TAMPA, Fla. - The game could have been remembered for Arizona's incredible comeback, the way the Cardinals scored 16 points in five minutes late in the fourth quarter against the powerful Steelers defense.
The game might have been remembered for the final score of that flurry, a deep post pattern where Larry Fitzgerald caught the short pass in stride, split two defenders, then raced 64 yards for the go-ahead touchdown. The game might have been remembered simply because the Arizona Cardinals, the laughingstocks of the NFL, were leading the Super Bowl with 2:27 left in the game.
Super Bowl XLIII should have been remembered for the ensuing drive, where Ben Roethlisberger took over, got the Steelers as far as midfield with a minute to play, then hit Santonio Holmes with a pass down to the 4-yard line. Then certainly, the game absolutely should have been remembered for what happened next, maybe the greatest pass in Super Bowl history, as Roesthlisberger rolled right, saw Holmes in the back corner of the end zone, and threw a pass that only Holmes could catch, and catch it he did, all fingertips and toes, somehow holding on to the ball and somehow staying in bounds.
That is really what should be the lasting memory of the game: Holmes' incredible, jaw-dropping, game-winning catch in the corner of the end zone, the kind of catch that every young receiver dreams of making but so few professional receivers even have the ability to make. It gave the Steelers a 27-23 lead, a lead they held for the final 35 seconds.
But what people remember most about that game is the final play of the first half, where the longest play in Super Bowl history became the mother of all momentum swings.
Kurt Warner had led the Cardinals down to the 4-yard line with :18 seconds left in the half. As he walked to the line and surveyed the defense, he recognized instantly the defense the Steelers were playing: when linebacker James Harrison rushed off the right end, he would leave a hole in the defense, which would then be filled by Anquan Boldin running a slant. Touchdown. 14-10 Cardinals at the half.
Except Harrison didn't rush. He took two steps in, then dropped back right into the passing lane. Did he do this because he wasn't sure on what play was called? Or did he see something in what the Cardinals were doing to put himself in that position? Whatever the reason, Warner didn't see him there, didn't expect him to be there, and he fired a pass directly into Harrison's chest. And then Harrison took off.
And as Harrison ran down the sidelines with a convoy of defenders-turned-blockers in front of him, it started to look like the Steelers would end this in position to try a Hail Mary pass at the end of the half. And as he broke a couple tackles on the sideline, it looked like they'd actually be able to try a kick. And then Harrison made that cut to the inside, looking more like a running back than a linebacker, and the impossible seemed plausible: was he really going to take it to the house? After running 98 yards, Harrison was finally caught by Fitzgerald, who had run 110 and been knocked down along the way, but as Fitzgerald made the tackle, Harrison's momentum took him into the end zone for the most shocking touchdown in Super Bowl history.
The game should have been over at that point. A certain 14-10 Cardinals lead at halftime turned into a 17-7 lead for Pittsburgh in the time it took Harrison to rumble 100 yards. The Steelers added a field goal in the third to make it 20-7, and against that defense, it wouldn't have been out of the question for the Cardinals to lose hope. So give them credit for fighting back, for making the fourth quarter one of the most exciting in the history of the game.
But everything that happened in the fourth quarter pales in comparision to the vision of Pittsburgh's linebacker rumbling down the sideline, somehow avoiding stepping out of bounds or getting tackled, and running into the NFL record books.
Showing posts with label Arizona Cardinals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Arizona Cardinals. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Thursday, April 22, 2010
April 22, 2004: The last full measure
SPERAH, Afghanistan - At first glance, it looks like it's the ultimate story of sacrifice. A professional athlete walks away from his lucrative NFL career to enlist in the Army Rangers, goes off to war, dies in that war, and is lauded as a hero to his country. It's a pefect portrait of American heroism and selflessness.
But look closer, and that picture has some flaws. The questions start forming. Why did the military leaders wait until after Pat Tillman's funeral to tell his family that when he was killed on April 22, 2004, in a skirmish with the Taliban, that he actually was killed by friendly fire? Does an accidental death at the hands of your fellow Rangers mean less to the country than one dealt by the enemy? Is he less of a hero because of it?
