I hope that you got a chance to read Rick Telander’s series in the Chicago Sun-Times a few weeks ago where he followed-up on his teammates from the 1970 Northwestern Wildcats football team and the physical maladies that those men suffer from today in their 60’s. Of course, the series focused on head injuries, but I would think that knee and leg injuries, and even more serious conditions can be traced back to football.
So, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when it was announced that Jack Tatum had died of a heart attack at the still young age of 61. Of course, Tatum, nicknamed “The Assassin,” was a Pro Bowl safety for the Oakland Raiders best known for his crushing hit that paralyzed Darryl Stingley in an NFL preseason game in 1978.
Tatum became a kind of football pariah because of his seeming lack of remorse for the hit. On Aug. 12, 1978, in an exhibition game against the New England Patriots, the Tatum violently tackled Stingley with his helmet while the receiver was running a crossing pattern. The blow severed Stingley’s fourth and fifth vertebrae and left the receiver paralyzed from the neck down.
Stingley became a spokesperson for the paralyzed until his death in 2007, but the two never met after the hit and Tatum seemed unapologetic in interviews and his book “They Call Me Assassin” in 1980. However, friend and former Ohio State teammate John Hicks said Tatum was haunted by the play. “It was tough on him, too,” Hicks said (quoted on SI.com). “He wasn’t the same person after that. For years he was almost a recluse.”
I loved those Raider teams. My favorite quarterbacks remain Darryl Lamonica “The Mad Bomber” and his replacement, a guy named Stabler. They were outlaws and outcasts, but they did win. The defense had no slouches either: Phil Villipiano, Ted Hendricks “The Mad Stork,” and Tatum and George Atkinson raising havoc on any receiver who dared to cross the middle of the field. Of course, I felt that Tatum should have been remorseful for the Stingley hit, especially as I came to know Stingley when he came to baseball and basketball games in Chicago when I was still an Andy Frain usher.
But I could understand the testosterone fueled attitude that Tatum had. Even though I never played much organized football, I wanted to crush anyone on the other side of the ball. Even in college, when I was no longer anywhere near playing football, when I saw a quarterback run out of the pocket live or on television, I wanted to hit something, because we were coached to hit the QB as hard as you could as a lesson/punishment for leaving the pocket. I didn’t want to hurt somebody, but I did want them to pay. Jack Tatum was the living, breathing personification of that attitude.
If Tatum was haunted by his on-the-field actions, he never said anything despite writing three books about his exploits. I hope he finds peace now and if there is an afterlife, I hope he finally takes time to meet with Stingley.