Sport facts

In the fourth and clinching game of the 1970 Stanley Cup finals, Boston Bruin star defenseman Bobby Orr flew through the air, lunged, and fell as he scored the overtime goal against the St. Louis Blues, to give the Bruins their first Stanley Cup in 29 years. The image of Orr sprawled on the ice has become one of the most enduring in hockey history.

Orr’s place in the game is sacred. He is one of that very select group — Maurice “The Rocket” Richard and Wayne Gretzky are two other members — credited with being not just phenomenally gifted, but with changing the idea of how the game was played. Orr rushed, moving at will and with lightning quickness up and down the Boston Garden ice; he had a very hard, accurate shot; he could skate and he stickhandled beautifully. He was an offensive-minded defenseman who controlled the game’s pace at both ends. He displayed the daring — more traditional, defensive-minded observers sometimes termed it “recklessness” — to rush up ice and create havoc before dishing off to one of the forwards or scoring himself. The next generation of brilliant defensemen — most notably the New York Islanders’ Denis Potvin and the Edmonton Oilers’ (and later Pittsburgh Penguins’) Paul Coffey — took their lessons from Orr’s tough but stylish play.

In 1969-70, Orr did the unthinkable when, as a defenseman, he won the scoring title. He set records for most assists and most points in a season. He was the first defenseman in NHL history to score a hat trick in a Stanley Cup game.

Orr led the Bruins to a second Stanley Cup in 1972, and he certainly had a good supporting cast, among them Phil Esposito, Johnny Bucyk, and Gerry Cheevers. But the career of the great #4 was shortened by injuries, probably partially the result of his active style of play. He came back with the Chicago Blackhawks in the 1976-77 and 1978-79 seasons. But he will always be remembered, especially by Boston fans, for the way he singlehandedly took over a game and almost made those in the arena — players, fans — stop and watch and admire. In Orr, they were watching not simply one of the NHL’s greatest players but one of its innovators, as well.

In one of the most stunning upsets in the history of Olympic track and field, unknown American Billy Mills won the 10,000 meter gold medal at the 1964 Games when he ran an Olympic record 28:24.4, a time that was a phenomenal 46 seconds faster than his previous best. Mills, who hadn’t even come in first at the US Olympic trials, had been able to keep up with the favorite and world record holder, Australian Ronald Clarke. Toward the end of the race, Clarke seemed to be in excellent position since neither Mills nor Tunisian Mohamed Gammoudi, running with Clarke, had ever broken 29 minutes; at the pace they were all running, Mills and Gammoudi were likely to fade at any moment.

But after some jostling and shoving that broke up the lead pack, Mills dropped back, seemingly out of contention. While Clarke and Gammoudi dueled out in front, Mills made a spectacular, unexpected surge on the homestretch and nipped Gammoudi by three yards and Clarke by another second still.

The Japanese fans went crazy. They had just witnessed a memorably courageous and competitive race, and, to top it off, the victor’s identity was unfamiliar to everyone. Indeed, when one race official caught up to Mills after the race, he asked simply, “Who are you?”

He was 7/16 Sioux Indian, and the next year, to prove that he wasn’t a one-race runner, he broke Clarke’s world record. He was Billy Mills, the 10,000-meter man responsible for one of the greatest Olympic upsets ever.

Defense wins football games.

A good defense beats a good offense.

The best offense is a good defense.

They’re all football cliches, and, like most cliches, they’re also true. The greatest teams in National Football League history have all featured ferocious and stingy defenses. Occasionally, a defense, or a special unit within a defense, is good and colorful enough to earn a nickname. Since the 1960s, there have been several such nasty and unyielding fraternities. There were the “Purple People Eaters” — the Minnesota Viking front four in the 1960s and 1970s, including Jim Marshall, Carl Eller, Alan Page, and Gary Larsen, and later Doug Sutherland. There was the “Steel Curtain” — the Pittsburgh Steeler front four in the 1970s, including “Mean” Joe Greene, Ernie Holmes, L.C. Greenwood, and Dwight White. Going back a few years, there was the “Fearsome Foursome” — the Los Angeles Ram front four in the 1960s, including Deacon Jones, Lamar Lundy, Roosevelt Grier, and Merlin Olsen.

