you don't have long to live. And so he gets on a boat and goes from New York to Boston and falls overboard or just jumps in the water to end it. And so he, he dies.

And then, as they're trying to settle his estate, it turns out that, you know, kind of came up that he had a wife in New York and another one in Boston, you know, with children on it. No wonder he had to keep score. He had to know what was going on.

You need to make some cash. Yeah. So anyways, I mean, it's, it's a sad, a sad end, but yeah, I mean, so just kind of a bizarre ending to a pretty wild story, but you know, for me, it just brought together the simulation.

So, I mean, I now believe he was his, you know, Irwin's scoreboard was the first simulation. He was the designer of the first football-specific scoreboard. And then, you know, I'd always made a big deal out of the Harvard stadium sport and their wigwag system.

And then I, you know, now kind of understand that he was the one behind that. And that is, his stuff was around, you know, ten years earlier, you know, maybe not as quite sophisticated form, but nevertheless. Very interesting.

And it's great that you see them, especially that image from 1893, and the similarities to our modern scoreboard still carry on the tradition of what he started. It's just a fascinating and a great testament, a great idea. Yeah.

It was pretty brilliant. That's a great story, Tim; I appreciate that you're sharing that with us. Like you do every day on the tidbits that you have from footballarchaeology.com, and maybe you could share with the listeners how they, too, could get into the tidbits.

Yeah. So ideally, you go to www.footballarchaeology.com and subscribe, and you'll get an email every, every evening, seven o'clock Eastern with, you know, just basically it got the contents of that, of that night's story. You can also just bookmark it and, you know, go whenever you want.

I also post links on Twitter and on threads as well as on the Substack app because my site—I've got my own name for it—is actually a Substack application. So those are the ways to get there and have at it. Yeah.

And help you keep your score on the scoreboard each and every night. So. I do.

We definitely appreciate you sharing your story and bringing some of this football antiquity to us to our modern day making it relevant again and carrying on and letting us know the name of Arthur Irwin and his great idea that he had and some great stories from him too. I also forgot to mention, he was the first non-catcher, non-first baseman to wear a glove in the major leagues. And so Spalding then sold the Irwin glove, you know, throughout the 1890s and early aughts.

So I forgot to mention that, but that's another, you know, he's a big deal in baseball. Yeah. Wow.

It's definitely an all-around sport. We can all thank him for the sports that we watch. So wow.

Some great stuff, Tim. We appreciate it. And we will talk to you again next week.

Okay. Thanks, Darin. All right.

Bye.

Transcribed by TurboScribe.ai.

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The history of early sideline and press box communication is taken to task by the research prowess of Timothy P Brown and the Football Archaeology resources.

The Football Archaeologist digs deep into the research and history of a couple of features of a stadium outside of the boundaries of the playing field.

The following discussion is based on Tim's original Tidbit titled: Press Boxes and Sideline Communication.

-Transcribed on Press Box History with Timothy Brown

Hello, my football friends. This is Darin Hayes of PigskinDispatch.com. Welcome once again to The Pig Pen, your portal to positive football history, and welcome to another edition where we get to visit Timothy P. Brown of FootballArcheology.com talking about one of his recent tidbits. Tim, welcome back to The Pig Pen.

Darin, it's good to see you again and hear your sultry voice. Sultry? Well, you know. Hey, you talk to me like that, fella, you're gonna have to buy me a drink.

Yeah, unfortunately, we've never been in the same room with one another. And so, you know, someday that will happen and I will buy you a drink. Most definitely, I'll buy you one back too.

So we might not be seeing each other for very long. It'd be blurry, but we'll have some fun, that's for sure. But we will communicate.

And that's sort of the topic of tonight's episode, where you wrote a tidbit not too long ago about press boxes and some communication with the sideline from yesteryear. This is very interesting stuff, and there is some great football history that we can't wait to hear. Yeah, so this one, you know, well, as you said, is about press boxes and, you know, kind of the physical structure of the press boxes.

