Play by Play

by Verne Lundquist

  I benefited from that dropped pass. I remember my call: “Bless his heart, he’s got to be the sickest man in America.” NFL Films used that bit of audio in their production, and it got me a fair bit of attention then and down the line. I suppose that it’s true in so many sporting moments that we all treasure—one man’s pleasure is another man’s pain. How many of us remember who it was that Dwight Clark beat in the end zone to catch Joe Montana’s pass against the Cowboys in 1982? Well, I do, but that’s part of my job. It was Everson Walls, a rookie who made the Pro Bowl for an outstanding freshman campaign with 11 interceptions and one fumble recovery. He’s forever immortalized for that year on the countless posters that were sold depicting “the Catch.” Hardly seems fair, but so it goes.

  Later on, after learning about the confusion about the play call, I’d wondered a bit about how that figured into a pattern with Tom Landry. A couple of times he was apparently unsure of down and distance and sent in plays that weren’t right for the situation. I don’t mean to speak ill of the man, but a lot of speculation swirled around him and whether or not he had begun to lose command as a head coach. I’m not trying to point fingers or assign blame, and just as that Jackie Smith drop was one of dozens of plays in that Super Bowl, it does take on exaggerated importance due to the circumstances. Jackie had played for so long and played so well. I immediately felt bad for him, but there was still plenty of time left in the game. I hoped that he’d get a chance to redeem himself.

  As sometimes happens, a questionable officiating call helped determine the game’s outcome. From his own 44, Bradshaw drifted back to pass and spotted Lynn Swann downfield. Benny Barnes was in coverage and it seemed to me, and to a lot of others, that Swann ran into him. The call should have been no call—incidental contact. Instead, Fred Swearingen—the referee during the Steelers’ Immaculate Reception game—called pass interference on Barnes. Wrong call but it gave the Steelers a first down at the Cowboys’ 23.

  Two plays later, Hollywood Henderson got involved in a mix-up. On third-and-four from the 17, the whistle blew just before the snap. Most players stopped, but Hollywood didn’t. He took down Bradshaw. He later claimed that he didn’t hear the whistle. Franco Harris came to his quarterback’s defense, and it looked like things could get ugly, but they didn’t. Pittsburgh was assessed a five-yard penalty for delay of game, nullifying the 12-yard loss resulting from the Henderson nonsack. The weirdness went on. On the very next play, Bradshaw handed off to Harris, who went untouched from the 22 into the end zone. He was ably assisted by a “block” from Umpire Art Demmas, who got in the way of safety Charlie Waters. Things like that happen with the officials being in the middle of the action, but it was certainly frustrating.

  A two-touchdown deficit in the fourth quarter was a lot to overcome. Things got even a bit more odd after that. Pittsburgh’s kicker seemed to slip as he approached the ball on the ensuing kickoff. It traveled, bouncing and skidding to the Cowboys’ 24, where lineman Randy White tried to corral it. Playing with a cast on his broken left hand, White failed to secure the ball. Tony Dungy was in on the hit that produced the fumble. The Steelers wasted no time in cashing in. Bradshaw hit Swann in the end zone. Thirty-five to seventeen Pittsburgh with seven minutes left.

  My mind was spinning with so much going on in so short a time. That would continue. Down three touchdowns, it would have been easy for the Cowboys and Roger to wave the white flag. They didn’t. With some of the Steelers’ players celebrating on the sidelines, the Cowboys continued to work. Roger scrambled for a huge 18-yard gain on third-and-eleven; Dorsett ripped off a 29-yard run; Roger threw for seven yards to Billy Joe Dupree for a touchdown.

  The 89-yard, eight-play drive took up a healthy chunk of time. I can still picture Roger in the backfield standing, waiting, drifting around as he waited for receivers to come open against the Steelers’ prevent defense. One sideline ball to Dupree seemed to hang in the evening sky forever before it parachuted into the tight end’s arms. I bet if the referee checked the ball he would have discovered burn marks from its reentry into the earth’s atmosphere.

