When his injuries permanently derailed his career, he turned to Hollywood and endorsements, not to mention a tumultuous marriage with Deborah Mays and fleeting bouts of sobriety. Doctors treated him with a stiff cocktail of painkillers, some strong enough to literally knock out a horse, and Namath matched these prescriptions with his own medication, Johnnie Walker, which fueled countless nights that began alongside the likes of Sinatra and Mantle, and ended in bed with the moment's most fashionable model or actress. Although his legacy has been cemented in the history books, underneath the eccentric yet charismatic personality was a player plagued by injury and addiction, both sex and substance. By 26, with a Super Bowl title under his belt, Namath was quite simply the most famous athlete alive.

In an era of raucous rebellion, shifting social norms, and political upheaval, Namath's roughish charm quickly became symbolic of the commercialization of pro sports, while his progressive views on race further pioneered integration on the gridiron. Yet it was the New York Jets who offered a then-unheard-of figure, $427,000, to bring football's Golden Boy to the upstart AFL. Following a knockout four-year run at Alabama, Namath was ceremoniously courted by every professional football team. But before all that, 'Broadway Joe' was just Joe, the small-town kid from Beaver Falls, PA with an arm so impressive that it caught the attention of University of Alabama's Bear Bryant. In what has been remembered as perhaps the biggest upset in football history, that game catapulted the young superstar to not only football immortality but also into a stratosphere of celebrity the likes of which only a few athletes have ever achieved. 'I guarantee it.' Three days before the now-legendary 1969 Super Bowl III, quarterback Joe Namath promised the nation that he could lead the New York Jets to a clear underdog victory against the seemingly invincible Baltimore Colts.

All the way my life in four quarters