In the 1980s, linebackers became the game’s defensive glamour boys. The New York Giant crew, featuring Lawrence Taylor and Carl Banks, left its impact on many an opposing backfield. The linebacking corps of the Chicago Bears, especially the 1985 Super Bowl-winning squad, took a backseat to no one, at least so long as Mike Singletary was anchoring it. Other teams — the 1970s Oakland Raiders and the 1990s Kansas City Chiefs, to name two — have even built defensive reputations around their agile, hard-hitting secondaries — the cornerbacks and safeties.

You win with defense.

It all starts with defense.

Football is a hitting sport.

The words are trite, but to scrambling quarterbacks and 180-pound halfbacks and 5’11″ wide receivers leaping to reach overthrown balls, the terror never is.

The 1960 marathon staged in Rome was significant for several reasons: it was the first to be run at night, and the first that would start and end outside of the stadium. But perhaps most significant of all, it was the first Olympic marathon won by a black African, thus anticipating the dominance over the rest of the world that black Africans would enjoy in world-class distance running for many years to come (and which made itself especially apparent at the 1968 Games, in high-altitude Mexico City, where Kenyans felt almost as if they had a homefield advantage). One of the legendary figures of the Olympics and of distance running, Ethiopia’s Abebe Bikila, won the Rome marathon running barefoot.

Four years later in Tokyo, in an unusual display of versatility, Bikila defended his title wearing socks and shoes. At the awards ceremony that year, no one in the band knew the Ethiopian national anthem, so they played the Japanese anthem instead.

Unfortunately, Bikila’s career and life, so full of triumph, took tragic turns. At the Mexico City Games, the Ethiopian pulled out after 10 miles with a fracture in his leg. Then, a year later, he was paralyzed in a car crash. The last four years of his life were spent in a wheelchair, and sadly, the only athlete ever to win two Olympic marathons died of a brain hemorrhage in 1973, at the age of 41.

In 1950, Boston Celtics coach Red Auerbach passed up choosing Holy Cross star Bob Cousy, calling him a “local yokel.” Celtics owner Walter Brown later picked Cousy’s name from three in a hat in a special dispersal draft, and Auerbach was “stuck” with Cousy. The New York Knicks got veteran Max Zaslofsky, the Philadelphia Warriors veteran Andy Phillip. The Celtics got the rookie Cousy.

Too bad for them.

In 1952, Cousy was named to the All-NBA first team, along with George Mikan, Ed Macauley, Paul Arizin and Dolph Schayes. Cousy had become one of the league’s top scorers — he was third that year, averaging 21.7 points per game — but was known more for crisp passing that anticipated the movement to the basket of teammates without the ball, and for his flashy ballhandling. Cousy was one of the first to master the behind-the-back dribble. At 6’1- 1/2″, he was not quite as small as people now seem to think he was — compared to Magic Johnson, everyone seems tiny playing point guard — but he nonetheless became the model for the compact, always-under-control floor leader who led the fast break, dished off the ball to forwards streaking down the wings, and made sure that he fed his center, posting low.

Celtics coach Auerbach had long ago ceased to think of Cousy as a liability. The guard was winning the league assists title yearly and, along with “Easy Ed” Macauley and Bill Sharman, a deadly outside shooter, had made the Celtics an exciting offensive team, though the team’s defense and rebounding were wanting.

That wouldn’t last too much longer. In 1956, after leading the University of San Francisco to two consecutive undefeated seasons and national collegiate titles, center Bill Russell was available. Auerbach saw in Russell the final piece of the Celtic puzzle. He swung a big and risky trade, sending Macauley and promising rookie Cliff Hagen to St. Louis for the second pick in the draft, where he nabbed Russell. After Russell helped the US win another Olympic basketball gold medal at the 1956 Games in Australia, he joined the team. He immediately displayed the skills that would make him the greatest defensive center in the game’s history; indeed, because of the success the Celtics would enjoy with him in the middle, blocking shots and blocking out, other teams started to emphasize defense to a degree they’d never done before, and Russell’s influence on pro basketball can be felt to this day.

