by Mark Bowden
It’s a big play, and it’s gone a long way toward keeping the Eagles in the game, but there’s more excitement about it in the broadcast booth than there is on the field. Back on the bench, Reggie isn’t even aware that his surge is what stopped the play. He knows he got a good push coming off the line, but that’s nothing new for Reggie. As far as he’s concerned, Ken and William made the stop. And it’s not a particularly up moment at all. After all the speechifying and loud resolution of the halftime locker room, they’ve come out to turn over the ball and give up another big play to the Saints, and have dug themselves into an even deeper hole. New Orleans is denied the first down, but Morten Andersen kicks a forty-two-yard field goal to give New Orleans a 20—7 lead. None of the boys in white and green are ready to give up, but prospects are looking bleaker and bleaker. For the veterans, there’s a familiar creepy feeling in the pit of their stomachs. The Superdome rocks with music and dance.
“Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?” the crowd is singing, “Who dat? Who dat?”
The party goes on.
Andersen boots the kickoff out of the end zone, and the Eagles’ offense manages to pick up only five yards on the next series and has to punt it away. With the third quarter almost two-thirds complete, Bud’s defense takes the field once more. The Saints can seal victory here by making a few more first downs, hanging on to the ball right into the fourth quarter.
First and ten (Saints’ twenty-five): You’d figure Mora would play conservatively here. But the theme of this game, announced on the failed opening bomb, is the opposite. Indeed, the Saints now try the same post pattern they tried to open the game, sending veteran receiver Quinn Early racing down the right sideline one step ahead of little Mark McMillian. The first time, Eric was playing a deep zone designed to help Mark out on a post route, but Eric hadn’t moved over quickly enough. Only a badly thrown pass had prevented a touchdown.
This time, anticipating a return to just this play, Bud has switched up the zone assignments. He’s got both Rich Miano and Mark sandwiching the post pattern, with Mark deep and Rich underneath. Eric is playing deep backfield again, and this time he recognizes the route and moves into position. Hebert sees the double coverage and decides to throw the ball away, but he doesn’t see Eric waiting deep downfield. The ball floats high and far, and Eric waits underneath like Willie Mays fielding batting practice. He makes a basket catch.
And once more, the Eagles’ defense gives Randall and Richie a chance to climb back into the game. If the offense doesn’t do anything on this drive, they will have repeated the Eagles’ standard formula for defeat—Buddy’s Boys get the job done; the offense falls flat. The heat is on.
First and ten (Eagles’ thirty-eight): Randall’s first read on this pass play is Fred, who is wide open about fourteen yards upfield— New Orleans is now giving Fred lots of room, an opportunity Richie wants to exploit. But Randall has been hit too many times today by the rush from Antone’s direction, and even though his big right tackle has linebacker Jackson squarely blocked this time, the quarterback just dumps the ball quickly to Heath, his secondary receiver, without even looking for Fred. The Saints have the play covered. By all rights, Heath should be dropped for a loss. But he shrugs off the tackle and runs eight yards down the right sideline before getting pushed out-of-bounds.
Second and two (Eagles’ forty-six): In high school, they used to call Heath “Gopher,” because of the way his squat, bowlegged body would disappear into a pileup of big grappling linemen, and then, moments later, emerge out the back end still churning forward. On this play he plunges straight into the roiling battle of bigbodies and squirts out the back end two-to-three yards upfield.
On the sidelines, Zeke wonders to himself, How’d he do that?
Heath is a big surprise. Despite all the Eagles’ well-publicized efforts in the off-season to secure a first-rate ballcarrier, using two top draft picks to obtain Siran Stacy and Tony Brooks, and then humoring Norman by shelling out more than a million to sign Herschel, it turns out the team’s premier running back for ’92 was already on the roster. Sherman will finish the season averaging 5.2 yards per carry, more than a yard better than Herschel. Neither Stacy nor Brooks will carry the football even once (both proved to be strictly draft-day wonders, and would be gone within two seasons). When the season started, though, everybody figured that Heath was as good as gone, but the taciturn little Texan had thrived under the pressure. He had taken up a daily thirty-mile cycling regimen in the off-season that had built up his legs and stamina, and was impressive enough over the summer to win at least a fourth-string job. When Richie started throwing him in at midseason to spell Herschel, Heath ran so brilliantly it was hard to justify keeping him on the bench. With his distinctly canine, fourpoint running style, the man they called Wolf had been the offensive hero of that all-important Redskins game the week before, and here he’s about to play the same role.