And then, you know, how did people on the sideline communicate with press boxes, either the coaches that ultimately made their way up there or the folks in the press? And so, you know, not to shamelessly plug my book, Hut, Hut, Hike, but you know, that book is about the origins of football terminology, you know, when they first showed up in the popular press and kind of why they came about. And so, the, you know, virtually every stadium in the world has box seats, right? And those were box seats and press boxes; those were terms that originally came from the theater world, where, you know, people paid premium prices to be closer to the stage.

And then in the case of the press, you know, they wanted whoever were the movie critics of the day, but instead, they were doing, you know, live shows, and they would come and watch the show. And so they'd get a favorable spot to do so. And so then that carried over to the football world and the baseball world.

So, you know, when stadiums ended up needing to find a place to put these, the members of the press, and, you know, early on, you know, most of these stadiums were pretty informal, you know, slapped together, you know, wooden bleachers and yada, yada. So, you know, the press boxes were pretty much of this, you know, similar ilk. So, you know, there are images, you know, so, you know, those who were listening, you know, if you get a chance to get out there and, you know, take a look at some of the images from the article, but the, you know, some of them were as simple as just a table along the sidelines where these guys sat and, you know, watch the game and made, you know, took their notes.

That image that you have on there almost reminds me of a basketball game, how, you know, your right side court or sideline and, you know, field view and, you know, guys sitting there writing stats down and newspaper articles. So that's kind of a cool picture. Yeah.

And a lot of times, you know, there were other tables along the sideline like that, but oftentimes they had like the official timer, you know, so depending on the stadium, they could sometimes offload some of the timing from the, you know, the headlinesman to, you know, to somebody on the sideline, but in any event. So then they started kind of, or like, you know, in the same periods, they started putting these press boxes up at the top of the stands, but like, you know, they're not like the fancy air-conditioned and heated press boxes of today with all kinds of internet connections. I mean, a lot of them were, you know, basically open air, you know, they might've had a roof.

Some of the images that are in there show a press box or the roof, and others do not, but a lot of them are open-air. Some are basically just like, you know, just look like, you know, they're up on scaffolding, you know. So they were pretty primitive affairs, and depending on how big the game was and, you know, what the local press corps was like, you know, it could be a half a dozen guys, or it could be, you know, whatever, 20, 30, 40.

And then, you know, once you get into the concrete stadiums, you know, starting in the, especially in the twenties, you know, then you start getting a little bit more formality around the press box, but the other challenge all along. So no matter what the, you know, no matter what the era, one of the challenges, not just for the press, but for fans in general, was just trying to figure out what the heck is going on down on the field. And so what they would do is, for a long time, there were guys who used semaphore flags or, you know, just different kinds of signals.

They communicate one way or the other to the people in the press box, like to one guy in the press box and say, Hey, here's, you know, number 22 ran the ball, or this was a touchdown, or this was a touchback or safety because those were very difficult to differentiate back in the day. And so, and you know, these are the days without player numbers and referee signals. And actually, a lot of the reason for the referee signals was to, you know, when that originated to communicate to the press.

Um, so anyways, you know, but, you know, people also were smart enough to figure, Hey, we had these things called telephones, and Penn had at least some form of telecom, telephone communication with the press box back in the 1890s. But a lot of them, you know, didn't, didn't have that. I think there was much more of the twenties and thirties era when that really started happening.

Um, so there are images there too, uh, in the article of, you know, coaches, and typically, it's just one coach on the sideline. Who's got a phone or headset? And he's talking to somebody who's observing things up, you know, up high.

Um, you know, and that's back when you didn't have an offensive and defensive coordinator yet, you know, the head coach and maybe a defensive coach, but you know, the guys who were playing offense were playing defense too. So, you know, you didn't need the specialization. So one guy talking to the spotter up high, you know, was enough.

