Oklahoma Sooners fan Skip Bayless recalls speeding to 'Game of the Century' in 1971

By Skip Bayless
FOX Sports

On the afternoon of Wednesday, Nov. 24, 1971, I sat in a classroom at Vanderbilt University in a very old building called Old Science, watching Dr. Condor chain-smoke as he lectured on star-crossed lovers Catherine and Heathcliff in "Wuthering Heights." The course was called 19th Century British Literature. I was a sophomore majoring in English and History.

As soon as class was adjourned at 2 p.m., I literally ran to my car parked in the frat lot, tank full, ready for takeoff. Into the first of four gears I shifted my white '67 Camaro SS 350. I was not going to miss the "Game of the Century," now less than 24 hours away on Thanksgiving Day in Norman, Oklahoma.

Drive time from Nashville to Oklahoma City was usually around 10 hours … across half of Tennessee … across all of Arkansas … and across half of Oklahoma. That day (and night) I made it in nine. I deserved numerous speeding tickets — somewhere in Arkansas I hit triple digits. But maybe God had become an Oklahoma football fan.

I sure was.

I was born and raised in Oklahoma City. My grandfather took me to my first University of Oklahoma football game when I was 5. As the fight song says, "I was a Sooner born and Sooner bred, and when I die, I’ll be Sooner dead." Confession: I’ve always been a slightly bigger OU fan than Dallas Cowboy fan. I was born with OU crimson running through my veins. The Cowboys weren’t born until I was 9. For me, OU is about state pride. The Cowboys are America’s Team.

To this day, I will not miss watching an OU football game. Last Saturday, I paid $40 to watch OU beat Western Carolina 76-0.

All my high school friends went to OU. I was the outcast who went away — way away — to something called Vanderbilt. Hey, I won a full ride for sportswriting, the Grantland Rice Scholarship. Had to go. So what had I just written about for Vandy’s school paper? Alabama 42, Vanderbilt 0 — at home. Georgia 24, Vanderbilt 0 — at home. Meanwhile back at the ranch, my high school friends were dancing to the beat of the greatest rushing attack in college football history: OU’s new supercharged Wishbone, averaging nearly 500 yards per game on the ground.

I was somewhere between homesick and heartsick. I had earned every right to be part of this historic euphoria at OU … except enrollment. I had been accepted to Oklahoma, been offered some financial assistance by the OU journalism department, and then I had left OU at the altar. Now I had a dual existence, an alter ego. Vanderbilt Skip. So how in the fall of ‘71 did I remind my five Vanderbilt suitemates on the 14th floor of Tower 1 of my true allegiance? I taped the headline of every OU romp to my dorm room wall — a growing collage of insufferable Boomer Sooner arrogance. (I received the Daily Oklahoman by mail, about three days late — oh, the wonders of today’s internet.)

My Sooners were averaging 45 points through nine games! My Sooners had run archrival (and archnemesis) Texas right out of the Cotton Bowl by the impossibly satisfying score of 48-27! That was only the second time we had beaten Texas in the last 14 tries. Understand, a year earlier we had borrowed (OK, stolen) the concept of the Longhorns’ meat-and-potatoes wishbone, run mostly between the tackles by an all-white backfield. We were welcoming many of the blue-chip Black stars in Texas across the Red River to play at Oklahoma. They were helping turn that clunker Texas wishbone into my ’67 Camaro SS 350.

We were the first to exploit the third option. Our quarterback (Jack Mildren, a legendary Texas high-school star) would fake to the fullback, fake the keeper and pitch to the trailing halfback. The ball often ended up with track-fast Greg Pruitt from Houston, who was averaging nearly 10 yards per carry. Two summers later, interning at the Daily Oklahoman, I would write that Pruitt ran like "a balloon losing its air." Of all the stars who played in the 1971 Nebraska-Oklahoma game, Pruitt went on to have the best NFL career, making five Pro Bowls. Nearly as breakaway fast was our other halfback, legendary Texas high-school star Joe Wylie.

The sighs of Texas were upon the poor Longhorns.

But now from up north came Nebraska.

Now loomed what shaped up as the greatest college football game ever played.

