We’ve had some philosophical questions from David Maraniss in our examination of When Pride Still Mattered, so here’s one from me: how do you tell a story that everybody knows? That’s the challenge in chapter 24, where Maraniss is attempting to tell the story of the Ice Bowl. 

As a writer, you know you’re in trouble when the thing you’re writing about has its own name above and beyond what it actually is. It’s not just “that big wall in Asia” it’s “the Great Wall of China.” It’s not just “the 1967 NFL championship” it’s “the Ice Bowl.” You get the picture.

So what does Maraniss do? I think he approaches this challenge wisely by not really trying to tell the story at all. He does very little narratively in chapter 24 other than organize a whole bunch of anecdotes collected from disparate interviews and sources, stringing them along in roughly chronological order until he’s got a fairly cohesive picture of what happened that day.

That sounds remarkably easy, but it’s actually an immense amount of work, and most of it goes unseen. Each little anecdote from that day is actually the result of hours of behind-the-scenes effort to speak with the relevant parties, collect other material, and discard what is not absolutely essential. You could probably write a pretty decent book just from what Maraniss likely left on the cutting room floor just from this chapter alone.

Speaking of those details, I have three to dive into from this chapter.

First, I was unable to substantiate Maraniss’ claim about Bart Starr running an uncalled quarterback sneak during the 49ers visit to County Stadium in the 1966 season. I couldn’t find video of the game, and newspaper accounts from the time only really speak on Starr’s otherwise brilliant game; sneak notwithstanding, Starr carved up the 49ers that day, needing just 24 attempts (and 13 completions) to rack up 236 yards on an icy cold day.

Second, Maraniss cites the game-winning play as Brown right, 31 wedge. I don’t have an exact playbook copy of that play, but the fullback veer pictured here is a good approximation. Some key notes from Lombardi’s instructions: Starr, the quarterback, was to get the ball to Chuck Mercein, the fullback, “as deep as possible,” presumably to give him time to carry out his read on the play. The fullback is to read the block of the right guard (Jerry Kramer), whose job is to basically allow the man he’s blocking to go where he wants to go and drive himself out of the play. 

If you watch video of the play itself, that’s basically how it plays out, with the exception of the handoff to Mercein. Dallas tackle Jethro Pugh charges hard inside, Kramer gives him a bit of his left shoulder to nudge him that direction, and Starr follows behind Kramer, angling off his left hip into the space Kramer and Pugh had vacated. A heartbeat later and you’ve got yourself a touchdown. Just that simple, right?

Finally, Maraniss mentions the NFL Films project “The Greatest Challenge” as a retrospective on that game, and we’re lucky to have a full copy of it available on YouTube. Give it a watch! I got goosebumps doing so, and not just from the cold.