Crickets.
“Have you no decent sense of history? The greatest golfer in the history of the sport?” Drum said. “Somebody give me something for Jack Fucking Nicklaus.”
Well, nobody did.
Drummer looked back and pointed at Brookshier. He said, “Mr. Brookshier, it is your lucky night. You have just bid on Jack Nicklaus for four hundred bucks.” So Tom went along with it, and paid the money.
Fast-forward to Sunday afternoon. Jack makes the putt, takes the lead. I’m at the very top of the tower, and CBS Sports president Neal Pilson is up there with me. That was his spot to watch every year as the president of the division. I stood up as Jack was walking over to 18, I looked at Neal, and took the headset off and laid it down. I looked over at Brookshier, who had his back to the green on the platform below. He was looking at me and jumping up and down. I looked down at Tommy and said, “Wasn’t that the greatest thing you’ve ever seen?”
He never stopped to take a breath. He said, “I’ve got him in the Calcutta!!!”
Brookshier would make seventeen grand on the day. I don’t think any of our guys have ever shared that with Jack until now.
The other thing is, remember, the lead wasn’t secure. Jack had a one-shot lead and he had to par 18. Two guys had the chance to tie him, Greg Norman and Tom Kite. After birdying 17, Greg pushed his four-iron up on the hill to the right. Later Kite had a ten-footer to tie, a birdie attempt at 18. His putt broke left and never touched the hole. Jack had won.
It’s funny, but ever since I started covering Augusta, 1986 is the only time I’ve seen the finish of the tournament. I stayed in the tower for 1986 because Jack only had a one-shot lead. Ninety percent of the time when they come through 16, where I am now—and this is especially true when I did No. 11 and No. 12 for five years—the minute they’re through my hole, I am out of there. I’m racing to the Atlanta airport to catch the last flight to Denver to get to Steamboat. I would listen on radio, especially once we had satellite radio, to the finish of the tournament. But on that occasion in 1986, I stayed and watched the end of the telecast in the tower at No. 17. I probably saw the replay within twenty minutes after the tournament proper ended.
Watching it then, I believed that my call was appropriate to the moment. I can also remember thinking to myself as we were in commercial before we came back for his putt, and I’ve seen it so many times and use it in speeches, I think I sensed the moment right away. I can remember saying to myself, not out loud obviously, but thinking to myself, “Get out of the way quickly and don’t screw this up,” because I knew how significant the moment was.
I’m proud of the fact that I’m not analyzing what Nicklaus has to do. Everybody knows what he’s got to do. You’ve got to make the putt. And I would leave it to someone far more expert than me to explain that it’s got to double break, and it did. But I didn’t know. I’m not qualified to make that judgment twenty feet up in the air, so I just shut up. I’ve seen it so much, I can see the double break in my mind now.
I can also see Frank Chirkinian approaching me in the compound, a man who was not by nature a warm and fuzzy human being, and without a word wrapping me in his arms and kissing me on the cheek.
I find it intriguing that thirty years later, Jack and I have never discussed it. I’ve not seen him often, but do periodically. He’s a most gracious man. I can remember doing a Miami Heat game once and Jack and Barbara were there. I was working with Doc Rivers, and Jack and Barbara came across the court from their seats at halftime just to say hi.
He’s never said to me, “That was a really terrific call.” And I’ve never said to him, “Thanks for helping me be a part of your history.” That is, until 2014, when CBS did a documentary on me and they tracked Jack down. In the documentary he says, “Yes, sir, Verne Lundquist, we’re linked forever because I made the putt and he made the call. That’s always going to be a part of my story, him saying, ‘Yes, sir.’ ” I was floored, because we never talked about it face-to-face. If I had the opportunity to talk to him about that day, I would be more curious about the whole back nine, the whole day, and not just that specific, famous moment.