Um, so anyway, it's just kind of interesting stuff, and you can kind of see the progression, the technology, you know, gets better and better. And, um, you know, and now it's like, you know, everybody's got their headsets. You don't even need the cords and all that kind of stuff.

So it's, uh, things are, things are different than they used to be. Well, I mean, some of it is now, like you said, sort of stayed as tradition. I know as an official, we were, you know, that's who we are signaling to.

We are to face the press box and signal the press box for, you know, now it's basically the official scorekeepers and PA announcer, not so much the press, but signaling to that. Then, the home crowd is usually on that side, and they get to see the signals. And, of course, the visitors get upset.

Maybe they can't see them as clearly, but that's how you do it traditionally. And, you know, as far as the evolution of the press box, I think I've, I've told the audiences before, and I apologize if I have, but a couple of years ago, I got to go to Tom Benson stadium outside the pro football hall of fame during the enshrinements. And I was part of the media.

I got to sit up in a press box, and I couldn't believe I'd been in a lot of high school press boxes and college press boxes. This thing has marble tables with, you know, like you said, internet connections, USB ports, and ethernet cables. And, you know, somebody asking if you need anything, you know, I was expecting to see like pencils and paper, but no, everybody had a laptop computer, and there's a little buffet set up.

And, you know, at least the NFL takes good care of you at the Hall of Fame weekend anyway, but the press box was very impressive. I wanted to live there, you know, it was nice. Yeah, no, I mean, yeah, it just, everything's changed.

And it's, you know, it's funny to even, you know, like the difference between, say, D3 level amenities and D1 or the NFL, just it's, it's night and day. I mean, the D3 people are going to do their best, and they're going to do some nice things with the limited money that they have to spend. And, you know, just ten times better than what we had, you know, back in the day, but, you know, it's crazy.

There's still out there, some of the less fortunate high schools. I know I went to one, I had to do a valuation of some officials that were doing it. So I sat up in the press box and it was one of those ones made out of plywood and you had to open up the plywood door and the guy sat down a can of, of wasp spray next to me.

He goes every once in a while; you may have to hit this thing. I'm looking; there's a wasp nest up in the corner. I'm like, Oh boy, this is going to be fun.

And it was a hot box, of course, too. So, it was a good time, but between that and Tom Benson Stadium, there was a little bit of difference. Yeah.

Yeah. Well, that's okay. But Tim, that is another beauty that you came up with.

It's a very interesting go back in the 1890s, you know, thinking about them using a, you know, telephone communication at a football game at Penn, you know, that's, that's, that blows my mind. And, uh, you know, most people never saw them in their houses at that point in time. I don't think in 18, I was right around the turn of the century when they got to become more popular, but that you have interesting things like this every day in your tidbits and, uh, you know, football related, and it's just great to do it.

And a lot of it ties into history like today's did a little bit with the telecommunications and, uh, you know, people love to hear that stuff and read that stuff. Why don't you share with them where they too can enjoy this? Yeah. So, you know, the easiest thing is just to subscribe to my, uh, subscribe on, you know, footballarcheaology.com. It's free to subscribe.

You'll get an email every day with whatever that day's story is. And, uh, you know, kind of read them at your leisure or read them the moment they come out and then, uh, or don't read them. Um, whatever is your preference.

Uh, you can also, you know, follow me on Twitter, threads, and the Substack app. So, uh, any of those will work. So whatever suits your fancy.

All right. Well, Tim, excellent job. Once again, footballarcheology.com is the website.

Timothy Brown is his name, and we will talk to you again next week on Tuesday. Hey, thank you. We'll see you soon, Darin.

Transcribed by TurboScribe.ai.

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The 2001 Big 12 Championship Game was a thrilling encounter between the #7 Colorado Buffaloes and the #3 Texas Longhorns. In a game marked by offensive fireworks and late-game drama, Colorado emerged victorious, securing their first Big 12 title.

