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The colleges have always had their ancient rivalries, marching bands and majorettes. But their battle cry was usually "three yards and a cloud of dust." The pros learned that bands can be hired, Copa girls can be taught to twirl a baton, and all rivalries get ancient after a while. When they also discovered the forward pass—the tantalizer, the equalizer, something everyone in the stands could see—they were on their way to owning the world. The forward pass was not invented by the pros; it had been around since 1906. But in the hands of such quarterbacks as Sammy Baugh and Sid Luckman, the pass became the most awesome offensive weapon in the history of the sport —a bolt of lightning that could strike anywhere, any time. Scores soared. The T formation grew flankers and split ends; pro coaches even made room for a third end in the backfield (they called him a "slotback"), began scattering receivers around the field like leaves in a hurricane.
Joining the Chorus. Suddenly, every youngster old enough to hold a football wanted to be a Y. A. Tittle or a Johnny Unitas. "They see the pros on TV," says Iowa Coach Jerry Burns, "and they pattern themselves after the glamour boys. Nobody wants to be a Rosie Grier or a Big Daddy Lipscomb." Conditioned by the heart-stopping excitement of the pro game, fans implored college coaches to pass, pass, pass. At least one university head joined the chorus. Chancellor Edward Litchfield of the University of Pittsburgh ordered Pitt Coach John Michelosen to open up. "Three things I find intolerable," Litchfield said. "Winning all the time, losing all the time, and being dull. I would rather lose 28-27 than win 7-6." Two weeks ago, when tricky Pitt pulled a fake kick, passed for two extra points and beat California, 35-15, for its third straight victory of the season, the entire student cheering section gave Litchfield a standing ovation as he rose in his box and gave the clenched-fist signal: "Go, Pitt, go!"
Now even the most conservative coaches are caught up in the enthusiasm. At Columbus, Ohio, where 84,000 watched unbeaten Ohio State and unbeaten Illinois battle to a 20-20 tie, Coach Woody Hayes, the grind-'em-out granddaddy of them all, let Buckeye Quarterback Don Unverfeth throw a season's ration of passes (12). "I'm not throwing the ball just to make people happier," insisted Hayes. "I'm trying to win games. That makes them happier, usually."