Art Buchwald, political football writer
News of Art Buchwald's death at 81 sent me to the bookcase to find a slim yellowed paperback called "I Am Not a Crook," a collection of the great political satirist's columns from the Watergate years. Buchwald's imagination allowed him to write about heavy topics in terms everyone could enjoy. Since this is supposed to be a sports blog, let's enjoy the time Buchwald goofed on President Nixon's choice of a replacement for disgraced Vice President Agnew by turning the whole episode into a football game.
This is a Buchwald column from 1973.
Send in a New KickerPlaying Coach Dick Nixon paced up and down the sidelines of the football field. His team was on his own 10-yard line, and he was being forced to punt. To make matters worse, his only kicker, Ted Agnew, had been thrown out of the game for unsportsmanlike conduct and had been put on probation for three years and fined $10,000.
Sitting on the bench, all suited up, were Johnny Connally, Rocky Rockefeller, Ronnie Reagan, Bill Rogers, Mel Laird, Barry Goldwater and Big Elliott Richardson.
“Send me in, Coach,” begged Connally. “I can save the game.”
“I can’t kick,” Rocky said, “but if you need me, I’ll run with the ball.”
Ronnie Reagan said, “Don’t forget, I was the original Gipper of Notre Dame.”
Nixon just walked up and down the sidelines some more.
He was in a terrible dilemma. If he sent in a strong player, the Democratic team vowed to block the kick. If he sent in a weak player, he might lose the game.
He looked over at Johnny Connally. Johnny was his first choice, but he was a problem for any coach. He had played on the Democratic team until this year, and now that he was on the Republican team, the Democrats seemed to have it in for him. Nixon’s scouts had informed him that if he sent in Connally, the Demos would smear him.
The crowd, shocked by Agnew’s sudden departure from the field, kept screaming for a substitute.
But this punt meant a lot, and Coach Nixon was not about to be rushed. He walked to the Republican cheering section and said over the loudspeaker, “I need your help. Would everybody please list your three choices for a substitute kicker, put them in a sealed envelope and send them down to the field?”
The Democrats were furious. “How long are you going to have a timeout?” one of the players yelled.
Nixon ignored him and walked down past his bench.
Everyone looked up hopefully. Ronnie Reagan said, “Coach, I know your game plan, and I’m a team player. Give me a break.”
Rocky said, “You have to send in someone whom the fans can rally around. You can’t think of today, but of the big game in 1976. You won’t be sorry, Dick.”
Barry Goldwater played it cool. “I don’t give a damn if you send me in or not, Coach, but you could do a lot worse.”
The fans were passing down their sealed envelopes, and Mel Laird started counting names. Every time he came across a list in which he wasn’t mentioned, he threw it away.
Coach Nixon went up to Big Elliot Richardson. “Elliott, if I send you in, will you forget about the tapes I made of the other games?”
“It’s hard to say, Coach. It’s not up to me anymore; it’s up to the football commissioner.”
Nixon turned away in disgust.
Mel Laird came over with the count. “The fans have voted 49,768 for me, four for Connally, three for Rocky and one for Agnew.”
A delegation from the Democratic bench started to cross the field. “Look, Dick,” one of them said as he came up to Nixon, “you can’t hold up the game forever. We can block any kicker you send on the field.”
Nixon barked, “The rules say I have a right to choose any substitute I want to kick for me.”
“But only with our approval,” another Democratic coach said. “Now we have a compromise. Why don’t you use one of our kickers? It could bring the stadium together.”
“You’re out of your minds,” Nixon said. “You want me to use a Democratic player on my team?”
The Democratic coach shrugged his shoulders. “It’s the only way you’ll ever get to punt.”
Nixon angrily turned to the bench and said, “Go in, Jerry, and win this one for the Spiro.”