(This excerpt is from “Pigskin Rapture: Four Days in the Life of Texas Football”
By Mac Engel. The excerpt is on the life and times of legendary Hall of Fame Quarterback Sammy Baugh).
If you’re headed along Interstate 20 in West Texas from Midland–Odessa toward Dallas–Fort Worth, you’ll come upon one of the more famously unknown spots in the history of American football. About two hours east of Midland–Odessa is the tiny town of Sweetwater, Texas, and just to the north is an even smaller speck of dust called Rotan. There is damn near nothing in Rotan—except for the single greatest and most influential football player that ever played, Slingin’ Sammy Baugh.
For Baugh, the draw of this place, and his single-story ranch house on a giant piece of property, was a lone “mountain” peak a few hundred yards in the distance from his front porch. Wearing blue jeans, boots, a big belt buckle, long-sleeved shirt, and a cowboy hat, Baugh was the image of the quintessential Texan, a cowboy at heart who excelled at football. He was a cowboy in the sense that he was just a plain guy perfectly at peace in his own skin in the middle of nowhere.
After passing on the opportunity to play college football at the University of Texas, Baugh opted to play at TCU in the 1930s, where he became an All-American. In the palace of Texas football royalty are names such as Darrell Royal, John David Crow, Earl Campbell, Eric Dickerson, Ricky Williams, and Slingin’ Sammy.
After Baugh left TCU he starred for the Washington Redskins, eventually had roles in a few Hollywood movies, and established that a football player could be a house- hold name across America just like a baseball player. Baugh played offense, defense, and special teams, and to some—most notably, famed Sports Illustrated writer and TCU alum Dan Jenkins—Baugh was the best, most complete football player who ever lived. When Baugh died in 2008 at the age of ninety-four, he was the last surviving member of the Pro Football Hall of Fame’s inaugural class.
When he retired from football and his public life, Baugh moved to that small, one- story ranch house in Rotan, a considerable distance from modern society, or even traf- c lights. The location of his home suggested that he was a gridiron version of Greta Garbo, a notorious recluse in her later years after she left Hollywood. That wasn’t the case. Baugh played golf well into his eighties, and for a long time he sold and traded live- stock in this region. He was routinely invited to return to TCU, or to the Redskins, and nearly every single time he said, “Thanks, but no thanks.” Baugh was just much happier at home; adulation from crowds of fans made him uncomfortable.
Baugh was actually quite hospitable, provided that you came to him. He didn’t want to go anywhere; maybe he’d go as far as Sweetwater. Members of the media who
wanted to visit for an interview were welcome. Sports memorabilia collectors would occasionally visit, and he would sign as many cards, hats, and whatever else they brought with them, never asking for a certain price. He just told the collectors to pay him what they thought was fair.
He drank Dr. Pepper from a can. He dipped chewing tobacco. He wore a hat to cover up his white hair. He swore like a trucker. He would sit in an old, plush recliner and tell stories about how as a kid he would practice by throwing a football through a swinging tire attached to a tree. He was not some old-timer who watched the present-day version of football with disdain. Baugh watched games and enjoyed them.
When he was alive, Sammy Baugh was out here in West Texas, available to nearly anybody who wanted to visit. It’s just that not many people knew it.
Reprinted with permission from Lone Star Books, an imprint of Rowman & Littlefield. Copyright © 2016 Mac Engel. All rights reserved.
The book can be purchased from the publisher: http://www.globepequot.com/book/9781630762414
From Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Pigskin-Rapture-Four-Texas-Football/dp/1630762415/
Or wherever books are sold.