Dan Rooney (23 page)

Our first loss of the season came at the hands of Oakland. They killed us 17-0, our first shutout loss since 1964. Oakland's defense limited Gilliam to 8 completions in 31 attempts. The Raiders intercepted him three times.

Noll grew more and more frustrated with Gilliam's one-dimensional attack. He continued to defy Noll and never established the ground game even though we had Franco and Rocky. He'd call a pass on third and inches—the Raiders knew he'd throw every time and were ready for him.

The next week we played in the Astrodome in Houston. We didn't expect to have trouble with the Oilers, but they intercepted Gilliam twice. Their only score came on a 47-yard scramble on an end around by rookie sensation Billy “White Shoes” Johnson. With the exception of that one lapse, our defense continued to dominate.

We were all wondering about the inconsistency of our offense, and Noll now had real concern about the quarterback position. He gave Gilliam every chance to prove himself, but Joe resisted Chuck's instructions. He wouldn't follow the game plan, wouldn't bring our running backs into the play mix.

At Arrowhead Stadium in Kansas City, we faced the Chiefs and a crowd of over 65,000. Gilliam had a decent game, completing 14 of 37 passes for 214 yards, but we won because of the outstanding play of our defense. Glen Edwards, Jack Ham, and Jack Lambert each picked off two passes, and pressure by the Steel Curtain resulted in three sacks and two fumble recoveries. Final score, 34-24.

The following Sunday, at home in Three Rivers, Gilliam had a terrible day, completing 5 of 18 passes for only 66 yards. Roy Gerela's two field goals proved decisive in our 20-16 victory. The real story was again our defense, which sacked Cleveland's quarterback six times for a loss of 33 yards. Franco Harris began making a difference, running for 81 yards and one touchdown on fourteen carries.

Gilliam just wasn't cutting it. Chuck told me he planned to start
Bradshaw in the next game against Atlanta. The
Post-Gazette
sponsored a public opinion poll, asking who should start at quarterback. The quarterback question became the talk of the town, and I'm afraid some of that talk turned racist. Gilliam received threatening letters.

But I can tell you all the public debate and speculation in the press had no effect on Chuck Noll or his decision to play Bradshaw. Like Chuck, I felt we had given Joe every chance. He had tremendous talent, a pure passer—I'd never seen a stronger arm. He was hard working, intense, and desperately wanted to succeed—that's what made pulling him so tough. He took it hard.

Each of the three quarterbacks had their advocates on the team. Dwight White strongly believed Gilliam had all the tools and had proven himself. Former Steelers running back and Hall of Famer John Henry Johnson backed Terry Hanratty. Joe Greene had bonded with Bradshaw during the players' strike and made it known he thought Terry should lead the team.

Noll played Bradshaw because he thought it time to go with his first-round draft pick. Race was not an issue. Noll believed Terry could get the job done—it was that simple. In hindsight, it's obvious Chuck made the right call.

 

 

When we took the field against the Atlanta Falcons at Three Rivers Stadium, the pressure on Bradshaw increased. He hadn't played all season, but he had a terrific team behind him. The Steelers defense sacked Falcon's quarterback Bob Lee seven times, increasing its league-leading total to twenty-eight. Franco Harris set a career high of 141 yards rushing, and Rocky Bleier ran for 78 more.

The Rocky Bleier story is incredible. We drafted him from Notre Dame in 1968, but then he was drafted again, this time by the U.S. Army, and sent to Vietnam in 1969. Wounded in action, he came back
to the Steelers in 1970 with a Bronze Star, Purple Heart, and shrapnel in his foot. He had lost weight and his wounds slowed him down. Chuck Noll released him in the final cut that summer.

I'd kept an eye on Rocky, watched him in practice, and talked to the coaches. Dick Hoak, our offensive backfield coach, and others thought highly of him, but no one thought he'd make the team. Before he went to Southeast Asia he'd played well. Now he was giving his all, despite the searing pain in his foot. Our equipment manager, Tony Parisi, came to see me. “Dan, you've got to do something. This kid's suffering. He's got shrapnel in his foot.”

I went to the Chief because I knew it would be a big expense to keep Rocky on the payroll. I asked him if he'd be okay with getting Bleier the operation he needed and keeping him on the team. “Go ahead. Do what you think is right.”

