The Chicago Bears Strike It Rich in 1965 with Butkus and Sayers

George Halas was certainly in the twilight of his pro football career—player, coach and owner—in the mid-1960s. He had his critics, even though the Chicago Bears had won the NFL championship in 1963. Papa Halas fully understood that drafting college players and bringing them into the pro game was a chancy matter; he had been wrong more than once.  But, if I may be forgiven for using a baseball metaphor in a football story, he hit two grand slam home runs in 1965 by taking linebacker Dick Butkus of Illinois with the third pick of the first round and running back Gale Sayers of Kansas with the fourth. Both of these gentlemen soon proved themselves quite adept, showing that Halas could still recognize pigskin talent. Who did the New York Giants and San Francisco 49ers take with the top two picks? Plodding runners named Tucker Frederickson and Ken Willard, respectively. They goofed.

Heir to Chuck Bednarik, forerunner of Lawrence Taylor

Let’s start with Butkus since he was chosen first. At 6’3” and 245 pounds, he was big for a linebacker in that era. All-Pro six of his nine seasons, he was a fierce tackler who took sadistic delight in dominating offensive linemen, tight ends, running backs and just about whoever wore the opponent’s jersey. To quote Deacon Jones of the LA Rams, “Every time Dick hit you he tried to put you in the cemetery, not the hospital.” A ball hawk, he intercepted 22 passes and recovered 27 fumbles. The number of fumbles he caused is unknown since that statistic was not kept until much later, but it was surely a lot. In 119 pro games, he is credited with 1,020 tackles—many of the bone-jarring variety.

Butkus, that maestro of mayhem, had a regrettably short career, with injuries forcing him to hang ’em up after the 1973 season. Of course, he, like Sayers, was Canton-bound. A few years ago, Chicago linebacker Brian Urlacher sparked an unseemly feud by asking whether Butkus and Sayers’ reputations were a bit overblown. He pointed out that the Bears topped .500 just twice in the seven seasons these iconic players were teammates. They were never in a single playoff game and the Bears reached a nadir in 1969 by going 1-13. Sayers fired right back, insinuating that Urlacher could not carry Butkus’ jockstrap. It’s a fact that Butkus and Sayers did not have the help they needed to win championships or even contend for them; the franchise was stingy, the front office made countless mistakes, the coaching was suspect, and Halas really did need to retire. For better or worse, he took an active part in all major decisions until his death in 1983.

The Kansas Comet

Now Sayers, whose career was even shorter—seven years (68 games). And that is deceptive since he barely played in 1970 and ’71. But when healthy, he was just about as spectacular as a ball carrier can be. He had scintillating moves and could change direction at full speed. Sayers told his linemen to give him just a tiny hole and he would get through it. As a rookie, he scored a record 22 touchdowns. On a muddy day at Wrigley Field against the 49ers, he scored six times, including a 50-yard TD run, an 85-yard punt return and an 80-yard reception. He was a master of the halfback pass. In 1968, he averaged 6.2 yards per carry, a very impressive number. But Sayers ran in such a way that he did not protect himself, and sure enough injuries hit him. His knees were operated on twice, and the quality of that medical care may have been dubious.

While No. 51 and No. 40 are still alive, neither is in good shape. Butkus has had a knee replacement, an osteotomy that left one leg shorter than the other and quintuple bypass heart surgery. Nerve damage in his spine has affected his hips and neck. He has lost strength in his hands. His old teammate, Sayers, was diagnosed with dementia in 2013. To what extent it can be traced to all those hits he took on the field is debatable since people who never played a down of football get dementia. My guess is that there is a connection. Sayers, whose main home is an assisted-living center in northern Indiana, often sits staring into space. This is a sad thing, given that he used to be so loquacious. A sportswriter for the Kansas City Star visited not long ago, stayed seven hours and barely heard a word from one of the greatest running backs in NFL history.