On the next play he dropped back and then fired it toward Exley. It hit their left-side linebacker right between the numbers, but he didn’t have the hands to hold on to it. The ball popped into the air and a few people batted it around but it landed on the turf.
I called a draw play, but Spivey changed it at the line. He tried a deep pass to Anders on the left, but it sailed way over his head and out-of-bounds. The crowd was starting to chant, “We want Jesse! We want Jesse!”
Now it was third and 10. I called the same play we’d hit earlier to the tight end, only this time I wanted it run on the other side. The tight end goes in motion and runs the pattern from a yard or two off the line of scrimmage. It looks like it could be a running play to that side and that’s what I hoped the Raiders would be looking for, even if it was third and 10. Everything worked to perfection; the tight end was wide open, but Spivey, his face red as a football, hit him in the ankles.
Now it was fourth and 10 from the Raiders 37. We could try a 54-yard field goal, but our kicker was sitting on the bench with a badly bruised back. So Coach Engram, wanting to spare Jesse, sent in Dever. He missed it short and wide left.
Four minutes left in the third quarter now, and the Raiders had the ball near midfield with us still down 26 to 0.
You could feel something essential sapping out of everybody. Even up in the booth I could feel it. When you get to that point in a game, nothing keeps you playing but pride and heart. It’s not stubbornness. If it was just that, there’d be more violence; nobody would bother to play by the rules. Most of the time players stay out there and do what each play calls them to do, giving every single ounce of energy on each play, even when it’s completely useless. The game is over. What keeps them playing is heart and pride and a refusal to admit defeat even in the certain face of it. That’s what makes football so heroic. Only sometimes, when you’re not playing well and you know you can play better, and the weather’s in your face, and you’re beaten down so far you need to take a deep breath just to regain the energy to take another one, you can get to a place where defeat is in everything you do—the way you walk; the way you carry your head; hell, the way you stand on the sideline.
I could see that was happening to us. Head down, Coach Engram kicked the mud clods at his feet. Normally he paced, but not now. Now he just stood there. And when I said through the mike, “Keep your head up, Coach,” he ignored me.
Bayne was exhorting the defense, standing on the field sometimes, signaling to them. But the Raiders kept the pressure on, moving down the field, eating up the clock with short passes to their running backs, quick strikes over the middle to the tight end. They marched it all the way to our 12-yard line.
And then, something rather extraordinary happened. Orlando Brown intercepted a pass.
They had their tight end wide open again, but Orlando jumped into the air, knocked the ball back, then ran under it and pulled it in. He galloped 88 yards the other way for a touchdown. Nobody could catch him, as he galloped nearly 10 yards with each stride.
Dever kicked the extra point, and suddenly, with all of 1:30 left in the third quarter, we had a little life in us.
We kicked off (short, unfortunately; Dever was still out of his groove from that missed field goal), and the Raiders kick returner broke through our special teams and ran it out to their 48-yard line. Coach Engram threw his clipboard down in a fit of disgust. Two plays later, our cornerback on the right side, Colin Briggs, fell down, and the Raiders hit a 52-yard pass to their All-Pro wide receiver Jeremiah Stubbs. Briggs had been corralling Stubbs all day; held him to two short receptions, but he slipped in the mud and that was that. Now it was 32 to 7. The third quarter ended after the Raiders kicked the extra point.
We trailed 33 to 7 going into the fourth quarter. The crowd was still chanting, “We want Jesse! We want Jesse!” I was surprised how many of them remained for this debacle. Usually, most fans filed out midway through the third quarter if the team had fallen behind by more than three touchdowns.
And then I saw Coach Engram go over to Jesse. She got up and started throwing behind the bench. The crowd went wild.
“What’s going on?” I said into the mike.
Coach Engram said, “Can you get your ass down here?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“She’s going back in, damn it.”
“Is she all right?”
“She wants you down here. Bring your mike and transmitter.”
As I rounded up what I’d need and headed for the door, everybody in the booth was wishing me luck.
