Yesterday brought the news of the deaths of two great sports figures: former 49ers coach Bill Walsh and Swedish director Ingmar Bergman.

“Who’d Bergman play for?” I hear you ask, your mouth full of cracklin’ pork rinds. “The Swedenborg Angels?” No, the sometimes dyspeptic director was playing a deeper game, certainly in the Seventh Seal where a medieval knight, played by Max von Sydow, challenges Death to a game of chess. Those of you who don’t think of chess as a sport clearly haven’t played with Death, who plays for keeps.

More people know this image better than they know the film, given its vintage (1957) and American tastes, which run to less existential fare. In fact most filmgoers today probably know the iconic scene more through its parodies, the most memorable being Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey in which the time-traveling teens challenge Death to games of Battleship and Clue and beat him five out of seven. Yes, way.

As anyone living in San Francisco during the Niners’ glory days can tell you, the greatest team in football history snatched victory from the jaws of defeat a number of times themselves — thanks in no small part to the classy, reserved Walsh. The team rose from the dead numerous times under his tutelage, most famously in the 1982 AFC championship game against Dallas, with The Catch.

I was driving a cab the evening of that game and by the time I was out there on the streets, the city was in a state of delirium. Every fare talked of nothing but Dwight Clark’s superb reception — or was it Joe Montana’s divine pass? “Do you really think he knew where he was throwing that ball?” a Cowboys fan asked me, rather belligerently. The town was full of them – they were “America’s Team” — they were used to winning and liked to visit away games and strut around in their Stetson hats and fur-lined coats, acting like Nazis in Paris.

History proved that he did: Joe kept making no-look, eyes-in-the-back-of-head passes like that for the rest of his career, and Clark caught quite a few of them. Walsh put those players in motion and had the faith in his men to let them make miracles. That day all I could do was savor the expression on that Texan’s face. He looked like Death had given him a melvin.