In the world of Google, we are all aware of our doppelgangers. These people share our names, but we never meet them except to rub elbows in search engine results. In pre-Internet days, however, fewer of us felt the odd sensation of sharing your identity with another person. In order for this to happen, you either needed serendipity or a very common name, or you needed to share a name with someone notable.
My parents aren’t big football fans so when they named me, they had no way of knowing that the name they gave me was effectively identical to the man who scored the first touchdown in the first Super Bowl.
Max McGee was a tight end for the Green Bay Packers, and it didn’t seem to matter to football fans that our names are off by a letter (like me, he also went by his middle name). My whole life, people, upon hearing my name have asked me if I knew about him. It wasn’t long before I knew by heart the story of that first Super Bowl. I’ll let Wikipedia recount it:
In his final two seasons, injuries and age had considerably reduced his production and playing time. Ironically, these two seasons would be the ones for which his career is best remembered. In the 1966 season, McGee caught only four passes for 91 yards and a touchdown as the Packers recorded a 12-2 record and advanced to Super Bowl I against the Kansas City Chiefs. Because McGee didn’t expect to play in the game, he violated his team’s curfew policy and spent the night before the Super Bowl out on the town. The next morning, he told starting receiver Boyd Dowler, “I hope you don’t get hurt. I’m not in very good shape.”
However, Dowler went down with a separated shoulder on the Packers’ second drive of the game, and McGee, who had to borrow a teammate’s helmet because he had not even brought his own out of the locker room, found himself thrust into the lineup. A few plays later, McGee made a one-handed reception of a pass from Bart Starr, took off past Chiefs defender Fred Williamson and ran 37 yards to score the first touchdown in Super Bowl history. By the end of the game, McGee had recorded seven receptions for 138 yards and two touchdowns, assisting Green Bay to a 35-10 victory.
I bring this up because I’ve just heard the news that McGee died at the age of 75. Tragically, it happened following a fall from his roof, where he’d been clearing leaves. Since I’ve talked about McGee with people regularly for my whole life, it seemed strange not to mention his passing. I suspect people will still note the name we (almost) share, but probably less and less as his gridiron feats recede into history.