The back nine at Augusta that Sunday in 1986 remains the single most thrilling sporting event I have ever witnessed. I still can’t find the right adjectives to describe how intense that afternoon was. I remember saying to myself when he walked toward the green, “If he makes this putt, he is going to have the lead at Augusta at the age of forty-six.” Nancy and I are good friends with a fellow named Tom Bennison. He works for ClubCorps (a course acquisition company) in Dallas and he’s a good friend of Jack, too. Tom asked me on the twentieth anniversary of the 1986 win, in 2006, if I had any memorabilia from that moment. I said, “No, I don’t.” He said, “You need to go online and get a photograph and make it an appropriate one.”
So I found a golf historian somewhere and ordered a 20x30 photograph of Jack, with his tongue sticking out and the putter straight up in the air, as the ball is about to drop in. Thanks to Tom, I sent it to Jack’s personal secretary. It came back about a month later. In a silver Sharpie in the lower left-hand corner, like he’s done this before so you could read it, he signed it on a part of the green that’s really outlined:
To Verne, Yes, sir!!! with three exclamation points and then a happy face. Your friend, Jack Nicklaus.
Needless to say, it’s hanging right now on my office wall.
It was to be Jack’s last green jacket; I’d wear my blue blazer for a lot of years after that. Funny how the colors of those magical moments in 1986 have never faded.
Chapter 8
Let’s Invent Us a Football Player
The one constant in my professional life was the pleasure I took in working for the Cowboys. No matter whether I was working for ABC or CBS, being a part of the Cowboys was always a thrill. They were always entertaining, win or lose. They did a lot of the former and many episodes of the latter were as memorable as they were heartbreaking for Cowboys fans. I’ve been fortunate to witness many memorable moments in sports, and I was there doing the radio broadcast back to those along the Cowboy radio network for the 1981 NFC Championship Game. The Cowboys came into the game with high hopes following a playoff victory over the Falcons the week before. Pat Summerall wasn’t doing the game for CBS, but he was there and kindly hung out in our booth and served as our runner, getting us beverages.
Pat wasn’t doing the Niners–Cowboys game, either. Our booth was next to CBS’s, with Vin Scully doing the play-by-play. I had arranged for a special treat for our listeners: Rudy Gatlin of the Gatlin Brothers musical group would be in the booth with us. If the game was in the Cowboys’ hands late, he was going to sing, à la Don Meredith, “Turn off the lights, the party’s over.” The tense back-and-forth nature of the game kept Rudy on the sidelines. As much as “the Catch” was memorable for Dwight Clark’s amazing athleticism, the drive leading up to it began in a surprising fashion. San Francisco used Lenvil Elliott left and Lenvil Elliott right as they got beyond the shadow of their own goalposts starting at the eleven. After that, Joe Montana was as good as it gets. Finally, from the six-yard line, he lofted a ball into the end zone. To this day, I believe that he intended to throw the ball out of the end zone. I know that Clark denied this, as did Joe, but I side with those who believe Joe was hoping for another shot.
I’m also still amazed that Ed “Too Tall” Jones and/or Larry Bethea didn’t bring him down for a sack. Like many Cowboy fans, I’m sorry that Danny White’s pass after the Niners score didn’t go all the way. Drew Pearson caught it and only a superb ankle tackle from San Francisco’s Eric Wright kept “the Catch” from becoming a footnote in one of the Cowboys’ greatest come-from-behind victories. Regardless, I was still enjoying my time with the team, no matter how rigorous my schedule was proving to be.
That 1983 team opened the regular season on the road in Washington, D.C., against the vaunted Redskins. It was a Monday night game and that always added a festive note to the affa
ir. The Redskins came in as defending Super Bowl champions, having claimed the crown in the strike-shortened 1982 season. The league used a revised playoff scheme to compensate for the short season and the Redskins finished the regular season with an 8-1 mark before beating the Dolphins at the Rose Bowl to end the foreshortened year. For their part the Cowboys finished 6-3, second best in the league, but lost in the NFC championship to their division rivals.
