You, dear reader,
in your pitiful ignorance, probably have never heard of Raymond (Fido) Murphy.
But there is a vociferous body of opinion which holds that Fido Murphy:
modern T formation.
Chicago Bears' historic 73-0 defeat of Washington in the 1940 professional
smashing defensive maneuver that is known to the millions it has thrilled as
?Laid out the
defense that solved San Francisco's startling shotgun offense three years
England basketball crowds with a behind-the-back dribble before Bob Cousy was
important of all, knows more about football than any man alive.
The body of
opinion supporting these claims stands 5 feet 8, weighs 182 pounds and is 58
years old. It belongs to Fido Murphy. A more opinionated body you will never
Do not jump to
the conclusion that Fido Murphy is under confinement while being treated for a
Napoleon complex. Fido is very much at large. He is employed by the Chicago
Bears and the Pittsburgh Steelers to scout college talent in 12 western states
and also, on Sundays, to scout upcoming National Football League opponents.
"I'm the best in the business at scouting opponents," Fido modestly
states, "but I can't tell you that because you'll think I'm nuts."
Coaches who are able to control their tempers in the face of Fido's roaring
self-esteem concede that he is an able scout, else why would two clubs pay him
for identical information on college talent? The only difference between the
thick reports Fido periodically hands his two employers is that one copy is
stamped CHICAGO and the other PITTSBURGH. Having imparted his wisdom with
impartiality, Fido leaves the Bears and Steelers to race for his recommended
players in the NFL draft. Deadly earnest, Fido barks: "It isn't that I'm
smarter than everyone else in football. It's just that I know more. Max Stiles,
the Los Angeles columnist, wrote, 'They don't make 'em like Fido Murphy
anymore.' Sam Cohen, the Bridgeport columnist, wanted to call me a genius, but
I wouldn't let him."
Many assume that
Fido Murphy's nickname stems from the fact that he resembles an angry bulldog,
but Fido furnishes a derivation that is more in keeping with his stature. He
explains that a Boston sportswriter, Bill Cunningham, saw him play tailback in
1922 for Westbrook Seminary of Portland, Me. and was moved to superlatives.
"He said," says Fido, " 'That kid Murphy did everything but drive
the bus. You can't compare him with a human being, you gotta call him a
greyhound.' So they called me The Greyhound, and when we played in hostile
territory the fans yelled, 'Bowwow!' and they called me Fido."