President Ronald Reagan is basically labeled “The Gipper” as a result of his film portrayal of the legendary Notre Dames football player. The nickname is so firmly attached to the president that the real Gipper is almost forgotten.

The true story is clouded by the mists of time. His hometown of Laurium, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, maintains a website dedicated to his local hero. One thing is for sure: he was born on February 1. 18, 1895 to Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Gipp.

He attended Calumet public schools, but never played high school football. However, he was a complete athlete. He participated in track and field, hockey, sandlot football, and organized baseball. The Laurium baseball team was the Upper Peninsula champion in 1915, with George playing center field.

Gipp hadn’t thought about going to college. However, he was adept at baseball, billiards, poker, and craps. His greatest achievement was winning a gold watch for ballroom dancing.

A Notre Dame graduate convinced the 6-foot, 180-pound husky Gipp at 21 that he could get a baseball scholarship if he just asked.

Beyond these statistics, we must rely on sports historians.

James A. Cox presents a colorful account of Gipp’s spectacular career. It begins on a fall afternoon in 1916 with two freshmen playing baseball on a Midwestern college field.

Without warning, a football flies over the fence from a nearby grill where the school’s varsity team was practicing. He hits one of the young men. He picks up the errant soccer ball and kicks it over the fence 70 yards away.

Across the field, a coach whistles in amazement and runs over. “Hey you! You with the baseball. What’s your name?”

“Gipp,” comes the laconic reply.

“Where are you from?

“Michigan.”

“Play high school football?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I think you’ll be a soccer player,” says the coach. “Come out tomorrow. We’ll follow you and see what you can do.”

The young man shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says vaguely. “I don’t particularly care about football.”

This was the meeting of Gorge Gipp and Knute Rockne. A few days later, Gipp shows up for a test.

* * *

There was no difficulty in switching scholarships when it was learned that he could sprint 100 yards in ten seconds, throw accurate passes down the middle of the field and kick 60-yard punts with ease. He became an All-American running back.

Gipp established a reputation in his first out-of-town game with the freshman team against Western Michigan State Normal. Write to Cox:

“Playing as a running back, Gipp racks up yards. But the score is 7-7 as the fourth quarter rolls on with just a couple of minutes left.

“The Irish have the ball. The quarterback calls the punt formation – kicks wide and plays for a tie.

“Gipp objects. He wants to attempt a field goal. The quarterback looks at him like he’s looking at a madman. From where the kicker will stand, to the opposite goal post, which was on the goal line at the time, it was over 60 yards. However, the quarterback orders, ‘Punt.’

“The ball breaks, Gipp drops it headfirst to the ground, as was the custom then, gets a perfect rebound and shoots the ball through the posts. It was a 62-yard field goal that earned an enduring spot.” in the minute book.”

* * *

In the spring of his freshman year, Gipp tried out for the baseball team and became an outfielder. He only played one game.

Ignoring a tag signal, he threw the ball over the fence for a home run.

“Why?” the manager asked. “Don’t you remember the signs?”

“Sure,” Gipp replied, “but it’s too hot to be running the bases after a bunt.” The next day he turned in his baseball uniform and focused on soccer.

He earned his way by waiting tables in the college canteen for food and lodging. He made money playing in nearby industrial and semi-pro baseball leagues.

He also frequented the pool halls and other low-end dives of South Bend.

A hangout called Hullie & Mikes became his second home. He once said, “I’m the best independent player to ever go to Notre Dame.”

His roommate, Arthur (Dutch) Bergman, explained:

“No one in South Bend could beat him at lighthouse, billiards, snooker, poker or bridge. He studied percentages on the dice and could fade those bones in a way that made the pros dizzy. In three-pocket billiards, he was the terror. of the halls.

“He never gambled with other students, although his craps skills helped pay for more than a few of his friends to visit Notre Dame. I’ve seen him win $500 in a game of craps and then spend his winnings buying meals for needy families in South Bend.”

Gipp skipped so many classes in 1919 that he was kicked out of school. He took a job as a house gambler at the Hullie & Mikes betting emporium.

