Play by Play

by Verne Lundquist

  I have to be impartial, and if that statement crossed a line, I can live with that. The young man would later receive death threats and other harassing and denigrating comments from so-called fans. He’d have another kick blocked in the fourth quarter. I hate to mention that, because it may sound as though that’s further justification for him being vilified by some. It doesn’t. It is just flat-out wrong for anyone to express his or her disappointment and anger in that way. We all make mistakes and we should accept criticism for that, but some carry things too far.

  I got criticized on a talk show in Dallas when I was doing the Cowboys. The caller said, “You know, you assume a familiarity with the Cowboys that I find offensive. With the opposition, you always refer to the people on the other side of the ball by their last names or their full names. But you have familiarity with the Cowboys that is irritating and aggravating. It’s never Staubach. It’s always Roger. It’s never Dorsett. It’s always Tony. It’s never Cliff Harris. It’s always Cliff. Or Charlie Waters is Charlie.” And I said, “No, I don’t do that.” And he said, “I challenge you to listen to a tape.” For a while, I didn’t do what he asked. Eventually I did. He was right.

  When Jackie Smith dropped the pass against Pittsburgh in Super Bowl XIII, and I’ve heard it a hundred times, I kind of wince. I did say, “Roger takes the snap and drops back.”

  And later I said, “And Jackie drops it in the end zone, bless his heart.”

  So the guy was right, but I couldn’t see it.

  That’s fair criticism on his part. I took it personally at the time, but it never got out of hand.

  Enough said. I’d rather talk about the great things.

  At 10:42 of the fourth quarter, Auburn’s Steven Clark pinned the Tide deep in their own territory at the one-yard line with a punt. A great play, but that was the second time in a row he’d done that to Alabama, eliciting from me a drawn out “Oh-my-gosh.” I love those moments when an unheralded player, not someone who you think might make a real difference in the game, comes on and seizes the moment.

  Given the score and everything that was on the line, you’d have expected Alabama to play conservatively and run the ball out from beneath the proverbial shadow of their own goal line. Instead, they ran a play-action pass. McCarron faked the run, dropped back to pass. As the ball was in the air I said, “How about this call?” The ball settled into the arms of Amari Cooper, who shrugged off one defender and was gone. How the Tide had turned in the ball game. The longest pass play in Alabama history put them up, 28–21.

  How could you top that?

  Auburn took over following the kickoff with ten minutes remaining in the game. From their own twenty-six, they ran off three plays that netted nine yards. They appeared to be well short, but a measurement was called for to confirm that. While the official did that, Tracy reported from the sidelines that a sewing machine had been brought out so that an Auburn player’s jersey could be repaired. As I told her, I’ve been doing this a long time and I’d never seen that before. From the sublime to the ridiculous.

  “Only in the SEC,” I added.

  Gary asked aloud what he thought Auburn might do.

  “Try to sew it up,” I said.

  Auburn was short of the marker. Facing fourth-and-one from their own 35, they went for it. Gary pointed out that they were the second-ranked rushing team in the nation and agreed with Gus Malzahn’s decision.

  Alabama stopped them.

  Wow. With the game still 28–21, the Crimson Tide took over at the Auburn thirty-five. Even if they gained no yards, they were within field goal range. T. J. Yeldon got them 13 yards closer on a first-down run. He would get them only 9 more on the next two attempts. Auburn’s defense rose up and stopped them for no gain. Facing fourth-and-one from the thirteen-yard line, Saban had a choice: attempt a field goal and extend the lead to ten points or go for it in hopes of administering a potential knockout punch. He went for it. We both agreed that we would have been shocked if he brought in Foster at that point. Gary for the first time made mention of the 9–6 loss. McCarron handed off to T. J. Yeldon. Auburn’s interior line got a great push. Yeldon tried to bounce it outside but couldn’t.

  Auburn ball.

  The Tigers couldn’t move it. A huge sack on a first-down roll-of-the-dice blitz pushed them back to their own five-yard line. Marshall overthrew everybody on second down. On third they went for it all. Ricardo Louis broke free down the right sideline and Marshall saw him. The ball was barely long. No Prayer at Jordan-Hare this time, but miss by just a hair.