-Date: December 1, 2001

Location: Reliant Stadium, Houston, TX
Final Score: Colorado 39, Texas 37

Key Moments:

Colorado jumped out to an early lead, taking advantage of a Texas fumble to score a quick touchdown.
The Longhorns responded with a dominant second quarter, scoring three unanswered touchdowns to take a 24-14 halftime lead.


The second half saw a back-and-forth battle, with each team trading touchdowns.


With just over a minute remaining and the score tied at 37, Colorado quarterback Bobby Pesavento orchestrated a crucial drive.


Pesavento capped the drive with a 4-yard touchdown run to give Colorado the lead with 28 seconds left.
Texas' desperate attempt to tie the game fell short, sealing Colorado's victory.


Impact:


Colorado's win over Texas was a major upset, solidifying their place as a top team in the nation.
The game marked the culmination of a remarkable turnaround for Colorado, who had finished the previous season with a 3-8 record.


The victory cemented the legacy of Colorado head coach Gary Barnett and quarterback Bobby Pesavento.
The 2001 Colorado-Texas game remains a classic encounter, remembered for its high-scoring action and dramatic finish.


Additional Notes:


The game featured outstanding individual performances, including Colorado wide receiver Jeremy Bloom's 168 receiving yards and Texas quarterback Chris Simms' 393 passing yards.


The attendance at Reliant Stadium was over 72,000, setting a new record for a Big 12 Championship Game.

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Joe Ziemba, the foremost expert on Chicago Cardinals history goes all in on telling a story. When he gets a chance to chat about the memories of one of the Cardinals greats like Charley Trippi, this story teller shifts to a different gear.

Charley Trippi was a football prodigy whose versatility and skill set were unmatched in his era. A standout at the University of Georgia, he was a triple-threat, excelling as a runner, passer, and return specialist. His college career was interrupted by World War II, but upon returning, he continued to dominate.

Drafted first overall by the Chicago Cardinals in 1945, Trippi quickly became a cornerstone of their offense. Known as a "quintuple threat" for his ability to run, pass, catch, punt, and defend, he was a nightmare for opponents. His rookie season culminated in a NFL championship, a testament to his immediate impact.

Throughout his nine-year career, Trippi's extraordinary talent and athleticism made him one of the most electrifying players in the league. His records for total offense stood for decades, a testament to his enduring legacy as one of the greatest all-around football players of all time.

Joe shares in this episode the story of the NFL and other pro teams that competed for the right to ink Trippi to a professional contract. It involves some of the biggest names in football at the time and is truly a podcast worth listening in on.

The 1969 Ohio State at Michigan game is one of my all-time favorites, and here it is preserved on video by video Dailymotion.

-The Upset for the Ages: The 1969 Ohio State vs. Michigan Football Game

The crisp air of a November afternoon in Ann Arbor hung heavy with anticipation. On one side stood the #1 ranked Ohio State Buckeyes, a seemingly unstoppable force led by the legendary coach Woody Hayes. On the other, the #12 ranked Michigan Wolverines, a team hungry for an upset and a chance to derail the Buckeyes' national championship dreams. This wasn't just a game; it was the 1969 Ohio State vs. Michigan clash, a contest destined to be remembered as the "Upset for the Ages."

The Buckeyes entered the game boasting a 22-game winning streak and an aura of invincibility. Quarterback Rex Kern led a powerful offense, while Jim Stillwagon anchored a ferocious defense. Michigan, under the leadership of first-year coach Bo Schembechler, was a team in transition. Yet, fueled by a desire to end Ohio State's dominance and fueled by Schembechler's pre-game challenge to "take it to them," the Wolverines entered the field with a fire in their eyes.

The game unfolded in a whirlwind of emotion. Early turnovers plagued both sides, but the tension was palpable. The Buckeyes struck first with a touchdown, but the Wolverines responded with a vengeance. Quarterback Don Moorhead orchestrated a scoring drive, culminating in a touchdown catch by Garvie Craw. This set the tone for a back-and-forth battle.

