"Rush" to Glory

Oh, so you’re sooooo much better than all of us – just because you haven’t had a head coach institutionalized. First of all, let’s get the facts straight, he wasn’t institutionalized per se. Technically, he was sent to the hospital for observation…ahem…for eight weeks.

In 1968, Clive Rush was the offensive coordinator for the New York Jets – those Jets, the Joe Namath Jets, the I-Guarantee-It Jets. The title probably is a little gaudy considering Namath called approximately 100 percent of the plays that year, but technically (there are a lot of technicalities in Clive’s life) he was the offensive coordinator.

At about this time, the Patriots were on their first of many nation-wide searches for the best coach available to finally bring the Patriots to glory. After searching the East Coast to the West Coast down the Dixie Highway back home, Billy Sullivan came up with two finalists; Clive Rush and a defensive assistant with the Baltimore Colts, whose name escapes me right now.

Right before Super Bowl III, it appeared that Sullivan had made up his mind and was going with that Colt’s assistant (I wish I could come up with his name. This is going to drive me nuts). Plus, the Colts were going to win, so it would look even better. That assistant was more impressive in the interviews and seemed to have a game plan. Clive…was Clive.

Sullivan decided to offer this Colt’s assistant (Was it Joe? Steve?) the job after the Super Bowl. One problem. The Colts kinda lost. Now, Sullivan has a bit of a problem on his hands, a conundrum, if you will. The Patriots might look foolish if they hire a coach off the losing team, no matter how qualified that coach may be, and the last thing - the absolute last thing - the Patriots would ever want to do is to look foolish. I mean when I think of those Patriots, words like dignity, class, and toxin-free just come leaping off my tongue.

Billy just wasn’t sure what to do, so he made a telephone call to Joe Namath, a man who happens to play for a division rival, I might add, to get a referral regarding ol’ Clive. Broadway Joe, with no other agenda than to help the downtrodden Patriots – no, sir, made his coach sound like the second coming of Vince Lombardi. The decision was a slam dunk now, he was the (non-play calling) offensive coordinator on the Super Bowl champs and his division rival thought the coach would really help their team (wink, wink). What other qualifications could you possibly need?

Early in 1969, Billy called a press conference to announce his big coup. As Clive sat down at the podium, he grabbed the mic to make his opening statement. The wire on the microphone was damaged causing the mic to short out. It’s been a long time since I’ve taken physics class, but electricity always needs to find a home. It needs to be grounded. The electricity in this microphone found a home in Clive, causing him to do a little dance. Thankfully, at this very moment, a Patriot PR guy found something useful to for the very first time, pull out the plug.

Clive was okay; well, as okay as Clive got, and he started his first camp in 1969 ready to bring the Patriots to Valhalla. The press was open minded, but they did note a couple of odd quirks. Like the times he insisted on stripping naked, blasting the air-conditioner in his office and slugging Jack Daniels out of the bottle while conducting interviews with the press. Plus, he tended to forget to tell guys that they got cut. (We’ll get to that later.) But, hell, if he’s a good coach, who cares?

Then, the season started. First of all, in Clive’s defense, the team wasn’t very good to begin with. And he did try to shake things up. His first great innovation was that he was the first coach to play 11 African American players on defense at that same time. He was also the first coach to play 11 bad African American players on defense at the same time. But, never mind that negativity, mister, Clive’s gonna inspire these guys. Know what they need? A nickname. The Black Power defense. There we go. The Black Power defense proceeded to give up 26 points-a-game. I’m pretty sure this isn’t what Stokely Carmichael had in mind.

Clive was also known to be quite innovative during the game. During one contest against the expansion Cincinnati Bengals in 1969, Clive was matched up against his old mentor Paul Brown. Clive had what some would call an obsession with Brown that led to great bursts on brilliance. Take this conversation which took place before a third-down play against the Bengals.

Rush – “Send in the Punt Team.”
Bewildered Assistant – “Huh.”
Rush – “Punt Formations.”
Bewildered Assistant – “I thought it was third down.”
Rush (grinning) – “It is.”
Bewildered Assistant – “Then why are we punting.”
Rush – “’Cause he’ll never expect it. Brown’s made his living getting into people’s heads – reading their minds. Let him read mine. I’ll mess with his. He’ll never expect this.”
Bewildered Assistant – “So we’re gonna fake it?”
Rush - “Nope, punt…Are you listening?
Bewildered Assistant (pupils dilating) – “Yes. Punt.”
Rush – “That’s right. Punt. I got ya, now, Brown, I got ya.”

Say what you will, but the Patriots actually won that game.

Despite the 4 – 10 record that year, there was hope for the future since the man behind the scene pulling the strings was that great judge of talent, General Manager Upton Bell. Upton’s first shocker was when he traded unflappable, talented, but aging Babe Parilli for flappable, talentless, but young Mike Taliaferro (it took me seven years to figure out that his name was pronounced Tolliver). In 1969, Taliaferro unleashed his secret weapon on the AFL – the three-yard drop off pass. By 1970, Bell and Rush felt they needed a little more variety at the position and Bell knew just who he wanted.

In 1969, the Irish-boiled-dinner tough Joe Kapp led the Vikings to Super Bowl IV. At the end of the season, Kapp, who’d been a legend in the Canadian Football League, wanted a raise for his good work. Vikings GM Jim Finks had other ideas. Finks was troubled by the fact that Kapp had only thrown five spirals in the past eight years; that most of his passes looked like a quail just blasted by double-aught buckshot; and that he ran like the Mafia was about to throw him in the river. Instead of Kapp’s raise, he got cut.

This did not send shockwaves throughout the NFL since most of the league already knew what Finks knew. The league might have felt nothing, but Patriots headquarters were located on the San Andreas Fault – they had to have Kapp. Bell had a plan in place to make his dream come true; he would out bid all comers – including the Patriots. Somehow, without any competing bidders, the Patriots made Kapp one of the highest paid players in the league. To the NFL, the reeked of that taboo of the times, free agency, so Commissar Pete Rozelle awarding the Viking two of the Patriot’s first round draft choices as compensation. Kapp would reward the Patriots by tossing a whopping three touchdowns and a scant 17 interceptions. He was out of football the next year.

Midway through the 1970 season, Rush’s little quirks started to concern Sullivan. It concerned him so much that Sullivan placed a call to a local hospital to come and pick Rush up for an “undisclosed medical condition.” Rush would never get another shot as a head coach in the NFL.

Oh, I remember who the Baltimore defensive coach was. Some guy named Chuck Noll. Wonder what happened to him?