  Stephen Clark’s 39-yard punt was returned by Christian Jones 19 yards to the Auburn twenty-five. All the action seemed to be taking place on one end of the field. Could Alabama put it away? A Yeldon rush for no gain, an 8-yard completion to Cooper, a holding call on Alabama, and another incompletion put the ball on the Auburn twenty-seven. It was fourth down and 12. Too risky to try to convert, so Nick Saban sent Foster out onto the field to attempt the 44-yarder. It was blocked. We all love tales of redemption but this was not that story. As I said, “The nightmare continues for Cade Foster.” To make matters worse for Alabama, they put a late hit on the man who recovered the ball. Auburn took over on their own 35 with about two and a half minutes left.

  Auburn, which employed an up-tempo style, managed to get off six running plays in the next minute and a half. From the Alabama thirty-nine, on first down, Marshall faked a handoff up the middle, ran left, and just before reaching the line of scrimmage tossed one to Sammi Coates, who was all alone along the sideline. The frenetic pace, the relentless runs had the Alabama defense back on its heels, and the triple option worked to perfection for Auburn. The roar of the crowd at Jordan-Hare couldn’t resurrect my hair, but it did Auburn’s hopes of advancing to the SEC title game. The extra point knotted it, and most would have expected that the game was going to go to overtime.

  How could you top that?

  Following a short kickoff, twenty-five seconds were left. On first down, McCarron was pressured and had to throw the ball away. On the next play, a draw was good for nine yards. Rather than let the remaining seven seconds run off the clock, Alabama called a time-out. At that point it seemed like a case of no harm, no foul. An interception or a fumble might be ruinous, but this was a veteran Alabama team well schooled in the art of holding on to the ball. In reference to the Prayer at Jordan-Hare, Gary jokingly recommended that Alabama run the “tip play.”

  It seemed unlikely that the game would turn on these last seven seconds, so, as the coaches talked with their players, I filled in the time with a story about the passion of the SEC fan bases. One time Nancy and I were driving from Tuscaloosa to Atlanta. We stopped for lunch in a local eatery in Oxford, Alabama. After our meal, we bought two coffee mugs—an Auburn one and an Alabama one. When we brought them up to the register to pay, the young woman looked at them and then said, “Are these gifts or are you a split family?”

  We laughed. We’d heard the expression before, and knew how true it rang in the Yellowhammer State.

  Things turned more serious as we discussed Cade Foster as he prowled the sideline. Given his troubles in the game, Gary felt that in overtime Alabama would be at a disadvantage. Would they be forced to go for a touchdown instead of a field goal? How would that affect their strategy?

  Out of time-outs, we expected the Hail Mary pass; instead, Yeldon ran right, found some daylight, and was knocked out of bounds by Chris Davis, seemingly in time. He’d picked up 24 yards and got the ball down to the Auburn thirty-eight. The officials, though, signaled that time had run out. I stated again that I thought that he’d crossed the boundary with a second to go. Gary reminded viewers that the call was reviewable. Saban challenged the ruling. While he was conferring with the officials and they were making their determination, Gary said, “If they put one second on, obviously, they’ll get one Hail Mary throw into the end zone.” He wasn’t alone in making a premature statement. The public address announcer, Matt Olsen, announced that the game
was going to overtime. The Auburn faithful held up five fingers, indicating the fifth quarter.

  It wasn’t going to overtime just yet.

  Time dragged on as the play was reviewed. We watched it again in slow-motion replay. Gary believed that time had expired. He said that he saw that Yeldon’s foot was in the air as zeroes showed on the clock. I agreed. The slow-motion replay finally got to the point Gary had mentioned. We were wrong. It showed one second left. Gary reminded viewers that the rules stated that time stopped not when a runner broke an imaginary plane rising from the boundary but when it came down to contact the ground.

  Just as he was correcting himself, the lead official, referee Matt Austin, came on to tell much of America, a Nielsen-rated 11.8, that regulation play was in fact not concluded. The replay official would make the call.

