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7 of 7 people found the following review helpful:
1.0 out of 5 stars
Puffery and pastiche, November 10, 2003
I really wanted to like this - the story of the Niners' Million Dollar Backfield is certainly one which deserves to be told - but I guess I was fooled into buying this by its enticing cover, which I caught on the web. I know, I know - books and covers.I won't make the same mistake again. Actually, to a certain extent you can judge this book by its cover. Tittle is depicted in his most famous photograph, bloodied and weary - and in the uniform of the New York Giants. And John Henry Johnson is shown carrying the ball not for San Fran, but for Pittsburgh. This is a portent of things to come, because what awaits on the inside is not really of account of how the Backfield was formed, or how well it performed together during its brief existence, but separate biographies of each of the four players, steeped in as much sycophancy as you can stomach. Not only does this mean details of certain games and incidents are repeated - as many as four times - but it also makes it almost impossible to follow the progress of the quartet as a unit in any sensible manner. Then there is Newhouse's rather fawning prose, written more from the perspective of an adoring fan than an objective writer. He resorts to some awful similies ("He starts upfield, and his body reacts as if it's filled with jumping beans") - not to mention blindingly obvious observations ("Pro football was primitive at that time compared to nowadays"), and some puffery of the first order. Few superlatives are spared for any member of the famous backfield, yet in the end all we really learn is what we pretty much knew all along: Tittle was courageous, Johnson a punishing runner, Joe Perry was very fast, and Hugh McIlhenny was great in the open field. Come on, Dave, these guys are already in the Hall of Fame! So why didn't the Niners ever win a title with these four? Well, their defense wasn't very good. That's all we're told. Why wasn't it any good, then? Who was to blame, and what did the team attempt to do about it? And what about the Backfield's finest hours - which games did it all come together for them as a unit (rather than individuals), and why? These were the kind of topics I was hoping would be addressed. Instead, Newhouse simply leans on encomia from teammates and opponents ("he might have been the greatest ever," "he's a really great guy," "he's just as good as [insert name of any current NFL superstar]," etc. etc.), to say nothing of an interview he apparently conducted with Tittle's daughter which frankly I found too tedious to perservere with. A definitive book on the NFL in the 1950s is still yet to be written, and I continue to wait for it eagerly. This, folks, ain't it.
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