Nebraska was the defending national champion (AP poll). Nebraska was ranked No. 1 because it was No. 1 in total defense, allowing a mere 6.4 points per game. Let’s see, OU was scoring 45 a game, Nebraska was allowing barely more than six … IRRESISTIBLE OKLAHOMA MEETS IMMOVABLE NEBRASKA, announced the cover of that week’s "Sports Illustrated," in the days when that magazine dictated what mattered in sports. The country was all-time on fire for Nebraska-Oklahoma. In my time, no college bowl or championship game — no Super Bowl — has generated the magnitude of national anticipation that 1971 Nebraska-Oklahoma did. (Sorry, Texas fans, ’69 Texas-Arkansas, attended by President Nixon, did not quite measure up to THIS.)

It almost felt like Thanksgiving was about to take a backseat to Nebraska-Oklahoma.

So as I rocketed through the Arkansas night, I had to transform myself from the sophomore at Vanderbilt back into the lifelong Sooner die-hard. Talk about an identity crisis: From Heathcliff versus Catherine to Greg Pruitt versus Johnny Rodgers.

Less than 24 hours after Brit Lit class, I was sitting five rows up from the 50-yard line watching the Sooners and Huskers warm up. Only now do I fully appreciate that precious perch. My high school friend and teammate Bruce Scott, attending OU on a basketball/golf scholarship, somehow finagled me a seat in the OU Letterman’s Section. The kid from Brit Lit who had just covered Alabama's rout of Vanderbilt was sitting pretty among OU’s best athletes in sports other than football.

But the day was right out of, well, "Wuthering Heights" — ominously cold and gray with winds gusting to 25 mph. Nebraska was a one-point favorite at Owen Field. Seeing the Huskers up close made me sweat. In their white jerseys with scarlet pants, they just looked bigger than our guys … especially No. 75, Larry Jacobson, who had won the Outland Trophy for best interior defensive lineman. He was listed at 6-foot-6 but looked 7 feet — "Bigfoot" in helmet and pads. 

Defensive tackle Rich Glover (who would win the 1972 Outland) and defensive end John Dutton (who would be drafted fifth overall and eventually play for the Cowboys) looked more like buildings than football players. The Sooners, in crimson jerseys and cream pants, came off cooler and quicker during warmups. But the Huskers’ pregame drills were run with scary militaristic discipline and urgency. My better judgment told me my bragging rights were in jeopardy.

Understand, I grew up hating the Texas Longhorns. But I’d always had grudging respect for Nebraska.

At kickoff, it would’ve comforted me to know that two assistants on the OU staff would go on to coach my Cowboys to Super Bowl championships. Jimmy Johnson, the defensive line coach, would win two Super Bowls in Dallas. Barry Switzer, the offensive coordinator, would win another.

We won the toss and took the wind instead of the ball. We forced them into a three-and-out. They forced us into a quick punt. I was so close I could hear the ferocity, pads pounding and popping, helmets colliding head-on with helmets — concussions be damned.

That’s when it happened.

Now, as I look back, it’s amazing that teams that great didn’t yet have special-teams specialists. OU’s punter was star halfback Wylie. OU’s gunner on punt coverage was star halfback Pruitt.

Wylie’s punt fell out of the gray gloom into the hands of Johnny "the Jet" Rodgers, with Pruitt hurtling to make the tackle.

Rodgers, who would win the Heisman the following season, was simply the slipperiest gamebreaker I’ve seen to this day. He spun out of Pruitt’s diving grasp, shooting his left hand down into the grass to regain his balance. He shape-shifted this way and that, even using the stunned referee as a pick. He escaped left. He turned on the jets. Chasing him was Wylie, who actually seemed to be gaining on Rodgers, who was quicker than he was fast. Then, flying out of nowhere came Nebraska’s Joe Blahak, who CLEARLY CLIPPED WYLIE. I can see it like it was yesterday: Their No. 27 blocked our No. 22 in the back. Check out the highlight below at the 16-second mark, and tell me that shouldn’t have been a touchdown-erasing penalty.

No flag. Touchdown. 7-0 Nebraska. Rodgers reportedly trotted back to the bench, kneeled and upchucked. At that moment, I could’ve done the same thing.