  We waited. Gary brought up the field goal misses. We waited. We reminded viewers that what was at stake was Alabama’s Hail Mary attempt. The possibility to go to Atlanta. A third national championship?

  Our synced split view showed that there was indeed one second left. The replay official concurred. First down Alabama at the Auburn thirty-nine. One second remained.

  While we waited for Alabama’s offense to come out, Gary stated that if any defense in the country should know to knock down a pass that late in the game, it was Auburn’s. They’d seen what happened a few weeks earlier to Georgia’s secondary.

  Gary sounded incredulous when he learned that the kicking team was coming out.

  I was glad that I’d done my homework and so had my spotter. I told viewers that Nick Saban had sent out Adrian Griffin instead of Cade Foster to do the kicking. I remembered that he was a red-shirt freshman out of Calhoun, Georgia. He was 1-for-2 in his career. This was to be his third-ever field goal attempt. (Astute readers will note that it was not Adrian Griffin, as I said on air, but Adam Griffith.)

  Auburn called a timeout. My spotter, Butch Baird, reminded me of the fact that in 1985, Van Tiffen had kicked a 52-yarder to win the Iron Bowl, one of the legendary moments in that great sports tradition. Gary mentioned that a blocked kick could be returned. The ball was snapped, the kick went up, and only then did I mention the presence of Chris Davis. He caught the ball nine yards deep in the end zone just to the right of the left upright and took off. He got a couple of blocks, headed down the right sideline, and was off to Auburn glory.

  “Touchdown Auburn! An answered prayer!” I shouted.

  “There are no flags,” I added.

  My heart skipped a beat. Was that right? Had I fallen victim to the anticipation goblin?

  A moment later I could resume normal operation. There were no flags.

  For a minute and twenty-one seconds Gary and I let the pictures tell the story.

  During that time, Steve Milton, who should have been given an Emmy for his work but was not, made twenty-one camera cuts in which he visually told an absolutely compelling story of victory and defeat. His brilliant sequence of camera cuts ranged from the elation of the Auburn fans to a young kid from Alabama sitting there with a dazed look on his face. The whole camera team captured the moments perfectly.

  I have to give more credit where credit is due. Rob Bramblett of the Auburn IMG Sports Network nailed it. After the game was over, I heard his call. He told his listeners that Davis had gone back deep. He mentioned the possibility of the ball coming up short and being returned. He also let loose with an emotional recounting that was a classic. Do yourself a favor and listen to it sometime. I sent him a text that same night offering my congratulations on a great call.

  After that minute and twenty-one lapsed, Craig said to me, “Let’s start the replay sequence.” The tape rolled and all I said was “You might want to see that again.” And then Gary took over. We only showed it twice. On the second replay, Gary made the observation again that Alabama had chosen to have its protection team on the field. And he said, “Look at the guys who are chasing Chris Davis. No wonder he scored. They’re not real athletes; they’re all big fat guys.” And it was perfect and it was right. You know, they didn’t put an all-speed team out there.

  After the game, I didn’t follow Pat Haden’s advice. I didn’t do the brain dump immediately. None of us did. We all gathered at our trucks parked down at the bottom of a steep hill. We all, the tech crew, the on-camera, everybody, stood around high-fiving one another in amazement at what we’d seen, grateful that we’d been able to witness and bring to people such a great moment in sports.

  Eventually, we had to break it up. The tech guys had hours of work ahead of them. The New York guys had to get to Atlanta to catch a flight home. Gary was headed to the airport, too. Nancy and I would be driving home. Normally, that would be it. We wouldn’t talk much about the game and have our focus on the next one. Not with this one. Nancy and I drove home; instead of going to our apartment, we had a bite to eat at the restaurant in the Ritz-Carlton across the street from our place. To give you some idea of the extravagance of that choice, Nancy and I frequent and love Cracker Barrel restaurants.

  The next day, we all got on the phone and talked about that 2013 Iron Bowl again. It’s funny to me, but if a game is good, then people assume the broadcast was good. If the game is substandard, then we talk about all the things about the broadcast that weren’t up to par. That happens all the time—all the time. So none of us made mention of the fact that we didn’t identify Chris Davis being back there and deep. To show you how that principle of good game/good broadcast works, it wasn’t until I watched the game again that I noticed this omission. If you had asked me after the game, I would have sworn that we had.

