Max McGee R.I.P.

One of my favorite old players, Max McGee, died Saturday at the age of 75. McGee's first touchdown catch in Super Bowl I is still one of the most amazing catches I've ever seen. Full speed, behind the back, one-handed with a defender on his tail. Touchdown.

McGee embodied the spirit of an age that has passed the game by these days. I'm probably a hypocrite for saying it, but I liked his carefree attitude and how he flaunted the fact that he enjoyed life and staying out all night and drinking and screwing. I get on current players for the same activities, but it seems like today's players do these things with so much less class than 40 years ago. McGee didn't brag about it, nor did he try to hide it. In interviews, his lifestyle was always very matter-of-fact with him. And as far as I know, no one got shot or run over as a result of his gallivanting.

The fact that he died by falling off his roof says enough about his personality in itself. What 75-year old guy gets on his roof to clear away leaves? Hey... wait a second. What kind of 75-year old guy does do that? Say, he lived in Minneapolis, didn't he? That's Viking country. Someone find out where Bud Grant was on Saturday.