Little did I know we basically had just lost. That 72-yard punt return ultimately would be the difference. It eventually would go down in college football history as the greatest punt return ever. Johnny Rodgers caused me more torment that day than Aaron Rodgers has my Cowboys in TWO playoff games.

Now, sitting in the Letterman’s Section, I felt like I was trapped on what I used to call "vomit rides" at Springlake Amusement Park in Oklahoma City — especially the Tilt-A-Whirl. We cut the lead to 7-3. They surged ahead 14-3. We fought back to 14-10. And with 28 seconds left in the half, Mildren faked the fullback plunge, stepped back and hit little Jon Harrison (Mildren’s high-school teammate from Texas) with a 24-yard TD pass. OU led 17-14 at halftime!

I was thunderstruck with jubilation.

Understand, Mildren had completed all of 22 passes in the first nine games. OU did not throw because it did not need to throw. But Bob Devaney’s staff was the first to figure out that Pruitt cannot be allowed to take the option pitch to the flank and turn the corner. That day, Pruitt wound up with only 53 yards on a mere 10 carries. QB Mildren, often forced to keep the ball instead of pitching, carried 31 times for 130 yards.

Ah, but Switzer said, fine, commit two defenders to taking Pruitt out of the game. Leave split end Harrison alone in solo coverage. Let Mildren complete five of 10 passes for 137 yards. Let Harrison throw a reverse pass for 51 more. Mildren’s second TD pass to Harrison, from 16 yards out, gave the Sooners a 31-28 lead with 7:10 left in the game.

By then I had pretty much lost my voice.

Now Nebraska broke the huddle 74 yards from victory. And here came two of the mentally toughest college players who ever buckled a chinstrap. Quarterback Jerry Tagge (who would be picked 11th overall in the draft) and running back Jeff Kinney (who would go 23rd overall) slowly but surely began to husk our corn. Nebraska’s offense was just too physical and skilled for OU’s defense. Rodgers also slipped free to catch an 11-yard pass on third-and-8. Kinney, who banged away for 171 yards rushing, finally took it home from two yards out.

Huskers, 35-31.

We had one last chance from our 19-yard line. But on third down, man-mountain Jacobson swooped in to sack Mildren. And on fourth down, Glover (who wound up with 22 tackles!) stormed through to bat down Mildren’s desperation heave.

For maybe 15 minutes, I just stood there — limp, comatose, unable to move or speak. Many around me in the stands appeared to be equally frozen in disbelief.

An hour later, several of my high-school friends and I met back up at Bruce Scott’s apartment, just off campus, to commiserate. The shock to all of us was that none of us could get mad.

OU had piled up 467 total yards on one of the greatest defenses of all time. We had outgained Nebraska 467-362. We had lost three fumbles — business as usual for the high-risk Wishbone. They had lost one. But our offense had scored four TDs and a field goal. Their offense had scored just four touchdowns.

But Johnny Rodgers had tilted the field with that early magic act of a punt-return TD. It had been so all-time spectacular that my friends and I couldn’t even work up much anger over the obvious clip. We didn’t hate Nebraska. And we couldn’t hate a game that just oozed legendary. This game had exceeded its all-time hype. That’s why the largest audience ever for a college football game, a then-record 55 million, had watched it.

The Huskers would go on to dominate the Alabama team that had dominated Vanderbilt. Orange Bowl: Nebraska 38, Bama 6. OU would go on to dominate Heisman Trophy winner Pat Sullivan and Auburn in the Sugar Bowl, leading 31-0 at the half before winning 40-22. Pruitt deserved the Heisman. The Sooners took it out on Auburn’s QB.

Nebraska and Oklahoma were far and away the two best teams in the nation that season. Eventually, Sporting News would select 1971 Nebraska-Oklahoma as the Greatest Game of the 20th Century. ESPN.com would select '71 Nebraska as the greatest college football team ever.

That, in the end, was enough for me. Late that Sunday night, I walked back into my dorm suite at Vanderbilt with my head held high.

And Monday afternoon, I was back in Dr. Condor’s class, gazing out the window of Old Science, wondering if I had dreamed being at that game. 

Skip Bayless is an award-winning journalist and the co-host of "Undisputed," which airs weekdays at 9:30 a.m. ET on FS1.