First and ten (Eagles’ forty-nine): Fred was so wide open on the previous first-down play, Richie calls it again, this time out of a different formation. But Randall, again, doesn’t even look for his primary receiver, even though Fred is moving once more into a wide-open zone. At halftime everybody was after Randall to throw the ball more to Keith, so—dammit!—throw the ball to Keith he will. This time the tight end hangs on somehow even though he’s got two defenders draped all over him. A four-yard gain. The Eagles are moving the ball, but Richie and Zeke are growing more and more irritated with their superstar quarterback.
Second and six (Saints’ forty-seven): Richie decides to attack Swilling head-on again, sending Heath around the left side behind pulling guard Daryle Smith and Keith Byars. Smith cuts Swilling down with another well-aimed low block, and Heath runs for nine more yards, once more vindicating the game plan—Stick to the plan.
First and ten (Saints’ thirty-eight): Slot-ace-right-SLIP, a two-tight-end, two-wide-receiver, one-back formation (ace) with both a split and slot receiver to the right (slot-right), and the slot receiver in motion away from the formation’s strength (SLIP). The play calls for a screen pass, right side. The motion of the slot receiver is designed to pull one potential tackler out of the zone to the left, leaving the Saints down one defender and the Eagles up one blocker (the second tight end). The play is also designed to exploit Rickey Jackson’s tendency to chase too far upfield after the quarterback. It works well. Again, the ball goes to Heath—Richie is a believer in the “hot hand” theory, and Wolfie is hot. Heath catches the pass and races sixteen yards up the sideline, right in front of his teammates, and then, instead of stepping out-of-bounds when confronted by two tacklers—the way high-priced NFL talent does more and more these days—he lowers his head and refuses to yield, crashing into them full speed ahead, leading with helmet and pads, sending both of them flying. Heath has the breath knocked out of him—he winds up with his head down, gasping for air—but his grit has fired up his teammates. Jimmy Mac steps out on the field and just points in silent homage at the running back.
A chant goes up from the Eagles’ bench, “Wolfie! Wolfie! Wolfie!”
“Way to play the game, Wolf!” shouts David Archer.
Heath has to sit down for a couple of plays. He doesn’t know it, but he’s done it. He’s ignited the engine. Everybody on offense out on the field can feel it. Dave Alexander feels it as he summons his teammates back to the huddle—Dammit, Heath at least is bringing the heat, he’s going to do every little thing he can to win this football game!
The bird is in flight.
First and ten (Saints’ twenty-two): Guard Brian Baldinger executes an “oh, shit!” block, as in the exclamation that escapes his lips when he looks back to see the linebacker he was supposed to block (Vaughan Johnson), but completely missed, wrapping up Herschel for a one-yard loss. The exultant linebacker kneels over the runner pumping his fists.
Baldinger, looking back, cups his hands over the face mask of his helmet.
Second and eleven (Saints’ twenty-three): Rand
all rolls a few steps to his right (a waggle) and fires a pass at Calvin, who just drops it.
Third and eleven (Saints’ twenty-three): Richie steps out on the field to shout the play to Randall, “Red-flex-right-TIP,” shotgun formation with a running back on either side of Randall (red), with the tight end widened out to the right (flex), and then coming in motion to the left before the snap (TIP). It’s another screen, but Keith misses his block and Randall ends up ducking and dodging the rush. Instead of taking off on foot or throwing the ball away, the quarterback risks all by firing the ball upfield to Heath, who has three defenders grouped around him. It’s a heedless and foolhardy roll of the dice—a Randall specialty—in a situation where the Eagles desperately need to capitalize on their field position for at least a field goal. The ball is nearly intercepted, but not.
Richie and Zeke resist the urge to throttle Randall on the sidelines as Roger Ruzek boots a forty-yard field goal. The score is now 20—10, and the third quarter is just about complete.
“You just sorta—at least I do, John—get the sensation that the Eagles’ level of intensity is rising and the Saints are just leveling off,” says Summerall.