Michigan's defense, led by the opportunistic Barry Pierson who snagged three interceptions, stymied the Buckeye offense. Meanwhile, the Wolverines capitalized on their chances. A punt return touchdown by Pierson and another touchdown by Craw gave them a surprising 14-12 lead at halftime. The Big House erupted in a cacophony of cheers, the momentum shifting decisively towards the underdog.

The second half mirrored the first, a tense struggle for control. Ohio State clawed their way back with a safety, but Michigan refused to relent. Their defense continued to disrupt the Buckeyes, forcing crucial turnovers and stifling their offensive rhythm. The final score remained 24-12, a testament to the Wolverines' grit and resilience.

The 1969 Ohio State vs. Michigan game wasn't just a defeat for the Buckeyes; it marked the beginning of a legendary coaching rivalry between Woody Hayes and Bo Schembechler, a rivalry that would define the Big Ten conference for years to come. More importantly, it became a symbol of the underdog's spirit, a reminder that with passion, determination, and a well-executed game plan, even the most formidable giants can be toppled.

Long before the era of bright lights and million-dollar contracts, Louis J. 'Red' Salmon etched his name into the annals of American football, not as a mere player, but as a pioneer. His contributions laid the foundation for the powerhouse Notre Dame Fighting Irish program we revere today, a testament to his enduring legacy in the sport.

Born in Syracuse, New York, in 1880, Salmon arrived at Notre Dame in 1900. Standing 6'3" and weighing 230 pounds, he was a physical marvel on the gridiron. Nicknamed "Red" for his hair color, Salmon wasn't just imposing; he was a skilled athlete. Described as both a "slasher" and a "smasher," he could overpower defenders or dart past them with surprising agility.

Salmon's impact was immediate. As a senior in 1903, he exploded onto the scene, scoring a staggering 105 points, a record that stood for over eight decades. Even more impressive was his career total of 36 touchdowns, a testament to his offensive prowess in an era where touchdowns were worth only five points. These feats earned him the distinction of being the first Notre Dame player named All-American.

Salmon's influence transcended the stat sheet. Some historians speculate that he served as a de facto coach during the 1902-1903 season. His leadership qualities and profound understanding of the game were pivotal in Notre Dame's triumph. Under his captaincy in 1903, the team achieved an unprecedented feat, going undefeated for the first time in Fighting Irish history, a testament to his exceptional performance and leadership.

Salmon's legacy goes beyond Notre Dame. He is credited with being the "first great Irish back," a player who paved the way for future generations of stellar Notre Dame running backs. His dominance as a fullback helped establish the position as a crucial element of offensive strategy.

While his professional career details remain unclear, Salmon's impact on college football is undeniable. Inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame in 1971, "Red" Salmon stands as a testament to the sport's early days, a player whose talent and leadership helped shape a national obsession.

April 4, 1947, in La Mesa, California, marked the birth of Ed White, a dominant defensive tackle who left an indelible mark on the University of California Golden Bears football program. White was a three-year letterman for the Golden Bears, consistently demonstrating his prowess on the defensive line. His exceptional talent and dedication earned him All-Pac-10 Conference honors three times, showcasing his consistent high level of play within a competitive conference. In his senior season of 1968, White's impact was undeniable as he anchored a formidable California defense that allowed a mere five rushing touchdowns in eleven games, a testament to their collective strength and White's individual dominance at the line of scrimmage. His impact was so profound that his legacy continues to be celebrated in his hometown of San Diego, where a local high school has named its football field in his honor.  

While the provided information does not explicitly detail Ed White's journey to the professional leagues, his exceptional collegiate career likely garnered attention from NFL scouts. Players of his caliber, consistently earning All-Conference and All-America recognition while anchoring a stout defense, are typically prime candidates for the NFL Draft. Further research would be needed to specify the teams he played for and the duration of his professional career.