Twenty-Two
Coach Engram called the plays while I was on the way down to the sideline, having to go down several long switchbacks and stairways deep in the bowels of the stadium to get out to the field. My headset on, I heard him tell her to hold on to the ball. At some point, as I ran along, though, I realized my reception was going out. Still I could hear the crowd roar when Jesse trotted onto the field—it shook the building—and then the public address speakers bellowing her name. I ran down the “up” escalator steps because they were the first stairway I came to, and the elevators, which I had no intention of waiting for anyway, were all the way on the other side of the stadium. There was a long hallway I had to get to before I could even begin to descend all the way to the field. Through the headset, badly breaking up now, I could just barely hear the first play Coach Engram called. Knowing the Raiders would be expecting us to pass, he had her run a quick draw play. I heard the public address announcer say that Mickens got 15 yards.
Now the crowd roared again, even more deafening. The announcer said, “Pass to Anders complete for five yards.” So he had her throwing. It was her first completion in the NFL and I’d missed it. Not that I didn’t see it a hundred times on ESPN later. Hell, they still play it, even these days.
Adrenaline pumped through me so hard, I felt I could fly down those stairs. It’s a wonder I didn’t fall and break my neck. The headset I wore was now useless. I could not hear a thing. The crowd roared again. “Pass complete to Mickens for ten yards,” from the sound system. “First down Redskins.”
As I got to the ramp leading down to the first level my headset came back. I heard Engram say, “Coach Granger’s coming.” Then he called another sweep to the left.
Again the crowd cheered. “Mickens off tackle for seven yards,” the announcer said.
Finally reaching the tunnel, I sprinted out to the field and saw through the players lined up on the sideline that, though the front of Jesse’s uniform was almost black with mud, the back was spotless. Clearly nobody had knocked her down.
She must not have known I was there yet, as she hurried the team up to the line and called a play of her own—a quick out to Anders that gained 12 yards.
I was surprised to see how hard the rain pelted down. Jesse had us at the Raiders’ 38-yard line, second and 10. She’d overthrown Mickens coming out of the backfield. They were in the offensive huddle, and as I walked up the sideline, I tried to signal her. She brought the team to the line again, called the signals loud and clear, dropped back, and looked downfield. Exley flew up the right sideline, and Jesse, planting her back foot, looked to the left of the field first, to freeze the safety, then fired it on a line right to Exley’s left shoulder. It was like that first time I saw her on the beach, when she hit that guy on the jet ski. Exley just reached up and gently pulled the ball down, never even breaking stride, and ran it right into the end zone. We had 12 minutes left and after Dever kicked the extra point it was 33 to 14. The crowd was really into it now. You couldn’t hear yourself think.
Jesse came back to the sideline, not even slightly out of breath. She took off her helmet and we screamed over the crowd noise at each other about what we’d try to do when she got back on the field. “We gotta be quick,” I told her. “Use the middle of the field.”
“I know.”
“They’ll expect us to try for quick sideline passes to get out-of-bounds and save time. The middle wil
l be open.”
Engram went to Bayne and told him to get the defense to play, by god, and then he came over to us.
We talked about another deep ball to Exley, or maybe a quick slant to Anders and a lateral to Exley or Mickens. The excitement was so frantic and noisy, I can’t really tell you which plays we talked about with Jesse. Those baby blues of hers were on fire, though, I can tell you that. Her blood was up. I suggested a screen to Mickens might work, and Jesse said she wanted to throw the Double XY Corner, though she had to yell it twice before we realized what she was calling for.
Now, even if you’re not interested in football, you have to pay attention to how this play worked. Essentially, it’s a deep corner route to Exley. He and Anders would run deep post patterns at first, both bending to the middle deep, so that it looked like a crossing pattern. Then, just as the corner and safety committed to that move, Jesse would throw it high, way behind Exley—in fact, the ball would be over the wrong shoulder, so that he had to turn back, which he could do on a dime, and break to the ball. Sometimes, when that play worked, the defensive back and the safety would fall on their asses. It was a dangerous play, though, because Darius would have to be sure-footed as a doe in that slop, and the quarterback had to throw it exactly right so that it dropped down out of the sky at the right spot near the corner, at just the right moment, as the wide receiver got to it. When it works, it’s one of the prettiest plays in football, but we’d only run it in practice a few times, and I wasn’t even sure we’d ever practiced it with Jesse.