“I think what you have here is intensity driven by urgency,” says Madden.
As the fourth quarter begins, Bud’s defense again stops the Saints in three plays, and New Orleans is forced to punt. Vai Sikahema makes a strong twelve-yard runback, giving the offense good field position for the crucial drive.
“The Eagles had better get something done,” says Madden. There are fourteen minutes, forty-five seconds, remaining. The Eagles can’t afford anymore to grind their way patiently upfield. They’re going to need at least one touchdown and a field goal to tie the game. It’s big-play time.
First and ten (Eagles’ thirty-six): Richie decides to try to hit Fred long again down the right sideline, but the Saints, burned once by Fred’s speed, are backing well off, giving the Eagles’ star receiver lots of room. He’s well covered, and the ball is nearly intercepted by diving safety Keith Taylor. Fred trips over the defender and goes sprawling into the end zone as the ball bounces away.
“They have to take that shot,” says Madden, the unflagging Fred Barnett fan. “They have to keep taking that shot. They took it in the first half and it was a seven-point shot.”
Second and ten (Eagles’ thirty-six): Right back at Swilling, a screen pass to the left. Heath gets just five yards this time before the cornerback knocks him down.
Third and five (Eagles’ forty-one): At this critical moment, Randall runs to escape the pass rush and fires an amazingly accurate, hard pass eight yards up the sidelines to Calvin, who snares it for the first down. It’s the kind of pass that makes Zeke, the old quarterback, just shake his head with wonder. “It’s like a missile,” he says later, admiring it on videotape. “There’s not another arm in the league that can throw the ball like that. And that’s not a heavy ball. It’s got so many revs [revolutions] on it, it’s easy to catch, not a slow-moving rock.”
One minute you could kill Randall; the next you could kiss him. So much skill, so little judgment. But the league is full of quarterbacks with great judgment and pedestrian skills.
First and ten (Eagles’ forty-nine): Heath slips a tackle in the backfield, cuts back to his left, and scoots seven yards straight ahead.
Second and three (Saints’ forty-four): Heath bangs out another two.
“Wolfie! Wolfie! Wolfie!” goes the chant from the Eagles’ bench.
Third and one (Saints’ forty-two): Keith runs a little option route from his tight-end spot. If the Saints are in zone coverage, he’s supposed to trot out about four yards and squat. If they’re in man coverage, he’s supposed to slant across the middle of the field underneath his defender. Earlier in the game he’d blown it, misreading the coverage and squatting short of the first down. This time, Keith reads man coverage and runs the slant, and Randall throws him the ball for a seven-yard gain—just like the thing is drawn up in the playbook. Tank hops up and spins the football on the turf like a top, as if to say As easy as that!
When simple plays like this work, it reaffirms the Coach’s-Eye View—if players can just execute the play as designed, they’d be unstoppable.
“How come we can do it now, and we couldn’t do it before?” wonders Zeke.
First and ten (Saints’ thirty-five): Randall rolls to his left on a naked bootleg, his favorite play, and tries to shovel the ball five yards upfield to Keith. But Swilling gets a hand on the ball, and it floats off in the wrong direction. The linebacker ends the play grabbing his gold helmet with both hands. He thinks he should have intercepted.
Second and ten (Saints’ thirty-five): Antone Davis sends Rickey Jackson’s helmet flying with an inadvertent right uppercut. “Shit happens,” he says in the locker room later, by way of explanation. The infraction draws a personal foul and a ten-yard penalty, a potentially disastrous setback.
It’s clear to Richie and Zeke on this play that Randall is now looking almost exclusively for Keith Byars when he drops back to pass. It’s a pattern they recognize in the quarterback. Supersensitive to criticism and, hence, instruction (which he perceives as criticism) he frequently overcorrects, especially under pressure. They told him at halftime he wasn’t looking to Keith enough, so now he’s looking to Keith exclusively.
Second and twenty (Saints’ forty-five): Randall hits Keith on a slant pass again, and, with the Saints’ defenders now playing it safe in deep, soft zones, the tight end picks up ten more easy yards before getting hauled down by three tacklers. Tank lays the ball about a yard farther upfield and hops up clapping.
