Cowboys vs. Vikings, 26 years ago come Dec. 28
dallasnews.com years later,
answered prayer hails memories
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I was standing in the press box at Metropolitan Stadium in Bloomington, Minn., 25 years ago to the day when Roger Staubach and Drew Pearson connected on the most famous play in Cowboys history. Even as all-time fabled, the Hail Mary pass was nearly overshadowed by bizarre events that included a civilian kicking at a Dallas receiver, referee escorted from the field with a bloody forehead, debate over the legality of the winning touchdown and unwelcome intrusion of death itself.
I normally remain seated during games and take careful notes in case of defeat. Coaches then can review my data and correct mistakes.
Actually, I was on my feet for a simple reason. The game was over. The Minnesota Vikings had the Cowboys beaten in a first-round playoff with less than one minute to play, 14-10. My next stop would be the somber Cowboys locker room. To get there, writers had to descend through stands packed by local fans filled with good cheer.
Evident victory and doses of 86-proof antifreeze accounted for the crowd's festive spirit. The day was bright and balmy by Minnesota standards. Temperature settled in the mid-20s over a firm, fast field laid out amid the imprint of a baseball diamond that was home to the Minnesota Twins.
So I was standing to get a head start on postgame interviews. En route down any aisle, I'd face waves of fans leaving in an opposite direction. If delayed too long, I might miss a snappy quote from Doug Dennison.
Yet I was also visited by a grim memory of once leaving the press box too soon. This dated to a 1972 playoff between the Cowboys and San Francisco 49ers. To reach locker rooms at Candlestick Park in those days required a walk halfway around the stadium rim behind the stands to an elevator in the end zone, a descent to ground level and through a tunnel to reach the field.
With the Cowboys behind, 28-16, and punting with four-odd minutes left, a group of us began that long trek in which our view of the field was blocked. We got as far as entrance to the tunnel leading to the field. There a stubborn security guard refused to allow further progress. Meanwhile, a guy with a transistor radio exclaimed that, while we were away, so to say, the Cowboys won the game, 30-28.
I faced a first-time professional experience. It left me tugging at the sleeves of players to whisper, "Ah, can you tell me how you scored two TDs I didn't see to win?"
I saw everything this time, and what I saw defies imagination a quarter-century later. Initial strain on the senses was finding the Cowboys there. This was a wild-card team, a roster choked with 12 rookies known as The Dirty Dozen and held together by veteran glue from guys like Lee Roy Jordan and Rayfield Wright.
Coach Tom Landry had dusted off the shotgun formation to fit his agile quarterback, Staubach, but no one projected his entry as a playoff threat. Even I picked them to finish third in the NFC East. Selective memory recalls it as the last poor prediction I ever made.
The Vikings were superior in talent, judged over time as better than four Minnesota teams that lost Super Bowls. Fran Tarkenton and the Purple People Eaters were in their prime. Thus it was no surprise that the Vikings, an eight-point favorite, led 14-10 on a late fourth-quarter touchdown when a series of astonishing events unfolded.
First came a play few celebrate, despite the fact it worked against a trifecta of odds against completion of a fourth-and-17 pass because: 1) there's about a 10 percent ratio of success on that down and distance; 2) the receiver had been shut out until the final l:51 of the game, and 3) he landed out of bounds after catching the ball.
AP
Cowboys receiver Drew Pearson (left) cradles Roger Staubach's "Hail Mary Pass" against his hip during the 1975 NFC Divisional Playoff game against the Vikings.
Yet Staubach's 25-yard pitch to Pearson clicked to reach midfield. Drew leaped to gather the pass, but the force of cornerback Nate Wright's tackle drove him across the sideline stripe. Officials ruled Drew would have gotten both feet inbounds without the momentum of Wright's hit.
Only one Viking disputed the call. A security guard near the Minnesota bench flailed at Drew's prone form with his right foot. He swung his right foot in disgust and missed in a futile foretaste of what was to come two plays later.
Minnesota still had the game in hand. Dallas reached the 50, but with only 36 seconds left, the situation played to the wiles of pass-rusher Alan Page and interceptor-deluxe free safety Paul Krause, both future Hall of Famers. Fate instead chose luckless Wright as a second-time foil.
On second down, from a shotgun set, Staubach faded to pass. He pump-faked once to his left to decoy Krause. Then he threw deep toward the right corner of the field where Wright alone had coverage on Pearson.
"It was a Hail Mary pass," said Staubach, a description by which the play would be known forever.
Pearson and Wright bumped. No doubt about contact as both broke stride to make a play on a ball that was coming in short. Wright fell. Pearson kept his feet and the ball, which he trapped against his right hip. He ran into the end zone and threw the football high against the scoreboard, receiving credit for a touchdown and ground-rule double.
But wait. I saw a streak of color sailed past Pearson as he made the catch. Was it a flag for offensive pass interference? No, an orange hurled from the stands. Nor was it the last thing thrown by a fan.
The Vikings howled that Pearson pushed off Wright. They still do. I've seen film of that catch at least 10 times and can't detect Drew committing an obvious foul with a hip check or elbow nudge.
What I remember next was eerie silence. A crowd of 48,341 sat stunned and mute. It was so quiet you could hear a snowflake hit the ground.
There was more to come before a 17-14 Cowboys victory reached surreal climax. The next item to hit anyone was a whisky bottle launched from the stands. It landed flush on the forehead of referee Armen Terzian, who dropped in his tracks with blood spurting from the wound. He left the field bandaged and bewildered.
Sudden death intruded, but not in the manner of an extra period. No one knew during the game of an event that had occurred in Savannah, Georgia. A retired Methodist minister died there peacefully in a chair watching the Cowboys-Vikings playoff.
Minnesota officials waited until postgame interviews were complete to tell their quarterback that his father had passed away. The Rev. Tarkenton Sr. supplied the day's final irony when his full name led the death notice. His first name: Dallas. |