Ed White's football legacy is primarily defined by his outstanding contributions to the University of California football program. His three All-Pac-10 selections and his All-America honor in 1968 underscore his status as one of the premier defensive players of his era. His leadership on a defense that excelled against the run further solidified his impact. The enduring recognition in his hometown, with a high school field named after him, speaks volumes about the respect and admiration he earned within his community. His return to the Cal program as an assistant coach in 1997 further demonstrates his lasting connection to and influence on the Golden Bears. His exceptional college career was deservedly recognized with his induction into the College Football Hall of Fame in 1999, ensuring his place among the legends of the sport.  

His accolades include:

Three-time All-Pac-10 Conference selection.
All-America selection in 1968.  
Anchored a California defense that allowed only five rushing touchdowns in 1968.  
Induction into the College Football Hall of Fame in 1999.  
A high school football field named in his honor in San Diego.

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The 1913 college football season was a wild ride with no clear-cut champion. Unlike today's national championship system, there was no official title awarded. However, three teams – Chicago, Harvard, and Auburn – all finished undefeated and laid claim to the national crown.

This season marked a turning point for Western football. Teams like Notre Dame, Nebraska, and Michigan State dominated their schedules, even defeating several top Eastern squads. This performance challenged the established dominance of Eastern powerhouses like Harvard and Yale, showcasing the growing strength of football programs across the country. While the lack of a single champion may leave some unsatisfied, the 1913 season remains a fascinating chapter in college football history, a testament to the sport's growing national appeal and the emergence of new powerhouses.

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College football jerseys are more than just fabric; they symbolize school pride, individual achievement, and moments etched in memory. But did you know some jerseys transcend even that, becoming so iconic they're permanently retired, hanging, and preserved for all to honor, forever out of reach?

Join us in this visit with FootballArchaeology.com's Timothy Brown as we delve into the fascinating stories behind the first three college football jerseys ever retired, uncovering the legends who wore them, the moments they immortalized, and the legacy they left behind.

Prepare to be transported back to a time when gridiron giants walked the Earth, their jerseys becoming more than just numbers but testaments to their enduring impact on the game we love. Buckle up, college football fans, and let's embark on a journey through history, one retired jersey at a time!

-Transcribed Conversation with Timothy Brown on the 1st 3 retired jersey numbers

Hello, my football friends; this is Darin Hayes of PigskinDispatch.com. Welcome again to The Pig Pen, your portal to positive football history. And welcome to Tuesday. And it's FootballArcheology.com day with Timothy P. Brown, the founder and host of that website.

Tim, welcome back to The Pig Pen.

Hey, Darin. Good to see you.

I was trying to adjust my little white light here. I've tried a bunch of things to brighten up this room, but I'm down in, you know, I've got a basement office, and it's always kind of yellow. But you're not here to look at me.

You're here to listen to that. That's right. And nobody wants to look at me either.

And I have too much light, and it washes me out. And I look like I'm, you know, a marshmallow man or something. So, hey, that's the way it goes.

But, you know, we're not technology people. We're football people. And we're here to talk a little bit about football and some football of ancient times here for at least, you know, a while back.

And you have a really interesting tidbit I'd love to discuss today. You talk about the first three retired jersey numbers in a recent tidbit. And gosh, that piques the interest.

Just hearing that. Maybe you could tell us about that story, who these three jerseys were, and who wore them. Yeah, so, you know, so first of all, before numbers could get retired, people had to wear numbers and, you know, when football was first when numbers were first being used to identify players, it they were like on the scorecards.

The players didn't wear them, but they wouldn't wear a number necessarily. But the school would publish a scorecard that, if somebody did a certain thing, they made a tackle, scored a touchdown, or came into the game as a substitute, they would post that player's number on the scoreboard in a particular spot. And then that is what, you know, you'd have to OK, number five.

And then that was, you'd find the corresponding number on the scorecard. So then, you know who the player was. But that was kind of a thing people don't realize, and it is a goofy little thing that occurred.

