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HALL OF FAMER ART DONOVAN TACKLES A NEW FIELD, TELEVISION, AND SCORES
Jamie Malanowski
February 10, 1986
Fans who tune in to Late Night With David Letterman get a special treat from time to time, when Art Donovan, a 60-year-old, 340-pound man with a severe crew cut, tells stories about his life in the National Football League. Those who remember Donovan's career (1950-61), most of it as a defensive tackle with the Baltimore Colts, might expect the stories to be long on glory. After all, he played on two championship teams, was named All-Pro four times, played in five Pro Bowls and was elected to the Hall of Fame only six years after his retirement. But they would be wrong. Instead, Donovan tells tales of mayhem and mischief both on and off the field. And he is funny.
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February 10, 1986

Hall Of Famer Art Donovan Tackles A New Field, Television, And Scores

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Donovan prospered under that system. "He had great powers of concentration," says Young. "Playing the line has more to do with feeling and reacting than with seeing, and Donovan was able to concentrate, recognize and react faster than anybody. He played low in what was then a high league, and he stuffed the trap all the time. If he got trapped once in five games, that was a lot."

Young describes Donovan as an underrated pass rusher. "He was strong and agile, a good athlete for a fat guy. He was able to get that first step. For 10 yards he had good quickness. After that, he had calendar speed. Arthur wasn't an impact player, but he seldom made a mistake. I remember him as a player who played perfect games. His consistency was his greatness."

There were a lot of good offensive linemen in the league. I'd be very remiss if I pointed to one guy and said he was the toughest. But one who really had my number was Bruno Banducci, the right guard of the 49ers. About 6'1", about 255, low center of gravity, the kind you have trouble with. I thought the guy was always holding, he was blocking me so well. Then I saw the movies, and he was just beating me. He played next to an All-America, a guy named Al Carapella, and that guy was just out-and-out holding me. I said, "Hey! Don't hold me!" Well, the next time he held me, I hit him in the mouth, and I knocked two teeth out. I split my knuckle! He was hollering at me, and Banducci said to me, "What did you do that for?" I said, "He was holding me!" Banducci turns to the guy and says, "Serves you right. You don't have to hold Donovan."

We played the Giants in an exhibition game in Louisville. It was a brand-new stadium, and the first thing they had in there was a circus. Every time you put your hand down, you put it in a pile of elephant manure. That was O.K. During the game, after the offense set and the linemen couldn't move, we'd throw globs of it at them.

Donovan was born in the Bronx. His grandfather, Mike O'Donovan, was a world middleweight boxing champion—and a frequent sparring partner of Theodore Roosevelt. His father, Arthur Donovan, a famous boxing referee, presided at 22 championship bouts, including 19 of Joe Louis's. He was also the boxing instructor at the New York Athletic Club for 55 years. "My father was a big man in New York," says Donovan. "He taught boxing to every millionaire in town. I was always known as Young Arthur or Little Arthur." Donovan doesn't make any more of it than that, but after becoming a hero in Baltimore he stayed there, growing in wisdom, age, grace...and weight.

"I don't eat vegetables," he says, explaining how he keeps his figure. "I only eat food like cheeseburgers, Spam, hot dogs and pizza. And I drink a little beer. People tell me if I don't eat vegetables, I'm going to get scurvy. Well, what the hell. But I was never overweight as a player. There was a clause in my contract that said I had to weigh in at 270 every Friday morning. I always made it. I'd have dinner on Monday, and then I wouldn't eat until Friday. I'm not saying I didn't drink a little beer, but I wouldn't eat. By Saturday I'd weigh 280." Donovan says that Ordell Braase, a former teammate, recently cracked that if Richard Perry is called the Refrigerator, Donovan should have been called the Walk-in Freezer.

We were at training camp at Western Maryland College, and some of us older guys started wondering who was the biggest eater on the team. Well, three guys thought it was Gino Marchetti, and three of us thought it was Don Joyce, the other defensive end. So we put up $100 apiece, and after the coaches left, the eight of us went over to the cafeteria to have this contest. So the guy there puts out this beautiful meal of fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy and peas. Well, the bet was how many pieces of chicken these guys could eat. Gino just ate the chicken, but Joyce started eating the whole meal. I said, "For God's sake, don't worry about the mashed potatoes, just eat the damn chicken!" So he stopped, after two helpings. Well, Marchetti ate 26 pieces of chicken. Joyce hit 25, and we said, "Great, two more and we win." But Joyce said, "Hold on, I'm still hungry." He ended up eating 38 pieces of chicken. But the thing is, we hadn't let him drink anything until he beat Gino, on account of we didn't want his stomach to fill up. So when Joyce had his 27th piece of chicken, he said, "Man, I gotta wash this down." There was a big pitcher of iced tea in front of him, so we said, "Here, have it." With that, he takes four pieces of saccharin out of his pocket and puts them in the tea. He says, "I'm watching my weight."

Donovan clearly relishes his current notoriety and enjoys trucking around the country, enlivening sports gatherings wherever he goes. "He likes people," says Young, "and it shows. Plus, he knows how to laugh at himself." People also like his honesty. "You hear announcers saying everybody's a great football player, and everybody's the most perfect guy in the world. They're not. Some guys are lucky to be playing. And we had guys on our team who were trying to run their wives over in the driveway. Cut the crap."

We were playing an exhibition game against Green Bay in Milwaukee, and a bunch of us were drinking in this bar. Most of us left, but Don Shula stayed there with Carl Taseff, a defensive back. We were back at the hotel for a little while, and the cops showed up. Uh-oh. They said, "We know one of you Colts stole a taxicab." What happened is that Shula and Taseff honked the horn, but nobody showed up. So Shula put Taseff, who was loaded, in the back of the cab, and put the cabbie's hat on, and drove back to the hotel. And you know, they never would have got caught, except Taseff was slow getting out of the cab. He wanted to pay Shula the fare.

Donovan hopes that the NFL will return to Baltimore. " Robert Irsay ruined my Sundays," he says. "I tell people Baltimore is lucky to be rid of the Colts, they're so lousy, but I don't mean it." Temporarily, at least, Baltimore's football fans have only stories to carry them. They're lucky to have a Hall of Fame storyteller to listen to.

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