Golden: My first Super Bowl memory? Oh, just a historic perfect season
One team will walk out of SoFi Stadium as the best team in football Sunday night.
Kansas City could make it two in the Patrick Mahomes/Andy Reid era or Philadelphia can make it two in the last six seasons after having won none dating back to its last NFL championship in 1960.
A Super Bowl trophy is history making, but only one team over the last 57 seasons can say it achieved a perfect season. Perfection doesn’t come around very often, but when it happens, it can provide a lifetime of memories.
Fifty years ago, I watched my first Super Bowl.
The 1972 Miami Dolphins weren’t really chock-full of superstars but always figured out how to get it done at the end, and they did just that in a 14-7 title win over Washington.
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Six players from that team did make it to the Pro Football Hall of Fame, but non-Miami fans would probably forget to include offensive linemen Jim Langer and Larry Little, who played the background to quarterback Bob Griese, running back Larry Csonka, wideout Paul Warfield and linebacker Nick Buoniconti.
They had stars but weren’t too flashy except for Warfield and running back Mercury Morris, a West Texas A&M star who rushed for exactly 1,000 yards that magical season. At age eight, I was not entirely familiar with the names and faces of the players, but I always brightened up when No. 22 entered the game.
Dad, a long-time Dallas Cowboys fan who would automatically pull for the NFC in Super Bowls that didn’t involve the Pokes, was all AFC, all the time that season because he could not bring himself to align his one-day loyalty to Dallas’ most heated rival. He and my other relatives were still smarting from the 26-3 beatdown Washington laid on Dallas in the NFC title game one week earlier. So for that one day on Jan. 14, 1973, our East Texas household was a Dolphins household, all except for Mom, who quietly cheered outside her 50-year marriage for its duration — for Washington.
So most of us were on the same page on Super Sunday even though Dad made sure to give subtle reminders that his Cowboys blew out the Dolphins 24-3 in the previous Super Bowl.
“They’re good, but they haven’t played anybody,” Dad said. “They had a soft schedule.”
He was right, but it didn’t matter to me that the average Miami opponent’s record that season was 6-8. All I knew is they were 16-0 entering that game and won every time we watched leading up to the finale, including the AFC title game against the Steelers, which was oddly played at Pittsburgh’s Three Rivers Stadium despite Miami’s superior, unblemished regular-season record.
The Dolphins made history in that Super Bowl and I felt real championship fandom for the first time. FYI, I went against the family grain and preferred Miami and Pittsburgh to Dallas in those days because of their cool uniforms and the fact that the house was a lot less noisy when the Cowboys were losing.
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Another 49 seasons have passed, and while Father Time has called the roll, dwindling the 1972 roster to a third of what it was, the Dolphins remain in a class of their own.
My one brush with the team came in the late 1980s when I was working at a Tyler steak house while in college. A well-dressed party of six walked in late one Friday night and I immediately recognized the one Black gentleman in the group.
“Hey, you’re Mercury Morris,” I said.
He extended his hand. I noticed the fancy watch on his wrist and the smell of expensive cologne.
“Yes I am, young man,” Morris said. “I hope you guys serve a good chicken-fried steak here.”
Morris returned in 1976 after eight seasons and dabbled in acting before running afoul of the law in 1982. He was convicted of cocaine trafficking and sentenced to 20 years, but served only 3½ after the courts overturned the conviction.
He got his life back in order and shared his story with others as a highly-sought motivational speaker. He spoke at Tyler Junior College that evening and some campus bigwigs were taking him to dinner after the event.
I told him he was my favorite Dolphin and he gave me an autograph, which still sits under plastic in the Golden photo album. Over the decades, Morris and his teammates have stayed in touch and some even toast when the final unbeaten team goes down every year, keeping Miami as the lone team to run the table.
Morris isn’t one of those. He has a bottle of Dom Perignon at his house ready to give to the next team to do it.
“I’m offering this to the next team that goes unbeaten,” he told ESPN in the 30-for-30 episode I watched Sunday night. “I want some company. So come get this champagne. All you’ve got to do is beat everybody.”
Ironically, Mercury didn’t eat at our restaurant that night. We didn’t serve chicken-fried steak, so I pointed him to a nice place that did.
Hey, no restaurant is perfect.
The Dolphins certainly were.
You can't trust Kyrie, Dallas
A block-buster or just a buster?: Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban doesn’t want to go down as the owner who wasted a hall-of-famer’s prime and that’s why he made the move to bring in Kyrie Irving.
The Nets threw in Markieff Morris as a warm body, making for the biggest trade of the season as Dallas sent Dorian Finney-Smith, Spencer Dinwiddie and three draft picks to Brooklyn.
With all due respect to the legendary Dirk Nowitzki, Luka Doncic is already the most electrifying offensive player in franchise history, but he is Michael Jackson with a bunch of Titos playing background on a team barely above .500.
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If Irving wants to play, the Mavericks will be a tough out in the postseason, but this is where Cuban has erred. Irving is all about Irving and the Nets were smart enough to unload him after refusing to give him a contract extension. The only certainty with this guy is his uncertainty. He may wake up tomorrow and decide he doesn’t want to be there. He simply can't be trusted.
Just ask Texas ex Kevin Durant, who left a winning situation at Golden State because he believed he could make magic with Kyrie in Brooklyn. Now he's left holding the bag.
Irving is a tremendous talent, but there are huge concerns about his reliability. Once he’s on the court, good things can happen, but there are zero guarantees that he will fall into line and be a team guy.
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It’s a big risk, but Cuban is worth billions and this won’t kill him. This has more upside than the Dennis Rodman fiasco in 2000. The Worm lasted 13 games and was whistled for six technical fouls in the 4-9 stretch. Cuban had no choice but to show him the door.
Irving should stick around much longer. He will dazzle offensively in an isolation offense that caters to his strengths and the Doncic pairing will produce some circus numbers as long as the new guy stays interested.
Let’s hope it works out, but none of us will shrug our shoulders when it doesn’t.
Farewell, Denne: Remembering a legend
A writer for all seasons: Dallas Cowboys fans outside the Metroplex who followed coverage in their local sports sections growing up all recognize the name Denne Freeman.
He was the Associated Press scribe assigned to America’s Team and a rock star for kids like me who dreamed of one day working in sports journalism. How many sportswriters can say they covered all five Cowboys Super Bowls?
That was only one of several dozen accolades afforded to the Texas Sports Hall of Fame member who passed away Saturday at age 86.
I didn’t know Denne at all until Kirk Bohls encouraged me to join the TSHOF selection committee six years ago. During the annual banquet, my fondest memories were listening to the stories he exchanged with Kirk, longtime Houston NFL columnist John McClain, Cowboys radio voice Brad Sham and others.
He asked me about the Longhorns on occasion and I would bring up a column I wrote and the various reactions I got.
“Don’t change,” he said. “Just keep them reading.”
Freeman always kept us loose. To be in his company was joy. It was half history lesson and half comedy show.
Denne was old school and we all loved being around him.
This article originally appeared on Austin American-Statesman: Dolphins made history (and memories) in 1972 with a perfect season
