Superbawl

Bernie Parrish loved violence, particularly the violence he wreaked on opposing players as an aggressive, clothes-lining cornerback for the N.F.L.'s Cleveland Browns in the early 1960s. His toughness on the field earned him an All-Pro rating; out of uniform he served as vice president of the N.F.L. Players' Association. Unlike St. Louis Cardinals Linebacker Dave Meggyesy or New York Jets Wide Receiver George Sauer. who recently left football because they felt it was dehumanizing, Parrish claims to love the sport. Now a Teamster official, he "retired," according to his own account, because he was blacklisted from a game that gave him a fierce sense of his identity.

Entitled They Call It A Game (Dial; $7.95), Parrish's book indicts the football establishment for its greed, manipulations and possible crooked dealings in building and protecting its monopoly. Writes Parrish:"I thought of something Jim Brown had once said to me after a tough game. There are only a few hunters but everybody wants to eat the meat.' I had agreed, That's basic in nature. The lion makes the kill, hyenas in packs take whatever they can from the lion, and vultures pick the bones.' The same natural or der prevails in pro football." Parrish leaves no doubt that the hyenas and vultures in his eyes are some of the own ers, Commissioner Pete Rozelle, and the TV executives who made the game a big business.

Parrish's viewpoint is that the players always get the worst end of the deal. He points out, for example, that while the per-club income from radio and TV revenue has multiplied by 13 times since 1956, "players' salaries have increased less than 3 times over." Even though Pete Rozelle virtuously forced Joe Namath to give up his Bachelors III nightclub because of alleged patronage by gamblers, Parrish charges the league's very roots were sunk from the start in the subsoil of big-time gambling. The late Tim Mara, longtime owner of the New York Giants, was once a legal bookmaker at New York race tracks. Art Rooney supposedly bought the Pittsburgh Steelers after winning $256,000 at Saratoga Race Track in 1927. Baltimore Colts Owner Carroll Rosenbloom has always been a high roller, according to Parrish. Other owners have been or still are connected with gambling casinos, bookmaking wire services and race tracks.

Bernie's personal superbawl charges that many pro games are fixed; the unconvincing argument is based chiefly on the theory that it can be done. He points out that an official could drop a flag for a holding penalty, conveniently annulling a touchdown. An offensive tackle can neglect to block his man on a crucial play, allowing the quarterback to be smeared. An assistant coach could tip off opponents to his team's signals and game plan. But Parrish proves no specific instances.

Combative Man. If the book is too strident to be totally convincing, it is still entertaining, particularly when Parrish is describing his own career as a tough, poor kid from Gainesville, Fla., who made good in America's new national game. The tone, if not the preciseness of his attack, seems natural to the openly combative man who states: "This book is intended to drive Pete Rozelle, Arthur Modell, Carroll Rosenbloom, Tex Schramm, Clint Murchison, Lou Spadia, and the other so-called sportsmen-owners out of professional football. They are my enemies and they know it."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.