Wednesday, October 25, 2017

87



"I'd rather be Dwight than president," quipped the legendary San Francisco columnist Herb Caen in the euphoric wake of the 49er franchise's finest moment, the 1981 championship win over Dallas forever immortalized as "The Catch."  And for a few years that some of us 49er fans will never forget, Dwight Clark indeed seemed to epitomize all that was right and good about our team, his sport, his league, his adopted city, and even his country. Confident yet quiet, tough but never mean, a family man adored by countless women and admired by more than a few men, DC met the world with a ready smile, a firm handshake, and the unmistakable attitude of a winner. He played on two world championship 49er teams and could have played on two more; his unfailing sense of timing told him to retire at 30, still a force on the field and in the clubhouse, while making way for the greatest player any of us have ever seen. 

Yes, Dwight Clark is a gentleman, and yes, he was a football player, too, a tough and rugged one. The movie-star looks-- in recent years, he's reminded us of Frank Gifford-- couldn't conceal a ferocious competitive spirit. Bill Walsh, who was scouting someone else at Clemson that day, saw it, and made one of his mental notes.  Defensive backs who tried to catch Clark and his herky-jerky running style (one of his early nicknames on the team was "Herk") from behind found themselves grasping at air as somehow he stayed ahead of them all the way to the end zone. "The Catch" followed a week in which Clark had been bedridden with the flu. He drew savage hits from DBs and linebackers every time he caught a pass. He confessed there were moments on the field he couldn't recall, yet teammates and opponents saw him soldier on through it all.

And that fighting spirit was on display Sunday at Levi Stadium. Weakened by this savage disease, but defiant in its face and determined to endure as long as he can, Dwight Clark looked past himself, speaking of others who will fight this same battle as he called for renewed efforts to find a cure for the yet uncurable. There's no give-up in Dwight Clark. There never was. 

Many of his 49er teammates joined him in what may be his last public appearance; a sea of red "87" jerseys spreading across the field, paying tribute to one of their own. Joe Montana, then and now a close friend, was there, of course. Fittingly, the Dallas Cowboys were there, too. Though he never played it up himself-- he'd tell you Eric Wright and Lawrence Pillers and Jim Stuckey won that game, not himself-- Clark long ago resigned himself to his public persona being wedded to that one transcendent event, among the most iconic in NFL history. Unfailingly gracious as the inevitable subject came up time and again, Dwight Clark managed his moment in history.

And now another inevitable subject confronts Dwight Clark. As he spoke, we were reminded so poignantly of Ronald Reagan's farewell to the country and people he loved, as he gracefully but reluctantly exited the stage and stepped into his final, dimming years. Facing his friends, his fans, and his family, filled with the class and character he displayed throughout his life, Dwight made his statement with strength and courage.

We first saw Dwight Clark at Candlestick Park on October 19, 1980, in his breakout second season for the "Roaring Back" edition of the 49ers. Almost exactly one year later, he brought us to our feet in the first quarter as he took a simple short pass from Joe Montana and turned it into a 41-yard touchdown, fast-stepping across the choppy, muddy field as a horde of defenders pitched and yawed in frustrated pursuit. That touchdown held up as the 49ers defeated the Los Angeles Rams, 20-17, the first time they'd ever beaten their arch-rivals at Candlestick Park, in a day when that rivalry meant something. It was an early, but crucial, step on the road to that first Super Bowl championship.

Dwight was there for the final step, too, and for many more afterward.  He helped our beloved but beleaguered football team define a new reality, a new standard, for the league, for the game, and for the legions of fans who followed. Many of us have a hard time regarding football players as heroes today; we've seen too much, they've done too much, we've all of us likely expected too much for that ever to be a simple equation again.  So let's not use that term. Let's simply regard this strong but unassuming man, whose star shone brightly across our lives for a moment in time, as our brother.