  With 2:23 left, the Cowboys lined up for an onside kick. Everyone knew what was up. Rafael Septien did his job getting the ball to travel along the ground for the necessary ten yards. But that ball rolled along the ground like a weak grounder off the bat of a jammed hitter. It just didn’t do a thing that you would expect of an oblong object. Number twenty-one of the Steelers bent down to field it like an infielder with plenty of time to spare. While the ball didn’t go through his legs Bill Buckner–style, it did bounce through Tony Dungy’s hands and into the arms of Cowboy rookie defensive back Dennis Thurman. He went down on his own 48-yard line.

  A single second wound off the clock. A short time later, facing fourth and 18, Drew Pearson found an opening and Roger found him for a 25-yard gain. Eventually, Roger and Butch Johnson hooked up on a 4-yard touchdown with just 22 seconds left. The extra point cut the Steelers’ lead to 35–31. Could the Cowboys count on another miracle and recover a second onside boot?

  Hope springs eternal but it wasn’t to be. Septien’s second attempt was even more of a dribbler and the sure-handed Rocky Bleier—the Vietnam War veteran turned running back—made the easy recovery. A valiant effort, as the saying goes, but it did fall short.

  I’ve never been a fan of broadcasters talking about the betting line. I know that millions and millions of dollars are bet on Super Bowls and regular season games. Maybe I’m old-fashioned or naïve, but I never wanted that to be a part of the story line. Same here. The Cowboys fell short and those two late-game touchdowns provided a whole lot of excitement and kept hope alive deep in the heart of Texas and elsewhere.

  There were enough what-if incidents to keep fans busy for years. Folks would be able to spin tales of what might have been. As I see it, that’s a kind of victory, too. A lot of folks think that Terry Bradshaw had the last laugh on the Cowboys and Thomas “Hollywood” Henderson. He asked if Henderson knew how to spell MVP. Terry had been awarded that honor for his stellar performance in the game. That would put a neat bow around the story. But I kind of like this one; there’s more to it than that.

  Henderson didn’t last long with the Cowboys. Eventually his descent into drug abuse, particularly crack cocaine, led to his arrest and time in prison. He eventually got clean and sober. He won the Texas lottery and used some of the funds to establish an antidrug foundation. Henderson still travels widely, speaking to young people about the perils of illicit drugs. His story illustrates the power of human beings to change and to make an impact in this life. That’s a moral victory worth talking about. He’s someone to cheer for.

  And then there was Roger, who’d almost pulled off yet another improbable comeback. By the time he retired in March 1980, Roger had accumulated 15 fourth-quarter comeback victories and had led his team to 23 game-winning drives. (A game-winning drive is the offensive scoring drive in the fourth quarter or overtime that puts the winning team ahead for the last time.) One of my favorites of those fourth-quarter comebacks was his last. On December 16, 1979, the Redskins came to town. Among sports rivalries, for my money the Cowboys and Redskins battles back then were at the top of the list. Subsequent years and exposure to other games have me dropping it down a few pegs, but at the time, there was nothing like ’Skins versus the ’Boys.

  That 1979 game was memorable because the stakes were somewhat high. A great comeback is a beauty to behold, but it doesn’t climb to the top of my charts if the results aren’t of any real consequence. The two teams came into the regular season finale with identical 10-5 records. The division title was on the line. That 1979 team got off to a great start, going 8-2 before a three-game November losing streak had everyone on edge and the phone lines buzzing with “What’s-wrong-with-the-Cowboys” calls. The defense had suffered some losses due to retirement, injury, and Ed “Too Tall” Jones ignoring his nickname and deciding he could be a professional boxer.

  Perhaps fittingly, that D
ecember 16 game in front of a packed and raucous house in Irving, a suburb of Dallas, had the qualities of a championship boxing match. The Cowboys climbed up off the canvas a couple of times. The Redskins were led by future broadcaster and then quarterback Joe Theisman and the punishing running back John Riggins. The Cowboys decided to play Santa Claus in the early going. Rookie running back Ron Springs and the fireplug Robert Newhouse both fumbled. The Redskins converted both turnovers into points and led early, 10–0. A second-quarter Theisman pass had them down 17–0. As we always say in those situations, because it’s true, there was still a lot of time left and no need to panic. A pair of long second-quarter drives pulled the Cowboys within three at halftime. The second of those was culminated by an amazing Preston Pearson sliding catch in the end zone. That drive was vintage Roger and the Cowboys’ offense that year. Taking possession with just 1:48 to go before halftime and 85 yards to the end zone, he ran the two-minute offense to perfection.