  I didn’t kick myself too much over that. I’m human. My only regret, and it’s a very small one, is that I could have had the time to talk a bit more about the kicker I’d misidentified. Not only would I get his name right the first time, but I would have let viewers know that he had a great story as well. He was orphaned in Poland, got adopted by a couple in Georgia when he was thirteen, and earned his way on to the Alabama football team. He was honest about not getting a good leg into that kick. He was the team’s main field goal kicker the following season and got off to a rough start and missed his first four attempts. He turned things around and contributed five field goals in 2014 against Auburn. He contributed greatly in the national championship game with an onside kick that Alabama recovered. Now that’s somebody you can root for.

  And Cade Foster? He was part of two national championship teams. Since then he has gone on to the University of Alabama’s law school. He also had someone rooting for him. Former president George W. Bush sent him a letter of support.

  Over the years, I’ve been asked about my favorite moments in sports. I’ve said that the 2013 Iron Bowl is my favorite SEC game. David Barron writes a media column for the Houston Chronicle and has become a good friend over the years. He called me immediately after the game. “Okay, where do you rank this?”

  And I told him, “It’s tied for second.”

  “Tied for second with what?”

  “Well, Christian Laettner’s winning shot and Tiger’s chip shot at Sixteen.”

  Jack’s putt at 17 in the Masters was still number one.

  A short while later, I read Mike Vaccaro’s column in the New York Post listing eight reasons why the Auburn-Alabama football game played on Saturday might have been the most exciting finish to any sporting event in the history of mankind. It wasn’t that strong, but it was really strong. He also made a great case for his point.

  He made me think, and today I’ll tell you that the 2013 Iron Bowl ranks right up there to be tied with Jack in 1986. Six months later I ran into Mike and we spoke for the first time. He told me he had watched the game while on assignment somewhere. He was in a hotel lobby with strangers, and he said the reaction—and these weren’t die-hard Auburn or Alabama fans—was so striking that he sat down and wrote that column. The reach of that game, the surprising and rare circumstances of its finish, and what was at stake changed my mind. I
t’s a bit crowded atop that greatest-moment-I’ve-covered podium. I don’t think that Jack will mind sharing with the 2013 squads from Alabama and Auburn. Unless he thinks his 2013 Ohio State Buckeyes should have been in the BCS bowl.

  I wouldn’t be surprised.

  Chapter 15

  Matters of Consequence

  In the end, the games matter.

  Enough said.

  Perhaps nowhere is that clearer than in my experience covering the Army-Navy football game. The 2016 edition was the last game I covered. That it was, seemed entirely fitting. Ever since I was a kid listening on the radio, that traditional rivalry struck a chord in my heart. The game being held post-Thanksgiving on a Saturday seemed appropriate. A battle between two military academies coming on the heels of a celebration of gratitude seemed entirely appropriate. Though I was only five years old when the hostilities of World War II ended, I came of age during a period when that group of men and women went quietly about the business of firmly establishing our nation as a beacon of hope. The Army-Navy game served as a reminder of the great sacrifice many members of the Greatest Generation made to my freedom and my prosperity.

  For many years, the football mattered greatly as well. Though I don’t have clear recollections of the games in 1944 and 1945, those two years Army came into the game ranked number one in the country and Navy number two. Army won each time in games of great consequence. I have a far clearer recollection of the 1963 game. Shortly after I helped in our coverage of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, his widow, Jacqueline, influenced the two academies decision to hold the game despite talks of its cancellation. President Kennedy, of course, was a Navy man himself, having served heroically in the war aboard PT-109. That game was moved back to December 7, fittingly Pearl Harbor Day. In Philadelphia’s Municipal Stadium, 102,000 people gathered as did millions more via radio and television. As Roger Staubach, the quarterback of the Navy squad who came into the game ranked number two in the country later recalled, the game was as much a tribute to the country’s fallen leader as it was a sporting event. It helped the nation heal.