We were still talking about what we’d do when Drew Bruckner intercepted a short pass and ran it back to the 5-yard line. In the din of the cheering crowd, Jesse put her helmet back on and went out with the offense. I donned my headset and turned on my transmitter, but before I could even start to talk, Jesse’d called a middle trap fake and rollout pass to Gayle Glenn Louis, the tight end. He was wide open and she flipped it to him for a second touchdown pass in less than 5 minutes. This time, Jesse kicked the extra point bringing the score to 33 to 21.
Only people who were there can describe how loud it got. I don’t think I’d heard that many people screaming all at once. Or ever have since. You just have no idea. The crowd’s roar seemed to have wind; you could almost feel the breath of all those people screaming for Jesse.
With 9 minutes left in the game, we kicked off. There was some talk of an onside kick, but Coach Engram didn’t want to take a chance in that mud. The Raiders got the ball at their 23 and started up the field, trying to take some time off the clock with a few sweeps and rollout passes to the backs. In six plays they were at midfield, and the crowd had quieted down a bit, which still left the stadium plenty noisy.
On second and 6 from their own 49, the Raiders tried a flare pass to their fullback, a play they hadn’t run all year. It was definitely a smart thing to do, but the back sort of flipped the ball up in the air, almost as if he wanted to cradle it, and it jumped up out of his arms right into the waiting hands of Orlando Brown, his second interception of the day. He fell down at the 16-yard line, trying to get to the end zone, but now we had the ball deep in Raider territory again.
Jesse went back out there, and this time I could talk to her. I called a quick slant to Anders on the left. The play is designed to free up either Anders or Mickens, who runs to that side out of the backfield. But Anders was so quick and Jesse got the ball to him at the 5-yard line. He hit the safety, kept his feet, and spun his way across the goal line. Again the crowd exploded. Jesse kicked the extra point, and now, with 5:15 left, the score was 33 to 28. Jesse had thrown only seven passes. One she overthrew. One was intercepted. She completed five. Three went for touchdowns.
Now the Raiders showed that they were champions. They took the kickoff out to the 31-yard line. Then they started moving the ball methodically down the field. With short runs, quick passes to the backs, and a 12-yard completion on third and 8 near midfield, they used up most of what was left of the clock and we had to use all of our time-outs.
With 2:30 left they were on our 18-yard line. It was second and seven. They ran another sweep toward Orlando and gained another 3 yards. Then they let the clock get down to the two-minute warning. On third and 4, they ran an off-tackle play that got awful close, but Rack and Leedom stopped it only inches short of a first down. They let the clock run down as far as they could and then sent the field goal team onto the field.
I thought it was over, and so did everybody else. But the kicker slipped in the wet turf and shanked the ball to the left of the upright.
It was our ball, first and 10 on the 20-yard line.
Jesse looked at me with those icy blues, put her helmet on, and trotted onto the field. The crowd held its breath, it seemed. Or maybe it was just me. Coach Engram came up next to me. “She going to run it?” he said.
“Not yet.”
“What’d you call?”
“Nothing. But I know what she’s going to do.”
I did know. I could tell by the look in her eyes. The Double XY Corner wouldn’t work from that place on the field. She had to get us out to near midfield. So she called two plays in the huddle. The first play was a three-quarter post to Anders. She took a seven-step drop, set up, and the line blocked furiously, forming a very nice pocket around her. She stepped up when Anders made his move and fired the ball on a line, 25 yards downfield, right into his hands. He dodged the safety and ran another 5 yards before the cornerback dragged him down. The ball was on the 50. Everybody ran to get in position for another play. The clock was under a minute now, ticking away. We always practiced getting back in position in a hurry and the men knew how to do it, but it seemed to take an eternity. Some had to drag themselves up out of the mud; some had to gather themselves and run after such strenuous exertion they could barely stand up.
