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by John Madden (Author), Dave Anderson (With)
You used to turn on a television set and you'd see Reggie White in a green uniform and you'd say, "Oh, the Eagles are playing." Or you'd see Joe Montana in a red uniform under the center and you'd say, "Oh, the 49ers are playing." But now you have to remind yourself that Reggie's with the Packers. And you had to check to see if Joe was in a 49ers uniform or a Chiefs uniform. You don't know who's playing for which team. Or who's going to be back next season.
Once when I was a kid I was walking by John Henry Johnson, the 49ers' fullback, after a game. A woman ran up behind him and squealed, "John Henry! John Henry!" and went to kiss him. He turned around, all sweaty and dirty, but his teeth were in his locker. "Arrrggghhh!" she screamed and ran away across the field. But he looked like John Henry to me, like the toughest guy I'd ever seen.
Everything comes to an end, but Don Shula deserved a classier way to exit. He took too much ridicule in Miami his last few seasons. He stood for everything that was good about football, everything that was good about being a coach, everything that was good about being a man. I hated to see him stripped of all that.
A Cowboys defensive end, Daniel Stubbs, came to practice every day with this huge sandwich made of two fried eggs, sausage, bacon, and cheese on Texas toast. When we took it to a clinic to be analyzed, one of their doctors wouldn't even touch it. He used tongs to pick it up. "It's got more saturated fat and cholesterol, " he said, "than just about anything we've ever analyzed here!" So, of course, I made it the All-Madden Sandwich.