After clearing it with Chuck (I didn't want him to think I was second-guessing his decision), I called Rocky the next morning and told him we'd like him to consider having another operation—his third—this time performed by our doctors. Instead of placing him on waivers, I said we'd put him on injured reserve. Slowly, through self discipline and hard work, he got himself back into shape. In fact, the best shape in his life. Noll and Hoak couldn't believe it, but he actually improved his speed in the 40-yard dash.

By 1974 he had cracked the starting lineup on merit and come into his own as a powerful blocker and smart running back. Rocky's come-back was an inspiration to many of our players—and to America. I never once regretted our decision to keep him on the team.

Bradshaw really showed what he could do in our November 3 game against the Philadelphia Eagles. We played at Three Rivers Stadium, and Terry directed a 375-yard offense, gaining 48 yards rushing himself. Our defense posted its second shutout of the year. We crushed them, 27-0.

Bradshaw seemed to lose his concentration in our 17-10 loss to
Cincinnati. He completed only a third of his passes, threw one interception, and got badly out-quarterbacked by the Bengals' Ken Anderson. In Bradshaw's defense, Anderson set two records that day—one for completing sixteen consecutive passes, the other for his 90 percent game completion percentage. But Anderson's stellar record didn't matter to Noll. He thought we should have won the game.

On November 17, we played the Browns in Cleveland Stadium before 77,000 screaming Browns fans. With Bradshaw and Gilliam benched, Terry Hanratty started his first game of the season as quarterback. Gerela's 14 points made him the leading scorer and the top kicker in the AFC. Franco rushed for 156 yards. Final score, Pittsburgh 26, Cleveland 16.

Right after Thanksgiving we played the Saints at Tulane Stadium, almost a homecoming for Bradshaw, who Noll brought back as our starting quarterback. We overpowered the Saints 28-7, with Bradshaw throwing two touchdown passes and rushing for 99 yards, including an 18-yard scoring run. He almost equaled Franco's 114 rushing yards. The six sacks by our defense boosted our sack total to a league-leading forty-six, and our players started thinking about a return trip in January to New Orleans, the site of Super Bowl IX. But we were getting ahead of ourselves.

Back to Three Rivers again, in the freezing rain, we lost to Houston, 13-10. Bradshaw left the game in the third quarter with bruised ribs. The Oilers defense racked up four sacks and three interceptions, and shut us out in the second half.

Despite the disappointing showing against Houston, we came back the next week to beat New England at Schaefer Stadium, clinching our second AFC Central Division championship and eliminating New England from a wild-card berth. Bradshaw used his running game to good advantage. Franco chalked up 136 yards rushing, while our tough defense made the Patriots' pay for every one of their 184 yards of offense.

We played our last game of the regular season at home against Cincinnati, avenging our earlier loss to them with a 27-3 victory. Franco went over the 1,000-yard mark and Bradshaw threw two touchdown passes. With two field goals and three conversions, Gerela earned the AFC scoring title with 93 points. Lynn Swann showed his versatility by returning three punts for 112 yards and ending the season with 577 return yards, just short of the team record.

In the first round of the playoffs, at Three Rivers Stadium, we faced O. J. Simpson and the Buffalo Bills. Simpson was the league's premier rusher, and in 1972 gained 189 yards on 22 carries against us, including a 89-yard touchdown run. Since then, our defense had improved, and during the 1974 season our coaches also had devised an alignment called the “Stunt 4-3.” The Stunt 4-3 placed Greene directly over the center but in a stance at a 45-degree angle. Sometimes Ernie Holmes lined up that way. If the offensive line tried to double-team Greene, Holmes often found himself with a free path into the backfield. If the offensive line concentrated on Holmes, it counted on one guy to stop Greene's charge. “It started out as a pass technique,” explained Noll, “but we found out it really screws up the offensive blocking. It's an aggressive defensive play because our front four isn't sitting and reading the offense. Instead, they're the ones making things happen.”

