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E-GIANTS By DAVE KLEIN Jim Clack played center for the Giants from 1978 through 1981, after a longer and honor-laden seven years with the Pittsburgh Steelers, with whom he won two Super Bowl rings (1974-1975). And he really was one of the good guys. He was fun and he was always accessible. You could go out and have a beer with him, maybe way more than one. He was a stand-up guy, he answered your questions when the team lost. He was humble, he took no personal credit for when the team won. But sadly, he will always be remembered -- by Giant fans, anyway -- for his part in the excruciatingly painful episode simply known as The Fumble. He snapped the ball to quarterback Joe Pisarcik, and study has more or less proven that he snapped it a count or two late. That one-second delay proved to be fatal. The play was Power-Up 65, and the fullback, Larry Csonka, had started forward, toward the line of scrimmage, when Pisarcik bellowed the right number. But Joe was waiting for the ball. It wasn't there when it was supposed to be, and in the often painstaking fractions of seconds in which this game is played, it fouled up the play. Jim Clack died the other day. He was 58 years old and for the past four years he had battled lung and throat cancer. But what got him was a heart attack. Strange, isn't it? He bravely stood by while the pain racked his body and so grievously affected his life only to die in a second when his noble heart gave out. Clack admitted he had mistaken the play for another. He admitted he was waiting for another beat, another intonation from Pisarcik, and then he had to hurry. "I realized that I had messed it up," he once said. "I had to get the ball into Joe's hands right away. It was late. It was my fault." What happened is legendary to Giant fans. The team had a 17-12 lead over the Philadelphia Eagles. There was less than a minute to play, and Power-Up 65, which merely called for the fullback to hit the line, a straight-ahead time-waster, was to be the final play of the game. But when Pisarcik wheeled to hand off to Csonka, the big fullback was almost past him. So he handed it off to Csonka's hip. Not a good thing to do, but forgivable considering the pressure and the stress and the split second need to make a decision, to do something. The ball bounced to the ground, and though it could have headed in any direction, it bounced directly into the hands of Eagles' cornerback Herman Edwards. There was no Giant stationed in the backfield, as there would be today, just to guard against such a disaster. Edwards simply caught the ball and headed toward the end zone. He was untouched. The Eagles won the game, 19-17. The next morning offensive coordinator Bob Gibson was fired. Flat-out fired, a rare punitive strike by the Mara family, which usually forgave every indiscretion. At the end of the season, head coach John McVay resigned, as did his entire staff, as did Hall of Fame defensive end Andy Robustelli, who was the general manager (titled Director of Football Operations). The date was Nov. 19, 1978, and the catastrophe ushered in the new golden age of Giants' football with the hiring of general manager George Young and, subsequently, his selection of Ray Perkins as the head coach. Pisarcik refused to come out of the trainer's room after that game and Robustelli had to go in and forcibly drag him out. Fans gathered at the players' exit, angry fans, screaming fans. It was an ugly situation and Wellington Mara summoned New Jersey State Police to usher Pisarcik and others to their cars and make sure they were able to leave the stadium grounds. When Pisarcik gathered the team into the huddle for that final play, and told the players what it was going to be, he had to put down a near-revolt. "Change it," barked Csonka. "Just take a knee." Right tackle Ron Mikolajczyk concurred. So did left guard Doug Van Horn. SO did most of them. Pisarcik shook his head. "No, can't do it," he said. "The last time I changed a play that came from the coaches they sat my ass down on the bench for two games. Let's just run the play and get this over with." They came up to the line, and the beaten Eagles were resigned. "You're going to take a knee, right?" one of them asked. "No," said Clack, "we're running a play." The guy on the defensive line laughed out loud, which was nothing compared to the laughter the Eagles managed a few seconds later. Anyway, Jim Clack is dead, way before his time. He was a good guy and in the end that's how he should be remembered, not as the center who snapped the ball for that incredibly humiliating play, perhaps the most humiliating in Giants' history. Two years later, at a restaurant (who am I kidding, it was a bar) in San Diego, we started talking about that game. "I still dream about it," he said. "But not how you think. I still get this burning feeling inside me when I think of how those guys [the Eagles] were laughing and hollering and jumping up and down. It was stupid. We never, never, never should have called a play." He's right, of course. Next November 19 it will be 28 years since The Fumble. Real Giant fans will try hard not to remember it, much less celebrate it. Instead, let's remember a good guy named Jim Clack, a guy who was as good as they got at center and who enjoyed every minute and every play of his 11-year NFL career. In the end, isn't that what's most important? Check out Dave's website at E-GIANTS
where you can subscribe to his newsletters which run much more frequently than what is available here. NEW - Send a request to davesklein@aol.com for a free week's worth of news!
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