Author: fartheroffthewall

This is the latest post for an ongoing media project — SoCal Sports History 101: The Prime Numbers from 00 to 99 that Uniformly, Uniquely and Unapologetically Reveal The Narrative of Our Region’s Athletic Heritage.  Pick a number and highlight an athlete — person, place or thing — most obviously connected to it by fame and fortune, someone who isn’t so obvious, and then take a deeper dive into the most interesting story tied to it. It’s a combination of star power, achievement, longevity, notoriety, and, above all, what makes that athlete so Southern California. Quirkiness and notoriety factor in. And it should open itself to more discussion and debate — which is what sports is best at doing.

The most obvious choices for No. 74:

= Kenley Jansen, Los Angeles Dodgers, Los Angeles Angels
= Merlin Olsen, Los Angeles Rams
= Ron Mix, USC and Los Angeles Chargers

The most obvious choices for No. 75:

= Deacon Jones, Los Angeles Rams
= Howie Long, Los Angeles Raiders
= Irv Eatman, UCLA football
= Eddie Sheldrake, UCLA basketball
= Max Montoya, UCLA football

The most obvious choices for No. 76:

= Rosey Greer, Los Angeles Rams
= Marvin Powell, USC football
= Joe Alt, San Diego Chargers
= Al Lucas, Los Angeles Avengers

The most obvious choices for No. 85:

= Jack Youngblood, Los Angeles Rams
= Lamar Lundy, Los Angeles Rams
= Antonio Gates, Los Angeles Chargers
= Bob Chandler, Los Angeles Raiders
=Dokie Williams, UCLA football, Los Angeles Raiders

The most interesting stories for Nos. 74, 75, 76 and 85:
Merlin Olsen: Los Angeles Rams left defensive tackle (1962 to 1976)
Deacon Jones: Los Angeles Rams left defensive end (1961 to 1971)
Rosey Grier: Los Angeles Rams right defensive tackle (1963 to 1966)
Lamar Lundy: Los Angeles Rams right defensive end (1957 to 1969)
Southern California map pinpoints:
L.A. Coliseum, Chapman College, Hollywood

When the New York Times’ “Connections: Sports Edition” puzzle popped up in October of 2025 — it challenges readers to match up four groups of four things that go together from a grid of 16 choices– it should have been a foregone conclusion that when “Famous Nicknames for NFL Defenses” would include …

(Four, three, two, one …)

The Fearsome Foursome.

Some nerve. It didn’t.

Sure, Merlin Olsen, Deacon Jones, Rosey Greey and Lamar Lundy unnerved opposing offenses as a quintet for just four seasons. But that in no way gives anyone permission to call them The Four Seasons. Their ownership of the Fearsome Foursome brand took hold, was passed on to future teammates, and Los Angeles gave it its foundational meaning.

No matter that during this group’s alliterative convergence spanning 1963 to 1966, the Rams only won 22 of their 56 games. The team had plenty of offensive deficiencies. Defense wasn’t the issue.

No denying as well that, in the history of the NFL, other collectives honored for their ferocious nature led to the creation of a Wikipedia page to document it all. But decades after they created thunder on the Coliseum floor, this Fearsome Foursome couldn’t even forge its way into a pop culture quiz about NFL nicknames.

Who can speak for them today?

“We taught the NFL the beauty of playing defense,” Deacon Jones once told Sports Illustrated in 2001, during one of those “Where are they now?” editions to remind readers of this century what happened awhile back shouldn’t be forgotten. It was, of course, Jones, upon nicknaming himself as the Secretary of Defense, who coined the phrase “quarterback sack” for a stat that would become ubiquitous for players at that defensive line position.

As the Los Angeles Times’ Mal Florence explained during a story about them in 1985, a generation after their departure:

“If the Fearsome Foursome had lived in another time, they probably would have been part of a marauding army, sacking cities instead of quarterbacks. There was something majestic about those four distinct personalities … to popularize and set the standard for defensive linemen. They had size and range and were always on the attack. And they did it with flair and elan that were inimitable.”

Too bad sacks were not officially recorded as an NFL statistic until 1982. Solo tackles and assisted tackles weren’t logged until 1994. Quarterback hits have only been a thing since 2006.

The quantifiable data can’t tell us how these four Rams might butt heads with modern-day players.

That all adds to their mystique. And it falls more on remembering their interlocked uniform numbers: 74, 75, 76 and 85.

This is the latest post for an ongoing media project — SoCal Sports History 101: The Prime Numbers from 00 to 99 that Uniformly, Uniquely and Unapologetically Reveal The Narrative of Our Region’s Athletic Heritage.  Pick a number and highlight an athlete — person, place or thing — most obviously connected to it by fame and fortune, someone who isn’t so obvious, and then take a deeper dive into the most interesting story tied to it. It’s a combination of star power, achievement, longevity, notoriety, and, above all, what makes that athlete so Southern California. Quirkiness and notoriety factor in. And it should open itself to more discussion and debate — which is what sports is best at doing.