The Celtics won their first NBA title in Russell’s rookie year, lost in the finals the next year, and then won an unmatched eight titles in a row. They took a brief time-out in 1967, then won two more titles, as Russell closed his playing career in 1969. In his 13 years he had won 11 titles, while Cousy had helped to win the first six.

Big Bill and Little Bob, along with a formidable supporting cast, helped to create an NBA dynasty and to litter the Boston Garden rafters with championship banners. Auerbach, probably pro basketball’s one genuine living coaching legend, had laid the foundations for his dynasty with two players — one secured with a stroke of genius, the other “forced” on him in what would turn out to be a stroke of great fortunate misfortune.

The word “Beamonesque” has entered the vocabulary of sports historians to mean a feat so dramatically superior to its predecessors that it cannot be sufficiently appreciated except to be called, well, “Beamonesque.”

American Bob Beamon astounded the world when he won the long jump at the 1968 Olympics with his record 29’2-1/2″ leap, a standard that stood for 23 years until Mike Powell of the US broke the record by two inches at the Track and Field World Championships in Tokyo, in the summer of 1991.

It is not that Beamon wasn’t a world-class jumper before that day; he was. And it is not that a world record jump at those Games couldn’t have been anticipated; it was, what with the thin air of high-altitude Mexico City. What was astounding about the jump was that Beamon became not only the first human to clear 29 feet but also the first to clear 28 feet. In fact, the first 28 foot-long jump would not occur for 12 more years, until the 1980 Olympics, when Lutz Dombrowski did it. To put Beamon’s feat further into perspective: his jump increased the world record by 21-3/4 inches, while in the 33 years before that, since Jesse Owens’s jump of 26’8-1/4″ in 1935, the record had increased by 8-1/2 inches.

When the distance of Beamon’s world record jump was announced, he sank to the ground with what doctors described as a cataplectic seizure, caused by emotional excitement.

There’s an interesting parallel between Beamon’s jump and that of the previous great American long jumper, Jesse Owens. In 1936, Owens was one foul away from elimination in the long jump competition when opponent Luz Long offered him a helpful tip: Play it safe by making a mark several inches before the takeoff board. Owens made a successful jump and would go on to win the gold medal, with Long taking the silver. In 1968, Beamon was one foul away from elimination when competitor Ralph Boston offered the same tip to Beamon that Long had offered Owens. Beamon would go on to win his famous gold medal, with Boston taking the bronze.

Not all athletes and other sports figures have their heads on straight.

The Russian contingent showed up late for the military rifle team competition at the 1908 Olympics because they were operating on the Julian calendar rather than the customary Gregorian calendar. Twelve days separated the two calendars.

Boston Celtics announcer Johnny Most visited team doctor Thomas Silva to complain of deafness in 1987. Silva extracted a TV earplug which had been lodged in Most’s ear for a year and a half.

In a 1917 World Series game, Chicago White Sox pitcher Red Faber attempted to steal third base while a teammate was already occupying it.

American Emerson Spencer, the world-record holder in the 400m run (47.0 seconds) in 1928, made only the Olympic relay team. At the Olympic trials for the individual 400m, Spencer thought he was in a heat race and did not run at full speed. It was actually the final, and he did not qualify.

At the 1896 Olympics, many fencing judges, unschooled in the sport, thought that a fencer earned points if he received a hit.

On the fifth hole of the final round of the 1970 British Open, Lee Trevino shot for the wrong flag. Trevino, who started the day with a three-stroke lead, bogeyed the hole and finished tied for third.

At the 1948 Olympics, one judge awarded a gymnast a score of 13.1.