But one of the other things when that process was going on was that, you know, the numbers could change from week to week. I mean, normally, it came up with one order at the beginning of the year, and then they just numbered the guys one through twenty-five. Right?

And then whoever the visiting team was, they'd number them to, you know, assign them a number. So, you know, the numbers didn't mean it to the players. But then they, you know, so starting 1905 is the first time, numbers were in a football game.

But it didn't really until mid-teens when, you know, a lot more teams started wearing them. And so it wasn't until, you know, 1925, there's this fellow named Red Grange, who turned out to be a pretty good running back at Illinois. And he happened to wear number 77, you know, not a number we associate with running backs nowadays, but, you know, that's what he wore.

And he had such a fabulous career that Illinois decided, you know, once he, you know, played his last game, that they would never allow anyone else to wear number 77 for the Illinois football team. So he became the first player to have a number retired, as far as I know, that's across all sports. And so, so, you know, range number 77, boom.

So he's the first guy. Then the next guy was a similarly talented running back out at Stanford, Ernie Nevers. And so the funny thing about his story is that he wore number one.

And when they retired, you know, this at the time, on the Pacific Coast, a lot of the student organizations kind of ran sports much more than they, I mean, eventually that got professionalized. But the student organization voted and said, we won't allow anybody else to wear number one at Stanford. And so, somehow, they slipped up in the next year, and a running back got issued the number one for one of the games.

And what's just kind of kind of cool about it? It's just that, you know, it was kind of a big thing. It got caught, you know, in the newspapers and everything.

But then there's a picture in Stanford yearbook for that year that shows this guy wearing number one in a game, you know, and, you know, it's just at that time, they didn't have a lot of pictures in the yearbook. But anyway, that's what, and then I've got that in the tidbit that we're talking about, you know. Nevers was probably a little bit ticked.

He was playing pro ball next year for the Duluth program. I'm assuming that point, but he's probably, hey, I thought you retired my number. Why is this guy wearing it? What the hell? Yeah, well, I tell you, he wasn't and didn't see it on TV.

So he wouldn't have seen it at the time. But yeah, it's kind of a story. And then, you know, they stopped it after that first time.

So then the third guy should have his number retired. That came in 1927, so two years later. And it's a guy that kind of everybody, you know, it's like today, you know, there's certain players that everybody knows.

And so, at the time, he would have been, you know, certainly known by anybody on the West Coast, probably, you know, other parts of the country because he was all American. But he was the captain of St. Mary's football team in 1927, named Larry Betancourt. And unlike the first two guys who were running backs, Betancourt was a center.

So, you know, apparently he was talented enough and just an honorable guy, all that kind of stuff. So then they ended up retiring his name. And then he ended up instead of signing with the.

He signed a major league contract with the NFL and played for three years with the St. Louis Browns, the same organization Ernie Nevers played baseball for. He played for parts of three seasons in the majors and then retired at age 32.

And then he played for the Packers in 1933. So, six years after getting out of college, he went and picked up one season anyway with the Packers. So anyway, Larry Betancourt.

Interesting trivia answer to a trivia question for you. Yeah, it is. Now, Tim, maybe you can answer this question.

Now we know today, when players' numbers get retired, you know, it is definitely in a professional sport. Even college football is usually like at their final home game. I've seen it happen many times, or they'll say, hey, this is the last time this number will be worn on a field.

So people appreciate that player a little bit more. In the 1920s, when Grange and Betancourt and Ernie Nevers were together, was it the same kind of thing at their last game, or did they have a separate photo shoot or ceremony or something? Yeah, I don't think it was all that formalized. To my knowledge, certainly, nothing occurred at a game.

So, like Illinois, a picture was taken at the time with Grange holding his jersey and his hands after a game. So, I mean, it was it was a staged photo. So, you know, they knew they were doing this, but to my knowledge, I don't think they did any kind of ceremony, you know, as part of his last game.

