The Flea & the Bear

In the football season of 1949, the world had paid too little attention to talented, towheaded Quarterback Eddie LeBaron of College of the Pacific, but that was not the fault of his fans in California's San Joaquin Valley. After the 20-year-old wonder boy led Pacific (en rollment: 1,250) through an undefeated season, San Joaquinites were aghast when Eddie got no higher national recognition, for the third straight year, than the "Little All-America." Was that his penalty for playing with a school in football's minor leagues? To show how they felt, admirers showered him with gifts: a new Studebaker, a $1,000 diamond ring, two suits of clothes, matched luggage, a television set, a 12-gauge shotgun and a year's supply of ammunition.

During the season his fans were just as loyal. When Sport Editor Bill Leiser of the San Francisco Chronicle dared suggest that Bob Celeri, the University of California's "mad engineer," was a better quarterback than Eddie, they marched down Mission Street and pulled up fighting mad in front of the Chronicle Building. From the safety of a third-floor window, Sport Editor Leiser apologized and dutifully sang LeBaron's praises. Four days later the Chronicle ran a Page One editorial calling for a game between mighty California and little Pacific. California, its sights set on the Rose Bowl, shrugged off the idea like a bear shrugging off a flea.

"We'll Look Foolish." Nothing came of it until last week when alert, 16s-lb. Quarterback LeBaron began whipping a squad of Pacific football seniors and alumni into shape. In the dead of winter, without the official blessing of either school, LeBaron was going to have his day in the Grape Bowl stadium in Lodi, Calif, against unpredictable, 175-lb. Engineer Celeri and a squad of California's Golden Bears. Three enterprising University of California students had promoted the game and in the first three days had sold 4,000 tickets at $2.50 apiece in the valley alone.

In uniforms borrowed from San FranCisco's pro football 4gers, Celeri & Co. posed for photographers at Berkeley's San Pablo Playground, and next day slipped quietly into Cal's huge Memorial Stadium for practice. California Coach Pappy Waldorf wasn't supposed to be helping, but he was--with calisthenics, signal drills and defensive patterns. Said Celeri, who, like LeBaron, was getting a $2,000 guarantee for his labors: "We want to win this one badly . . . Even if the game doesn't actually mean anything, we'll look awful foolish if we lose."

Sensible Observation. This week, when the two quarterbacks squared off before an S.R.O. crowd of 24,218, the flea bit the bear and put him on the run. LeBaron sent Halfback Bruce Orvis plunging over for the first touchdown and a mighty roar shook the bowl. Then the game degenerated into a huffing & puffing contest between ill-conditioned athletes.

LeBaron, who had hurt his throwing arm in practice, threw only six passes. His famed double-spin as T-formation quarterback was rusty and his sleight-of-hand fakery ineffective as his line kept caving in. His net yardage from scrimmage was minus 43; Celeri's was almost as bad--minus 39. After the game, LeBaron made the day's most sensible observation: "There's no substitute for a coach." But the highly partisan crowd was happy; LeBaron & Co. had won, 7-6.

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