Third and ten (Saints’ thirty-five): There are just over ten minutes left to play. Any likely scenario for the Eagles to come back and tie or win this game turns now on this play.
Richie wants to shake the Keith fixation, so he sends in a simple pass play to Fred, ace-right-900. “Ace-right” defines a two-tight-end, two-receiver, one-back formation with the strength to the right side, so it’s a good bet that Atkins, the free safety, will be cheating a little to the right, leaving Fred one-on-one with cornerback Reginald Jones. With only thirty-five yards of field and ten yards of end zone to defend, and with defenders playing deep zones, the Saints figure Fred doesn’t have enough room just to run away from Jones. And Atkins is playing centerfield, so he can react to anything thrown deep.
Fred hears the 900 call, and his eyes widen. It’s a big moment, and the call is a vote of faith by his coaches—big moments call for big players. At the snap, Fred races toward the corner of the end zone, forcing Jones to stay outside of him, then, about twenty yards upfield, he angles back toward the post, effectively positioning himself like a basketball player angling for a rebound, between the cornerback and the ball. Randall, under pressure, has to get rid of the ball—he’s flattened by Rickey Jackson as he releases it. Randall and Fred and Calvin spend a little extra time working on this pass after every practice. The quarterback knows that Fred, especially, can outjump just about anybody in the league (remember the six-foot, eleven-inch, high jump in high school?), so he works at laying the ball up just high enough so that only Fred can get it. The pass floats now toward the left corner of the end zone, a high lob that Fred sees the instant he makes his turn—every player on the field and every fan inside the Dome and watching at home has a second or two to anticipate its descent.
The ball is thrown so high that Atkins has enough time to break toward the end zone. It’s going to be a jump ball. Jones is to Fred’s right; Atkins arrives in time to go up on Fred’s left. “I was gonna catch that ball,” Fred will say a little later, in the locker room. “I just knew, as I went up, that nothing was going to stop me from catching that ball.”
And Fred does. With both gloved hands a good foot higher than the straining reach of Jones and Atkins, Fred just rips the ball out of the air, fending off the cornerback and safety with his elbows, then falling to his rump in the end zone with Jones and Atkins crumpling to eith
er side. The Superdome goes silent as Fred leaps to his feet between the vanquished defenders and, with his signature windmill windup, spikes the ball triumphantly.
“Fred Barnett! Diving catch. Spectacular catch,” says Summerall to the TV audience. “Thirty-five yards away. They had him covered.”
Madden explodes with excitement: “He’s the kind of guy that can do that! I’ve always said that Fred Barnett is one of the best deeppass receivers in football. He can do it against man; he can do it against zone. He can do it against double coverage. Here it is again.” Slo-mo replay. “They had double coverage, and here he is. Fred Barnett just goes up and catches the ball. That will make all the highlights films. I think you just have to keep doing that. You do that six or seven times a game, you’ll get two or three touchdowns.”
The Eagles are back in the game, trailing by three points with just over ten minutes left to play. Now the Saints have to make something happen. There’s no doubt the momentum has shifted in the Eagles’ favor; the damp quiet that has descended in the Dome is ample testament to that. By now there’s no doubt, the celebration—and nobody knows celebrating like N’Awlins—had gotten out ahead of the game. A gentlemen with his face painted black and gold, beard sparkling with gold dust, and his head enclosed in a gold-sequined helmet, leans over the wall behind the Eagles’ bench and closes his black-and-gold gloved hands in prayer.
On the sidelines, watching Ruzek’s kickoff returned to the Saints’ twenty-five-yard line by Vaughn Dunbar, Seth turns to Reggie and growls, “I’m going to make a big play.”
It’s Seth’s way of challenging himself. He believes there’s a subtle difference between playing defense well and playing defense to win, a mental adjustment mostly, one that says I’m not content with being in the right position and making the play that comes my way, I’m going to bring the heat… make something happen!
First and ten (Saints’ twenty-five): Throughout the first half, whenever the Saints lined up in trey, a three-wide-receiver formation, they’d been leaving the tight end, Brenner, in to block. Since Seth covers Brenner man to man in this formation, it had effectively been removing the Eagles’ star linebacker from short-pass defense, where he had been so deadly all season. So at halftime Bud made a change, instructing Seth to drop back into pass coverage right at the snap.