And then, you know, the others, Nevers and Betancourt, I think with Nevers, they kind of heard, hey, this is what happened with Grange, we should do the same thing with Nevers. So, I think that came a little bit after the fact. And then Betancourt, too, I mean, as far as I could tell, you know, looking at their yearbooks and things like that, I didn't see anything about this happening to him during the time he was, you know, still playing for them.

And then, you know, he played baseball for them the following spring, too. I'm trying to think that was Nevers, like a year ahead of Grange, because I know Nevers played, and Stanford played Notre Dame in that 1925 Rose Bowl. And Grange, I think, was a junior in the 1925 or 1924 season.

So 1925 would have been his final season with Thanksgiving. I think they were both seniors in their 25s. OK, OK.

If I'm not mistaken, Nevers was a junior when he played in that Rose Bowl. OK, that's why I was a little bit confused.

And I thought the Rose Bowl was his last game. OK, that makes sense. Yeah.

So yeah, anyway, I mean, it's just one of those things that we take for granted now, but, you know, it's like everything else. Somebody had to think this up. Right.

Somebody thought, hey, we're going to not let anybody else wear Red Green's number. I think it's lost the time, you know, who that was. But it's, yeah, it's just one of those things.

Somebody made it up, and now it's a tradition and a tremendous honor, regardless of sport and whether it's your high school or anything. You must have done some pretty good things if they return your number. Right.

It's also caused some interesting situations. I said to him that a couple of years ago when J.J. Watt went to the Cardinals, he wanted to wear 99 like he wore at Houston. But that was Marshall Goldberg's number for the Chicago Cardinals.

He also had to ask permission from the Marshall Goldberg family. They, of course, allowed it. I think about Joe Montana, you know, when he was 16 with the 49ers, when he went to the Chiefs, of course, 16 was retired from Len Dawson.

So he had ended up wearing, I think, 15 when he was with the Chiefs. But just some interesting things with these legends going to another team. And, hey, you can't have your old team number because we have our own legend here by that number.

It's kind of a neat thing there, too. Well, and it's just, you know, like at the professional level, you get into merchandising and all that kind of stuff. But it's just kind of funny how attached people become to a number, you know, that is often just randomly assigned somewhere along the line.

They got that number, and then, you know, it becomes part of their identity. And so, anyway, I think the whole thing is amusing in some respects. Yeah, it is.

And it's amazing how we do become attached to the numbers. I know I was a being a Steelers fan even to this day. When I think of number 10, I think of Roy Jarella, the kicker from the 70s, because that's who I grew up number 10.

And, you know, you have Santonio Holmes catching, you know, Super Bowl-winning catches wearing that number. And you've had many other players wearing that number 10, not Roy Jarella, the kicker. They're much more athletic and doing some better things than kick and field goals and things like that, too.

It's just amazing how we associate that. It was a good chat and a great discussion. You point out some really cool aspects of football that are sometimes so obvious and staring us right in the face.

But you bring up some history and some stories to it. Maybe you could share with the listeners how they can read you. Yeah.

So, the best way is to just go to football archaeology dot com and subscribe. It's free. And otherwise, if you don't want to do that, then you can follow me on Twitter on threads or subscribe to the Substack app, and you can follow me there and not necessarily get emails, you know, kind of whatever works for you.

Yeah, most definitely. And Tim, we appreciate you coming on here, folks. The link to the tidbit Tim spoke about today is in the podcast show notes.

It'll also take you to football archaeology dot com. Once you're there, you can check out some of these great tidbits he has there. And, you know, hit him up on Twitter and some of these other social media as he's on and message him on threads.

I or on Substack, I'm sorry, as I quite often do reading these and putting my two cents worth. We have a little banter a couple of times a week on this, along with some others. And it's good, good fun reading a tidbit.

The comments section is good fun, too. So, Tim, we appreciate you. We would love to talk to you again next week about some more great football.

Very good. I'm sure we'll find something to chat about.

Transcribed by TurboScribe.ai.

Love the football jersey designs and evolution wait till you check out the History of American Football Jersey.

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