The most obvious choices for No. 27:

= Mike Trout: Los Angeles Angels
= Vladimir Guerrero: Anaheim Angels/Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim
= Matt Kemp, Los Angeles Dodgers

The not-so-obvious choices for No. 27:

= Kevin Brown: Los Angeles Dodgers
= Theotis Brown: UCLA football
= Alec Martinez: Los Angeles Kings
= Jennie Finch: La Mirada High School softball

The most interesting story for No. 27:
Willie Crawford, Los Angeles Dodgers outfielder (1964 to 1975)
Southern California map pinpoints:
South Los Angeles, Dodger Stadium, Hollywood Hills

In the summer of 1964, the Los Angeles Dodgers could not afford to lose the talents and potential of Willie Crawford. Especially since he was right in their backyard.

Despite coming off a World Series championship, the franchise may have been pitching rich but it was offensive poor. Imagine a local high-school phenom as the future centerpiece of their lineup. Heck, if the rival San Francisco Giants had a sweet-spot of their order with Willie Mays and Willie McCovey, L.A. could dream about the potential if its own Willie Davis and Willie Crawford.

Of course, it was an awful lot to ask of a 17-year-old from South Central L.A.’s Fremont High.

The catch was giving Crawford a $100,000 “bonus baby” status. It guaranteed him at least two seasons on the big-league roster, no matter how much learning was required to play at that MLB level.

It was somewhat of a crapshoot, based on “bonus baby” history, most often to the player’s determent. This would be the last year Major League Baseball allowed itself to continue this free-agent, Wild West signing frenzy and finally figure out how to implement a true draft.

The Dodgers couldn’t afford to let Crawford go elsewhere and were willing to take a shot, based on what they saw.

The motto of Fremont High is: “Find a path, or make one!” The school’s sports teams nickname is the Pathfinders.

College recruiters beat a path to Crawford’s family home on 69th Street in L.A. long before his senior year at Fremont was over. Crawford gained attention as an All-City running back on the football team. On the track team, he clocked a 9.7 second 100-yard dash — or, it was 9.6 if you saw it on the back of his 1970 Topps baseball card, which also proclaimed he had a 21.2 second-mark in the 220, and twice cleared 25 feet in the long jump.

More to the Dodgers’ point, Crawford also hit .444 his senior year of baseball. Power, speed and a throwing arm. The whole five-tool package.

Dodgers scouting director Al Campanis’ report said of Crawford: “Thin waist, strong upper body, strong legs, unusual speed, graceful fielder, strong arm, good character (and ) hits with the power of Roberto Clemente and Tommy Davis at a similar age.” Campanis would know. He scouted and helped sign both for the Dodgers. The comparisons continued.

On the baseball fields of the high school on San Pedro Street between Florence and Manchester, “The Mont” had been creating a path to success under coach Phil Pote, who would go on to be one of the most heralded MLB scouts. His 1963 L.A. City championship team had future pro players Bob Watson, Bobby Tolan and Crawford. Brock Davis, another outfielder who went to Cal State L.A. and was signed by the Houston Colt 45s, also played with Crawford. The school had previously produced Hall of Famer Bobby Doerr, plus heralded manager Gene Mauch. It would later send Eric Davis, Chet Lemon, George Hendrick and Dan Ford to the MLB road.

This was one year before there would be the first official MLB draft, so Crawford’s pursuit was just following a slippery slope toward a large roll of the dice by teams, and players, as he was free to sign with whomever he wished.

Two days after he graduated from high school, Crawford was sitting at his parents’ dining room table with Campanis, who was acting on what Dodgers scouts Tommy Lasorda and Kenny Meyers believed to be true — he was their guy. Sixteen of the 20 MLB teams were also making formal offers.

That included the Los Angeles Angels and owner Gene Autry, even though they had just paid 21-year-old outfielder Rick Reinhardt a record $205,000 bonus out of the University of Wisconsin and were about to give another $100,000 bonus to 18-year-old catcher Tom Egan from El Rancho High in Pico Riviera.

Then there was Kansas City Athletics’ owner Charlie Finley, who made a special trip to Crawford’s home to impress the family. Finley called Crawford “a Willie Mays with the speed of Willie Davis.” He gave the Crawford family an autographed photo of him to put on their wall.

Finley’s offer was a reported $200,000, plus the chance to start in center field right away for a team that would finish 1964 with a 57-105 record. The Dodgers were only offering half that, but the lure of a historic franchise that had moved to L.A. six years earlier and had already won two World Series titles. Crawford was also breaking new ground — no other African-American player right out of high school or college was even offered that large a signing bonus. Philadelphia signed Richie Allen for $70,000 in 1960. The Cleveland Indians gave Tommie Agee a $60,000 bonus in ’61.

Because Crawford said he wanted to stay on the West Coast, and he appreciated that Lasorda attended the funeral of his grandfather, the Dodgers got the signature on June 22, 1964.

The Dodgers were doing so knowing that they had to abide by the framework of the “Bonus Rule” — first implemented in 1947, then revived in 1952, as it declared that when a player received a large bonus that exceeded a certain amount, the signing team could send him to the minor leagues that season, but then had to keep him on the major league roster all of the following season.

In some ways, it tried to discourage bidding wars and punish a team that overspent. It often ended up punishing players who needed more time to adjust to pro ball and find their way in the minor leagues.