That day, O. J. Simpson and his famous offensive line—called “the Electric Company” because it turned on “the juice”—managed only 49-yards rushing. Bradshaw himself ran for 48 yards that game and passed for over 200. Twenty-six of our points came in the second quarter, when Bradshaw led drives totaling 438 yards. We won 32-14, and moved into the AFC championship game against the Raiders.

Going into this game, we had all heard the reports that Raiders coach John Madden had said he'd already seen the best two teams in the league the previous week, when Oakland defeated the two-time Super Bowl champion Miami Dolphins. Usually cool and calm, Noll couldn't contain himself. He called the team together for a talk. He
told the players he didn't see how it was possible for Madden to have already seen the best teams in the league, because the best team was sitting right here in the Steelers locker room. Noll's talk really pumped up the team. Both Franco Harris and Joe Greene told me after that speech, the players felt like they couldn't lose. Chuck was not given to locker-room pep talks—but on that day he instilled in our players a sense of confidence that made them feel invincible.

This turned out to be our first conference championship in forty-two years. Oakland never knew what hit them—we had so many weapons on offense and defense. When it wasn't Franco tearing through their line, it was Rocky. Between them they ran for more than 200 yards. Bradshaw and Lynn Swann were a dangerous combination. And then there was the Steel Curtain. Joe Greene, Fats Holmes, L.C. Greenwood, and Dwight White, backed by Andy Russell, Jack Lambert, and Jack Ham, forced three Ken Stabler interceptions and held the Raiders' ground game to only 29 yards. After our 24-13 victory, Davis and Madden didn't have any public comment about who they now thought were the best teams in the league.

So we went off to New Orleans to play the Minnesota Vikings in Super Bowl IX.

The oddsmakers favored the Vikings. They had been to the Super Bowl twice before, and their quarterback, Fran Tarkenton, was an exceptional field tactician. The papers made much of the contrast between Tarkenton, the veteran, poised professional, and the brash young Bradshaw.

Terry had gone through a really tough year. After two strong seasons, 1972 and 1973, he'd been benched in favor of Joe Gilliam, who had proven himself during the preseason following the players strike. And some fans and sportswriters questioned whether Terry was smart enough to lead the team.

I want to set the record straight on this. Bradshaw is no dummy. He's a very bright guy. Noll trusted him to call his own plays—that's
saying a lot. In 1974, after the last regular season game against Cincinnati, Chuck told Terry that from then on he was the Steelers' starting quarterback. He went on to lead us to four Super Bowls. After his playing career, he went on to become a great television commentator and analyst. Terry has authored several successful books and is an excellent public speaker. This guy's got a lot on the ball and should never be underestimated. That business about him being dumb—people wish they could be so dumb.

But Terry is a sensitive guy. The hateful mail he received, the cat-calls from the stands, attacks in the media—all hurt him. I remember him saying how much he wanted the people of Pittsburgh to be proud of him. But in his first two or three seasons, he felt terribly alone. That's when Joe Greene really stood by him. Terry had an unusual relationship with Noll. There was a great deal of respect between the two men, but they were so different. Chuck: cool, calculating, focused. Terry: loose, free-spirited, a gunslinger. What a pair. They learned to work with each other, and that's what won us Super Bowls.

He got through the public criticism with his wonderful sense of humor. I remember one day I was sitting in my office at Three Rivers when Terry came running in all out of breath. He yelled, “They stole my golf clubs out of my car!”

I said, “Well, did you lock it, Terry?”

He thought for a moment, then said, “I locked one side of it!”

We both started to laugh, and I said, “Well, maybe they just stole half of the clubs. Go look around!”

Terry and I enjoyed each other, but he and the Chief had almost a father-son relationship. They spent long hours talking. They discussed everything, from football to love and marriage. After Terry's divorce, Dad told him, “You know what you need? You need one of those farmers' daughters to take care of you.” Terry allowed that maybe it was so—he'd try harder next time. Sometimes he would go into Dad's office even when the Chief wasn't there. It became his
refuge, a place he could go just to get away from it all—and smoke my father's fat cigars.

The Chief presented Terry with a gift horse, a stallion from our horse farm. Terry may not have known it, but this was quite an honor. My father didn't give away fine horses to just anyone.

But when Terry got the feed and boarding bill, Dad called him on it. “You're not paying your bill,” he said.