The match-up that Monday night was going to be one of the highlights of the season, an unofficially designated Kickoff Classic. Even though our radio broadcast was only going out to the Cowboy network, I still felt a real sense of anticipation. This was going to start the new season, it was between two bitter division rivals, and it was the only football game that night. When ABC’s Monday Night Football circus rolled into town, you had to get caught up in the excitement. I knew each of the members of the broadcast team. It was no secret that Howard Cosell was a provocateur who loved attention almost as much as he loved the vodka his assistant poured him throughout the broadcast. Don Meredith agreed to play the country bumpkin role while Frank Gifford, a player I admired, did a yeoman’s job as the straight man. I can see now that those guys prefigured the later trend of sports guys as entertainers, as focus seekers, as highly skilled circus clowns who kept the audience amused when the action was slow—and sometimes when it wasn’t slow. That night, with this premier match-up of two talented teams, I didn’t think that anyone would find it necessary to engage in any hijinks.
Joe Gibbs coached the Redskins and Joe Theisman was behind the center. John Riggins was still thundering out of the backfield while the speedy wide-outs Alvin Garrett and Charlie Brown caused grief for any secondary. Danny White had taken over at quarterback, and with Tony Dorsett handling much of the offensive load, White was tasked with playing the role we eventually came to call a “game manager.” All those doubts about Danny’s ability to lead and to inspire his teammates seemed to get answered in the first half of that game. He went 1 for 9. The Cowboys only generated 75 yards of offense at halftime. Tony Dorsett had broken loose for a glorious 77-yard scamper. Even that offensive display was overshadowed by the Redskins. Their defensive back Darryl Green, then in his rookie season, put his speed on display and hauled Tony down from behind.
At the half, the Redskins were up 23–3, and as Don Meredith might have sung, it appeared the party was over. White would later say that he was fuming in the clubhouse during the halftime break. He was embarrassed, angry, and his helmet throwing display probably had a few of his teammates wondering why he could complete those tosses and none on the field. No fat lady had sung, so the Cowboys went back out.
The start of the third quarter was a completely different story. In the first 8:25 of that period, Danny and Tony Hill hooked up on a couple of long touchdown passes. The second of those was a circus catch, with Tony stretching out to one hand the ball. As the fourth quarter began, the Cowboys were down by six. A one-yard Danny White keeper and a one-yard TD pass to tight end Doug Cosbie had the Cowboys in the lead at the 13:11 mark of that period. Twenty-eight straight points was something to behold. The Redskins scored a late touchdown to bring them within one, but a Ron Fellows interception with seconds to play sealed the deal.
We all enjoyed a happy flight home and for the first two months of the season, those happy trails led to six more victories. A real tense one in that string occurred against the Saints. Down 20–13 in the fourth quarter, the Cowboys went into the end zone. Rafael Septien’s extra-point attempt was blocked and the Cowboys still trailed. The Cowboys got the ball back with a few minutes to go. Danny led them down the field and threw an interception at the one-yard line. Linebacker Anthony Dickerson saved the day by sacking Ken Stabler—yes, the Snake had been relocated to New Orleans from Oakland—in the end zone. The two points were enough to send Saints coach Bum Phillips and his son Wade home in defeat.
I can’t really say what the troubles were that plagued the Cowboys at the end of the season. They entered December 11-2 and then beat the Seahawks to get to 12-2. The next week, a showdown with the Redskins in Dallas loomed. Both teams were 12-2, tied for the division lead, and both had the best records in the league. What more could you ask for? A division title, a first-round bye in the playoffs; bragging rights; Cowboys and Redskins; a fourth straight trip to the NFC championship; America’s Team.
How fun was this one going to be?
Much was later made of the Redskins players going out that week and buying military fatigues that they wore on the plane and from the bus to the hotel. They were “invading” Dallas, as they put it. They wanted to get inside the Cowboys’ players’ heads. (As stunts go, I approve of this one much more than I do the Boston Bruins’ Brad Marchand licking opponents’ faces out on the ice.) To what degree they were effective in psyching out the Cowboys is hard to say. You can’t argue with the results, however.
After jumping out to a 14–0 lead, the Redskins gave up a touchdown and a field goal. Momentum seemed to be swinging in the Cowboys’ favor. “Seemed to be” is the operative phrase here. From that point forward, the Cowboys were inept and seemed to lose their cool. White threw the third of his interceptions. The Redskins defense held Dorsett to 34 yards rushing. In the fourth quarter, Danny came to line on fourth down and called an audible. On the sidelines, Tom Landry shouted, “No! No! No!” The play failed and the ball went over on downs to Washington. Dorsett got so frustrated with being stymied and harassed that he threw the ball at the Redskins’ Darryl Grant.