Horrified, Notre Dame alumni sports fans flooded the university with complaints. The university gave him a special exam, which he passed, and reinstated him. From then on, Gipp came to practice whenever he wanted, doing whatever he felt like doing. Nobody complained. Coaches and players knew he was proudly dedicated to winning. The team revolved around him.

The 1920 season established Gipp as “immortal”.

On a Saturday afternoon, Notre Dame found itself 17-14 behind the Army.

In the locker room, Rockne unleashed one of his famous halftime wrestling speeches. Gipp looked bored. Rockne turned to Gipp and challenged him, “I guess you have no interest in this game.” Gipp replied, “Don’t worry, I have $500 and I don’t intend to spend my money.”

By the end of the game, Gipp had amassed 385 rushing yards, more than the entire Army team. He scored a touchdown running backwards on a kickoff, threw two accurate passes to set up a touchdown. He almost single-handedly led Notre Dame to a 27-17 comeback victory.

Gip paid a price for that day’s performance. He was tired, pale and a little bloody. His distress was so obvious that the West Point crowd rose to their feet and watched in awe as he left the field.

There were four games left in the season. A clean sweep would give Notre Dame a shot at the national championship.

Purdue fell 28-0. At Indiana the following week, Gipp suffered a dislocated shoulder that sent him to the bench in bandages. The Hoosiers built a 10-0 lead, which they held until the fourth quarter.

The Irish pushed to the 2-yard line but stalled. Gipp jumped off the bench and yelled at Rockne, “I’m coming in!”

‘To return!’ Rockne roared.

Gipp ignored the order. On the second play, he crashed for a touchdown. He then kicked the extra point, and went back to his bench.

On Notre Dame’s next possession, as time was running out, the Irish carried the ball to the 15-yard line. Once again, Gipp scrambled off the bench to take charge.

He dropped for a game-tying dropkick to tie the game. The Hoosiers stormed in to block it. Calmly, Gipp threw the ball to a receiver at the 1-yard line. On the next play, with the entire Indiana team converging on Gipp, he tackled him with his injured arm nearby. it was a trick. The Notre Dame quarterback danced into the end zone with the ball for the game-winning touchdown.

As the team headed back to South Bend, Gipp went to Chicago to teach a high school team how to kick. The icy wind brought aches, fever and sore throat. Back in South Bend, Gipp went to his sick bed.

The following Friday, against Northwestern, Rockne kept the feverish Gipp on the bench until the fourth quarter. Then to chants from the crowd – “We want Gipp!” – allowed his star to participate in a few snaps, capped off with a 55-yard touchdown pass to rack up a 33-7 victory. .

* * *

On Thanksgiving Day, Notre Dame defeated Michigan State 25-0 to complete its second straight season of outright wins, but Gipp wasn’t there. He was in the hospital with pneumonia and strep throat, a serious illness before antibiotics.

Gipp was clearly doomed. On December 14, 1920, he converted to Catholicism and received the last rites. His mother, his brother, his sister, and Coach Rockne stood vigil at his bedside as the entire student body knelt in the snow on campus praying for him.

While I was in a coma, someone whispered, “It’s hard to go.”

Gipp heard it and woke up. “What’s so hard about it?” he said with disdain.

Beyond this, we only have the Rockne version.

Gipp turned to Rockne. “I have to go, Rock,” he whispered back. “Okay. Sometime when the team is against it, when things are going bad and breaks are getting to the guys, tell them to go in there with everything they’ve got and win just one for the Gipper.”

There is doubt that the usually unassuming Gipp delivered the dramatic deathbed speech, but Rockne always swore it was true.

However, it was eight years before Rockne felt the need to invoke George Gipp’s last words.

It was at Yankee Stadium, New York, on November 12, 1928. Notre Dame had lost two games. An unbeaten Army team held the regular Fighting Irish to a goalless draw at half time. In the locker room, Rockne stood up and addressed the weary players from him.

“Guys, I want to tell you a story that I never thought I would have to tell.”

Then Rockne recounted, in a serious voice, George Gipp’s final challenge. When he climaxed, “He Gets in there and wins one for the Gipper”, the players are said to have opened the locker room door by running onto the field. The Irish played the second half as if the legend of Notre Dame led the way.

At the end of the game, the score was Notre Dame 12, Army 6.

The Gipper had scored one last time, from the grave.