  The third quarter belonged to the Cowboys. Newhouse punched one in from the two-yard line and the defense punched holes in the Redskins’ offensive line. The Cowboys went into the fourth quarter up 21–17. Seemingly in no time, the Redskins rattled off 17 straight points. The backbreaker seemed to be Riggins rumbling 66 yards with just under seven minutes to play, which had the visitors up 34–21. As usual, turnovers were key. Roger threw an interception that led to the first of those fourth-quarter touchdowns. Turnabout is fair play and Randy White recovered a Redskins fumble.

  Roger went to work. From his own 41 and with about four minutes left, he completed a 14-yarder to Butch Johnson, a 19-yarder to Tony Hill, and then a 26-yard scoring pass to Ron Springs. The touchdown had as much to do with tenacity as talent. Springs caught the ball at the five and dragged the defender into the end zone. Not only did he provide points; he saved precious time on the clock.

  Despite giving up 34 points, the defense deserves a lot of credit for the win. Larry Cole threw John Riggins to the turf on a third-down run that set the stage for Roger’s heroics. Taking over at their own 25 and with less than two minutes to go, they got big chunks of the 75 yards needed on the first two plays—completions to Hill for 20 and Preston Pearson for 22. With 1:01 left, Roger hit Pearson for another 25-yarder, putting the team in great position at the Washington eight. On second down from there, Washington chose to blitz. The offensive line picked it up and Roger saw it. He lofted a pass to the deep right corner of the end zone for Tony Hill. It climbed and climbed then settled into the veteran wide receiver’s hands after he beat single coverage.

  For the day, Roger completed 24 of 42 passes for 336 yards and 3 touchdowns. Not stellar completion numbers but the results were then. When he really needed to be on target and unflappable, he was. That was Roger. As Tom Landry later pointed out, Roger had pulled them out of the fire before and that contributed greatly to his and the team’s confidence he would do it again. Much later, in speaking to an interviewer from NFL Films, Landry characterized Roger’s performance as his best ever. In my estimation, the 1972 and 1979 efforts are equal.

  I wish that I could have witnessed the 1979 comeback in person. I was in Japan on assignment with ABC. My body was in Tokyo but my mind was back home. Brad Sham and Charlie Waters took over for me. I relied on my brother Tom, who was also in the booth, to keep me posted. We were on the phone for that final drive, and when the touchdown came, Tom dropped the phone to scream and jump around. He forgot to tell me who caught the pass, a significant detail. He should have been flagged for a delay of game. It took several minutes before I got the details of the victory.

  Greatness comes in many forms and what Roger said after the game demonstrates how great his character was: “They deserve a better fate than to be knocked out of the playoffs,” he said, knowing that because the Bears wiped out the Cardinals the ’Skins lost the wild card due to point differential. “They’re a fine team and played well. It’s a shame that someone had to lose. Both teams played with a lot of emotion.” A cynic might say that Roger resorted to tried-and-true clichés in victory. I know him very well and his words of praise were genuine. Many thought that the Cardinals, with no shot at the playoffs, maybe phoned it in against the Bears. The Redskins seemed a sure bet, win or lose that game, but they went home empty-handed. Well, not completely so; there was another turnover. An anonymous fan had sent a funeral wreath to the Cowboys locker room. After that crushing defeat, Harvey Martin paid his respects by taking that floral arrangement to the Redskins’ locker room. He opened the door and tossed it in. Adding injury to insult, the wreath hit Redskins kicker Mark Moseley in the knee, opening up a small cut. Small cut or large gash didn’t matter; the hurt was the same.

  I wish I could tell you that the Cowboys went on to play in their sixth Super Bowl of the 1970s following that rousing victory. I wish I could tell you that Roger rallied the team from behind in their divisional round game against the Los Angeles Rams. I am glad I can report that Roger Staubach, despite not producing a fourth-quarter comeback in that 21–19 loss, has continued to live happily ever after. In light of what we know now about the effects of concussions on the brains of athletes and others, I’m not going to speculate on what might have been as it pertains to Roger’s decision to end his playing career following that season. Roger told me that he’d made up his mind to retire.

