In a lot of biographies, there’s usually an early chapter that spends a lot of time giving background and very little time moving the story forward. I recently read American Prometheus, which details J. Robert Oppenheimer’s life from birth through the creation of the atomic bomb and beyond. One of the early sections of that book spends a great deal of time exploring Oppenheimer’s connections to the Communist Party, including the minutiae of his relationships with specific members. It was so dull that I nearly put down the book entirely, but it’s crucially important to Oppenheimer’s overall life story. His friendships with ardent Communists, even though he wasn’t much of one himself, ended up affecting his life in profound ways, including the great shame he endured late in his life after cultivating a few political enemies.

I think this is that kind of chapter. The ins and outs of Lombardi’s playing career at Fordham aren’t particularly interesting to me, since Maraniss did a lot in Chapter 2 to establish that Lombardi wasn’t much of a force for the Rams; he was definitely the seventh of the Seven Blocks of Granite.

But you can’t really understand Lombardi without understanding the forces that shaped him, and I think this chapter is a good explanation of a few of those forces. We see Lombardi the player, undersized and scrappy, an offensive lineman who succeeded on effort and precision rather than brawn. We see Lombardi the teammate, someone who pushed his fellow Rams to maximum effort. We see Lombardi the learner, soaking up all he could in a scheme that definitely influenced his future playcalling. And, perhaps most subtly but most importantly, we again see Lombardi the Catholic.

It’s hard to ignore (and Maraniss makes sure we don’t) the connection between the particular brand of Catholicism taught at Fordham and Lombardi’s later coaching style. 

“There is a direct line in thinking from the Jesuits to football to what would become the philosophy of Vince Lombardi,” the book says. “The Jesuits rejected the notion of predestination, arguing that anyone could attain a state of perfection with enough zeal; perfection went to those who sought it most eagerly. They believed in man’s liberty to choose between action and inaction, good and evil, but like the military and football coaches, they also maintained a hierarchical order in which the inferior submits willingly to the superior.”

The degree to which Lombardi accepted the particulars of Jesuit doctrine isn’t relevant. If you marinate in that kind of environment for long enough, something will seep into you, and it certainly seems to have with Lombardi. Perfection. Effort. Precision. Teamwork. Submission. All hallmarks of both the Jesuits and the would-be priest turned football coach. The whys and wherefores of what Lombardi may have done at Fordham may not matter all that much, but he was there, and it left its mark on him forever.

Interesting notes

• Another great nickname: “The Great Unpronounceable.” I don’t know if that’s really all that much easier than just saying Alexander Franklin Wojciechowicz’s name, but it’s funny.

• We’ve taken some pains to point out how similar football culture was in Lombardi’s days to the present, but I don’t think you’d have many players admit to swallowing a wad of tobacco during a touchdown run in 2023.

• I find the Notre Dame Box offense almost incomprehensible, but Cliff Christl did a pretty good explainer of how it worked for Curly Lambeau in Green Bay a couple of years back. Lambeau, of course, learned it the same place that Sleepy Jim Crowley did.

• St. Mary’s uniforms must have been incredible: green with red, white, and gold trimmings sounds like an amazing look. I couldn’t find any pictures of what they looked like back then, but they later changed their colors to navy, red, and silver. Big downgrade, in my opinion.

Packers connections

• Lombardi’s Fordham Rams met future Packers great Cecil Isbell when he was a running back at Purdue. Isbell would lead the league in passing yards and touchdowns twice, which tends to happen when you’re throwing to Don Hutson.