Skip Bayless has a tremendous story about Joe Namath’s retirement. When we worked at the Chicago Tribune, I was like a kid, asking him to retell it like some favorite old tale.

Well, it just so happens that Namath played his last game 35 years ago this week. As this classic Monday Night Football video below shows, he was dreadful, throwing four interceptions in the Rams’ loss to the Bears.

To mark the occasion, I thought it was a good time to share Bayless’ story. Here’s Skip:

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I did sidebars (for the Los Angeles Times) on their game-days. We had a mutual friend. He put in a good word for me with Namath.

Namath hated the media. He was at war with the New York media and soon was at war with the LA media. He wouldn’t talk with anybody. He’d do a brief post-game. He’d hang his head, barely speak.

After the first exhibition game, I went to him. I said, “Joe, Skip Bayless.” He immediately lit up. “Joel told me,” he said.

So I hit it off with him. During the year, I’d get little scoops nobody else could get.

It ended very badly for him. Both of his knees were shot. He played only four games and lost his job to Pat Haden and Ron Jaworski. Their season ended very badly with a home playoff loss in the rain to Minnesota.

On Monday, I was sent to the Rams facility just to do a wrap-up. I walked in the lockerroom and it was mostly empty except for Namath. He was cleaning out his locker. I walked over, and I said, “You look like you’re leaving.”

He said, “I’m retiring. I’m done, man.”

I said, “Can I write it?”

He said, “Sure. You can have it.”

I said, “Can you talk about it now?”

He said, “I’m busy. Let’s meet in a couple hours. We’re having a little party (at some bar).” It was a California fern bar.

I run to the phone. I called my boss. I was like a son to him. He said, “This is huge. They are holding Page 1 for you.”

I show up and they’re already rolling. He’s got a bunch of friends I’ve never seen before. They were really close. They weren’t football people. They were already into their cups.

He had saved me a seat right next to him. He said, “What are you drinking?”

Quick back story: I came from a double alcoholic background. Both of my parents were wrecks. My grandparents were wrecks. My mother’s brother died of cirrhosis of the liver. My whole family was riddled with alcohol.

I had been told I had a genetic predisposition to alcohol. I’m obsessive compulsive. So I always avoid alcohol.

I just got married to my high school sweetheart. I was in a business fueled by alcohol. She always said, “If you have to, just order a red wine. Take a couple of sips and you’ll be OK.”

I start to nervously sip the red wine and try to take notes. I sipped through a whole glass of wine. The waitress immediately put down a second glass. I had no conscious thought of any danger.

Finally, I said, ‘Joe, I’ve got to run.’ As we stood up to shake hands–and I am not exaggerating one bit–I fell backwards into a man seated next to me. And then I fell on the floor.

Joe Namath stood over me and looked me right in the eye, and said, “Son, you’re drunk.”

I said, “No, I’m not.”

He said, “What do you plan to do?

I said, “I plan to go write my story.”

He said, “Are you going to drive?”

I said, ‘Yes.”

He said, “No, you can’t drive.”

He helped me to my feet. I felt my way out of the bar and called my boss. He knew I had issues with alcohol. I said, “Bill, you won’t believe this, but I’m drunk.”

I quickly told him the story. He did not chuckle.

OK, what are we going to do? I was in no condition to write anything. He asked, “What are the odds the Los Angeles Herald-Examiner has this story?”

I said, “I had no hint at all, but Joe despises everyone but me.”

“What if we hold the story?” he said.

I said, “I’ll give you 99.9 percent chance it’ll survive.”

He said, “OK, let’s hold it for a day.”

Sure enough, Joe didn’t say anything. And the next day, we had our story.