The Redskins’ Fun Bunch, a package of five players who came in together in certain situations and had their own choreographed high-five end zone celebration, angered a couple of Cowboys who tried to stop their performance. Things got so bad that the Cowboys only had ten men on the field for an extra-point try.
We sat in the booth pondering what was going on, but in the end we had no answer. The Cowboys lost, 31–10. I didn’t know it then, but that was the last time I would do a Cowboys game as their voice. If there was one consolation to the playoff loss it was that even though the Redskins made it to the Super Bowl, they ended up losing to Al Davis’s Raiders.
As fierce as that rivalry was, I admired Joe Theisman. He later became a very good broadcaster himself. As a player, he had the knack of getting under the opposition’s skin. Still, he was a gunslinger of the old-school variety, the kind of guy you wanted on your team but hated to play against. The image of him having his leg snap two years later when they squared off against the New York Giants on another Monday night is indelibly seared into many minds. Football can be a brutal game.
The Cowboys’ season ended on a brutal note. Following that loss to the Redskins, they took it on the chin in another Monday Night Football telecast. That 42–17 loss to San Francisco had no real impact on the playoff picture. The Cowboys would host the Los Angeles Rams in the wild card round. Dallas turned the ball over four straight times, and the Rams capitalized on three of them in a 24–17 win. Tom Landry later said that he knew that his football team was not in the right place mentally entering the playoffs. He felt they had lost their mental edge.
White’s three interceptions offset the 330 passing yards he amassed. Perhaps more significant, Dorsett was held to 59 yards rushing, his third sub-100-yard game in a row. This was his sixth year in the league. He enjoyed another Pro Bowl season, rushed for 1,300-plus yards, and scored 8 touchdowns. His 4.6 yards-per-carry average was second in his career to his rookie season, when he averaged 4.8. His 289 carries that year seems like an enormous tally today, but in the next two seasons, he’d carry the ball more than 300 times and finish both those seasons with more than 1,000 yards gained. Tony was as durable as they come.
Lots of questions faced the Cowboys. A season filled with so much promise had ended on a sour note. That was a familiar song to Cowboys fans, a country and western tune about someone or something having done them wrong. As the golf season got into high gear that summer, I was already thinking about the Cowboys
and their chances for taking that next step and getting back into the Super Bowl. The team had no glaring weakness, save its propensity to turn the ball over, and that could be remedied.
As it turned out, though, I wouldn’t be in the broadcast booth to witness those remedies firsthand.
IN JULY 1984, I WAS in Oak Brook, Illinois, for the Western Open when I got a phone call from Jim McKenna at CBS. He was one of CBS’s vice presidents and he wanted to inform me that at a staff meeting earlier in the week, the team had made a decision: I was being taken off college football and put on NFL games. My initial reaction was to be greatly pleased. The NFL was the jewel in the crown of the sports department. The NFL was still in ascendance in those days and was on its way to supplanting baseball as America’s most popular sport. That initial pleasure took a hit a moment later. I would have to end my professional association with the Cowboys. That was the price I was going to have to pay.
Further, Jim told me that I was going to be paired with Terry Bradshaw. To that point, Bradshaw had not announced his retirement. It was widely speculated that he would hang them up, but nothing had been formalized. In this pre-Internet, pre–social media era, rumors would circulate but there wasn’t the constant attention on everything. I knew Terry, superficially, having interviewed him briefly when he was the quarterback opposing the Cowboys in Super Bowl X and XIII. My brief conversations were both conducted on media day, when the players were subjected to hours of answering either the same questions or the most inane ones that a journalist could come up with. I had no way of knowing if he’d even remember me. I did appreciate the irony of the Steelers’ former quarterback and the Cowboys’ radio guy being joined together in network matrimony. Based on past experience and promises made and broken regarding who I would be working with, I was skeptical about how long this thing could last.
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