Quarterbacking a social event from a 50-yard-line private box at Anaheim’s Stadium Club

Saturday night I took my wife to see the season opener between the Rams and the Houston Oilers at Anaheim Stadium.

Since she does not understand football, it was an outing that would ordinarily not have attracted her; but the circumstances were unusual.

We were invited to a cocktail party and buffet before the game at the Stadium Club in honor of the Rams 40th anniversary in Los Angeles; and then to see the game from Georgia Frontiere’s private box on the 50-yard line.

In case you know even less about football than my wife does, Georgia Frontiere is the owner of the Rams--the only woman owner in the National Football League.

Her invitation lifted the adventure from simply a football game to a social event, with the prospect of a good meal thrown in.

We don’t run in Frontiere’s set, so I suppose the reason we were invited was that column in which I selected my all-time Rams team. My contribution to the Rams’ 40th anniversary was simply being acknowledged.

I was gratified to see that most of my selections were also named by the public in the poll conducted by The Times, and many of those old players turned up at the cocktail party.

My wife had never seen professional football players close up, and she was as staggered by their sheer size and beauty as any other healthy woman would be, notwithstanding the fact that both she and most of the players were past their prime.

I mean, when you go eyeball-to-eyeball with such handsome giants as Jack Youngblood, Tom Mack, Nolan Cromwell, Lawrence McCutcheon, Bob Klein and Joe Scibelli, ordinary movie heroes like Tom Selleck and Burt Reynolds are reduced to nerds.

Given the classic standards of male beauty, Youngblood himself is as close to the ideal as any poet could imagine. When he arrived he stood in the TV spotlight for a moment like Superman alighting on earth--6 foot, 4 inches, lean and muscular at 245 pounds, with a fine forehead, long straight nose, strong jaw, light blue eyes and light brown hair, and impeccably dressed in suit, shirt and necktie.

“My God!” my wife said. “Who is that?”

She allowed that if all football players looked like Youngblood she might become a fan. Up until then she had shown no interest in any but Joe Namath, for his boyish charm, I guess; and Vince Ferragamo, who looks something like Tyrone Power.

Dick (Night Train) Lane also caught one’s eye in a dazzling white suit, though he’d lost his waistline, and Deacon Jones still had that joyous but sardonic smile, so familiar from his post-game interviews.

I have received much comment, meanwhile, on my all-time team, including a note from Jim Healy, sports director of KMPC. First, he points out that my offensive unit should be unbeatable. “It has 13 players.”

Beyond that:

“Your offensive and defensive lines might tilt a bit. Each contains only one tackle but three ends.

“In naming Elroy Hirsch--quite correctly--as one of your receivers, you add: ‘Old Crazy Legs, who probably wouldn’t have enough speed to make it these days. . . .’ Say what? Speed was Elroy’s forte. It was his bag!”

I’m told by friends who heard it that Healy had some sport with my team on his KMPC sports show. I always have KMPC tuned in in my car, but I missed that show. Too bad, I’d love to have heard myself mentioned on the station that plays all that unforgettable music of the ‘20s, ‘30s and ‘40s.

As for having 13 players on the field, it’s a mistake I’ve seen many coaches make. Sometimes they get away with it.

As for having three defensive ends and only one tackle, that’s my new concept of football--a faster, more mobile line. You watch, it’s coming.

As for Hirsch not being fast. Of course he was fast in his time, but I’ll bet Healy a bottle of Dom Perignon he couldn’t turn a 100-yard dash in 9.4, like most of today’s receivers.

Old Crazy Legs was there the other night, too, incidentally, looking lean and fit and youngish with his gray-white crewcut.

The buffet was excellent, especially the roast. Then we went up to Frontiere’s box, which resembles a rather narrow Manhattan apartment with bar, buffet and big picture windows. A staircase winds up to her private bedroom and bath (with Jacuzzi, of course).

Her guests may sit in reserved seats just below the box, or they may stay in the box, close to the bar and buffet. It was something like traveling on a first-class cruise ship.

When we took our seats we found ourselves sitting beside Bill Dwyre, The Times’ sports editor, and his wife.

My wife sat next to Dwyre, and I invited him to explain the game to her. I thought it might awaken her interest, to hear the fine points explained by an expert.

“All you have to do,” he told her, “is watch the guards. What the guards do is the key to the whole play.”

Oh, I thought, one of those . I had heard that old wisdom about watching the guards, and I had once gone to the Coliseum determined to do just that, throughout the game. I took my field glasses and focused on the guards on every play. For about six plays. It was like mud wrestling. You have to watch the quarterback.

On the way home I asked my wife how she liked it.

She said Jack Youngblood and the roast were superb.