  One of my lasting memories of that loss to Los Angeles is of Roger taking a serious hit and wobbling to the sidelines. Backup quarterback Danny White immediately began throwing. He didn’t enter the game, but it was clear to me that the punishing hit Roger took limited his effectiveness. Like Don Meredith’s last game, Roger’s was anticlimactic. Roger was hit as he threw his final pass of his career. The ball was deflected and hit his own lineman, Herb Scott, in the rear end. So few athletes retire on top with a glorious and unforgettable play enshrined in our memories. As fans or observers it’s hard to let go of our heroes. Imagine how hard it is for the players to let go of the game they love.

  Just days after he retired, Roger confided in me. He said that he was concerned about his health and the effect his concussions might have on him down the line. He’d likely suffered as many as seven of them. He played when tape an aspirin to your forehead was the league’s concussion protocol. We’d talked a bit about them, but Roger had never sounded so concerned before.

  He told Tex of his decision to hang them up. A few weeks later, Tex called him and said that he understood about Roger’s worries. (Keep in mind that this was decades before the medical evidence about CTE we take for granted today was available.) Tex wanted him to reconsider. Not everyone within the organization believed that Danny would be effective as a starting quarterback in the league. Tex offered Roger a substantial raise if he came back for another go.

  Roger considered the offer and eventually told Tex that if Landry wanted him back and called him to tell him as much, he’d return. Roger is still waiting for that call. I’m no mind reader and no psychologist, but it seems to me that Tom was constitutionally incapable of making that kind of request of a player. I’ve also wondered if Roger knew that as well. Tom wasn’t one to kowtow to any player. I’m sure he thought that he was a strong enough coach that he could lead the team back to the playoffs and the team’s accustomed perch atop the league.

  In hindsight, I’m glad that Tom didn’t reach out to Roger. I’m sad for the team, for the game, but seeing Roger enjoying his retirement free of any effects of chronic traumatic encephalopathy is a real blessing. I’m sorry that so many players have suffered from pursuing their passion. It pains me to know that some individuals put profit and winning ahead of player safety. Whether that was willful or benign neglect doesn’t really matter as far as treatment, prevention, and restitution go. I was fortunate to make a great living and to enjoy the heck out of covering a great sport. That a shadow has been cast over the sport deeply troubles me. I hope that minds greater than mine are at work on ways to mitigate the problems. I don’t like thinking of a sports world without
the game of football in it.

  Chapter Five

  New Horizons

  In 1992 I was at my first Olympics in Albertville, France, working with Scotty Hamilton. This assignment for me was at least as big as getting the Cowboy radio job. We were at practice one afternoon and Scott looked up in the corner of the auditorium, the ice rink. He pointed toward Paul Wiley, Nancy Kerrigan, and Kristi Yamaguchi of the U.S. team. He wanted to go up and say hello to them. He wondered if I knew any of them and I told him I didn’t. Scott made the introduction to the two women first. Nancy would go on to finish third and Kristi won the gold medal. Paul, a real underdog, wound up earning silver in the men’s competition. (That’s still one of my favorite Olympic moments ever.)

  By way of introduction Scott said, “Paul, I don’t think you know Verne.”

  Paul shook his head and smiled. “Oh,” he said, “I know Verne. He just doesn’t know me.”

  I looked at Paul and was puzzled for a moment trying to figure out a possible connection between us.

  He went on: “I grew up in Dallas. I grew up watching him on Bowling for Dollars.”

  I groaned inside.

  Well, the girls went crazy. What the hell was that all about? And we laughed and had a giggle about it.

  I’ve always referred to myself as an accidental sportscaster. As you’ve seen, from childhood on, I had an interest in radio. That eventually evolved into an interest in television but I didn’t grow up fantasizing about becoming a nationally known sports guy. In some respects, then, it’s fitting that while I became a television and radio personality in and around Dallas, I’m probably best known among a segment of the population for hosting that franchised game show–sports program called Bowling for Dollars. I can’t tell you the number of times, and often under the oddest of circumstances, that someone I’ve met has recalled my hosting that show. Those occasions are humbling, gratifying, mystifying, rewarding, and a bit frustrating.