Anyway, they got into position. Jesse came to the line and spiked the ball to stop the clock. One of the offensive linemen wasn’t in position when she did that and we were penalized 5 yards. Coach Engram shook his head and glared at me in frustration. I nodded, but I was smiling. I think it was beginning to hit me right then what I had been witnessing; what had happened to me and our team and the NFL and America. I was smiling like a man who’s won the lottery.
After the penalty we were on our 45-yard line. It was first and 15 with 38 seconds left. Jesse came to the line and started calling signals. I could see she didn’t like what she saw—the two safeties were playing in a deep zone—so she changed the play. She tried a quick out to Mickens about 10 yards down the field, but the pass got to him too quick and bounced off the edge of his fingers and hit the turf. It didn’t even bounce. It just plopped into the thick mud and roiled grass.
Second and 15. Jesse took her time in the huddle this time. I still had not called a play and she didn’t communicate with me at all.
On second down, she dropped back three steps and fired it to Exley on a quick out right. It should have gotten about 10 or even 15 yards, but he slipped as he was making his cut, and fell down just after the ball got there. He got hit almost immediately but managed to get out-of-bounds. The play only gained 4 yards. It was third and 11. We had no more time-outs and now only 26 seconds remained in the game.
Again Jesse took her time. The rain started to ease off a bit, and a small hole in the clouds let in some late afternoon sunlight. I’ll never forget how that light glistened off those wet, dark burgundy helmets as the offense broke the huddle.
Jesse walked up to the line, bent over center, looking at the defense. This time she stuck with the play she’d called, and I knew what it was. At the snap of the ball she dropped back, a full seven-step drop. She stood there, her feet planted, hopping slightly, watching downfield. The pass rush was furious—a blitz from the middle linebacker that Mickens picked up beautifully—and Delbert Coleman, who bull-rushed then twisted away from our tackle and came free, lunged at Jesse, but she quickly stepped to the side a bit, then up into the pocket and Coleman went by. Just as another Raider
lineman reached for her, she released the ball so quickly it looked like it was shot out of her arm. But it didn’t go on a line. It floated in a high, sweet arch toward the corner of the end zone, and Exley, all alone, trotted under it and let it drop into his hands. It was like ballet. One of the most beautiful things I ever saw. Both the cornerback and the safety had slipped down in the mud, and Exley only had to make sure he got to where the ball was.
What followed was bedlam. I thought that crowd would stay crazy for the rest of their lives. To this day, I’ve never heard such ecstatic noise. It was louder than it had been that whole day. Fans came from out of the ground it seemed. They covered the field, and the players all stood around wondering what to do. Jesse had trotted back to the bench after the throw and a bunch of players gathered around her to hug her and protect her from the onrush of fans.
It took nearly a half an hour to clear the field so Jesse could kick the extra point. Coach Engram never would let Jesse kick off, so with 16 seconds left Dever kicked it deep—his blood was up, too—and the Raiders didn’t get it out past their own 20. Our defense trotted out and held for two desperate plays and the gun sounded.
We won the game 35 to 33. Dan Wilber picked Jesse up on his shoulders and with the others crowded around walked her off the field. Even Coach Engram tried to get in on it. Jesse was high on Dan’s shoulders, waving her arms at the crowd and the players all crowded around her. You’d have thought we won the Super Bowl.
And thus began the brief, heartbreaking career that became the legend of Jesse Smoke.
Twenty-Three
By Wednesday of that week, Coach Engram was on the cover of Sports Weekly with Jesse under his arm—under his arm, like his girlfriend—and in big yellow lettering underneath the photo a banner read: REDSKINS SWEETHEART WORKS A MIRACLE. Under that, in more conventional lettering: COACH JONATHON ENGRAM AND HIS COURAGEOUS DISCOVERY.
Sports Weekly always liked that sort of ambiguity; they might be saying Jesse was Coach Engram’s discovery and that she was courageous. Or that he was courageous for discovering her. No matter how you looked at it, the magazine was giving him credit for “finding” the “jewel that is the first female NFL player in history.”
The Legend of Jesse Smoke Page 17