After losing money gambling, Cuban Felix Carvajal had to hitchhike to St. Louis for the 1904 Olympics. He arrived at the starting line for the marathon wearing heavy street shoes, long trousers, a long-sleeved shirt, and a beret.

In the third round of the 1983 Canadian Open, golfer Andy Bean used the grip of his putter to knock in a two-inch putt on the 15th hole. He was penalized two strokes. He finished the tournament two strokes behind the winner.

1988 Tour de France champion Pedro Delgado of Spain began defense of his title by showing up 2 minutes and 40 seconds late to the starting line of the 1989 Tour. He finished the opening prologue 2:54 behind the leader. After 33 days, he ended up in third place, 3:34 behind the winner.

It started — harmlessly enough — against Chicago White Sox pitcher Edgar Smith on May 15, 1941, with a single; nothing fancy. It ended against Cleveland Indian pitcher Jim Bagby, Jr., on July 17, more than two months later, with an eighth-inning double play.

In between, Joe DiMaggio, the New York Yankee centerfielder, put on a record display of skill and consistency that, year by year, gains in stature. From that first single until that last game against the Indians, DiMaggio hit safely in 56 consecutive games, breaking Wee Willie Keeler’s record 44-game streak back in 1897. DiMaggio’s streak has now lasted even longer than Keeler’s, and we’re still counting.

During the streak, “The Yankee Clipper” batted .408, collecting 91 hits in 223 at-bats. Curiously, he had 56 singles and scored 56 runs. He also had 55 runs batted in and hit 15 home runs.

A song was written about DiMaggio’s streak. Baseball fans and non-fans followed its progress throughout the summer of 1941.

The day the streak was broken at Cleveland’s Municipal Stadium, Ken Keltner, the Indian third baseman, twice made great defensive plays to rob Joltin’ Joe of hits. The Yankee great’s last chance to make it a 57-game streak was snuffed when pitcher Bagby got DiMaggio to hit the ball to shortstop Lou Boudreau, who flipped it to Ray Mack, who threw on to Oscar Grimes for an eighth-inning double play.

DiMaggio was finally beaten, but the very next game he began another consecutive-games hitting streak of 16 games. Thus, he hit safely in 72 of 73 games during that 1941, MVP-winning season. His average for the year was .357.

Joe DiMaggio would be further immortalized by his great play on the magnificent Yankee teams of the 30s and 40s, his eventual induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame, his mention in a Paul Simon song, (“Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?”) and his brief marriage to movie idol Marilyn Monroe. In a famous reported exchange, Monroe, after spending part of their honeymoon performing for troops in Korea, said to her new husband, “Joe, Joe, you never heard such applause.”

“Yes, I did,” DiMaggio said simply.

Across America every spring, millions of children dream of hitting a home run in Little League baseball — and maybe someday hitting one in the World Series with a crowd roaring its approval as they round the bases.

Though it’s far from certain, this favorite American game may have been invented around 1869 by Abner Doubleday of Cooperstown, New York, though there were similar games with bases played earlier, such as prison ball in France and rounders in England. In 1834, a book was published in America called “Base, Goal or Ball.” It described the English sport called rounders that was played on a square field with four stones around which a player ran after hitting a ball.

While the exact origin of baseball is unknown, it was Alexander J. Cartwright who set down many of the rules for the game in 1845, including the distance between bases, foul lines, team sizes, etc.

In addition, Cartwright started the New York Knickerbockers, the first baseball team. The first World Series took place in Boston in 1903; the Boston Nationals beat the Pittsburgh Americans.

Baseball became popular among Civil War soldiers, and when the war was over, they spread the game throughout the country.

Over the years, professional baseball players became heroes and youngsters collected and traded baseball cards with players’ pictures on them. Players like Cy Young, Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, Willie Mays, Joe DiMaggio, Hank Aaron, and Pete Rose were cheered by millions.

Today professional baseball is big business. The American and National leagues have fancy stadiums in cities around the country. Millions watch the World Series on television, and young and old continue to play the game on corner lots and in parks everywhere across America.