A still closer look, and the picture is even more muddled. What's with the reports that his fellow soldiers burned Tillman's armor and personal journal after his death? Or with the word that he died of three close-range bullet holes to the head? And did I hear right that the doctor performing his autopsy wrote in his report that Tillman was murdered? What's going on here?
Now the picture is so distorted and damaged that it's tough to look at. What's going on with stories that say he considered the invasion of Iraq to be illegal? That he was going to personally meet with anti-war activist Noam Chomsky? You know, if people start putting two and two together....
Very few people know why Pat Tillman gave up his NFL career to fight, first in Iraq, then Afghanistan. He never spoke about it publicly. It's possible the only people he told were his brother, who enlisted with him, and his wife. He was 25 years old when he walked away from a certain long-term contract with the Cardinals to fight in the war. But it's not important why he did it. It was his life, and it was his right to do with it as he saw fit.
When Tillman died, he immediately became the poster child for the war in Iraq and Afghanistan. His picture was splashed across the sports pages and world news pages alike, putting a human face on the sacrifices of the soldiers who died in combat. He was the proof of the righteousness of the war. As more information about his death surfaced and the details painted a darker and darker picture, he has become a poster child of a different kind. He has now become the example of the injustice of the war, the human face representing the people who needlessly died.
I can't sit here and say how Tillman would have preferred to be remembered. My guess is he wouldn't have wanted to be rememered at all, but who knows? I just know that, for better or for worse, his death on April 22, 2004, will remain his legacy.
I'll remember a different man, though. I'll remember the guy for the Cardinals who was truly willing to do anything to help his team win. When their kicker got injured during a game one season, the Cardinals were stuck in a bind; they could easily eschew field goal or extra point attempts, but what about kickoffs? Who would handle those? Looking for volunteers, their coach saw Tillman, a safety who had never kicked before, step up. His kickoffs weren't great. They couldn't even be considered good. But he was the only one willing to do it.
That's the Tillman I'll remember. That game is the reason I knew who he was before he joined the Rangers. It's too bad that for the rest of the world, he'll be remembered as a guy who died far too young.
But look closer, and that picture has some flaws. The questions start forming. Why did the military leaders wait until after Pat Tillman's funeral to tell his family that when he was killed on April 22, 2004, in a skirmish with the Taliban, that he actually was killed by friendly fire? Does an accidental death at the hands of your fellow Rangers mean less to the country than one dealt by the enemy? Is he less of a hero because of it?
A still closer look, and the picture is even more muddled. What's with the reports that his fellow soldiers burned Tillman's armor and personal journal after his death? Or with the word that he died of three close-range bullet holes to the head? And did I hear right that the doctor performing his autopsy wrote in his report that Tillman was murdered? What's going on here?
Now the picture is so distorted and damaged that it's tough to look at. What's going on with stories that say he considered the invasion of Iraq to be illegal? That he was going to personally meet with anti-war activist Noam Chomsky? You know, if people start putting two and two together....
Very few people know why Pat Tillman gave up his NFL career to fight, first in Iraq, then Afghanistan. He never spoke about it publicly. It's possible the only people he told were his brother, who enlisted with him, and his wife. He was 25 years old when he walked away from a certain long-term contract with the Cardinals to fight in the war. But it's not important why he did it. It was his life, and it was his right to do with it as he saw fit.
When Tillman died, he immediately became the poster child for the war in Iraq and Afghanistan. His picture was splashed across the sports pages and world news pages alike, putting a human face on the sacrifices of the soldiers who died in combat. He was the proof of the righteousness of the war. As more information about his death surfaced and the details painted a darker and darker picture, he has become a poster child of a different kind. He has now become the example of the injustice of the war, the human face representing the people who needlessly died.
I can't sit here and say how Tillman would have preferred to be remembered. My guess is he wouldn't have wanted to be rememered at all, but who knows? I just know that, for better or for worse, his death on April 22, 2004, will remain his legacy.
I'll remember a different man, though. I'll remember the guy for the Cardinals who was truly willing to do anything to help his team win. When their kicker got injured during a game one season, the Cardinals were stuck in a bind; they could easily eschew field goal or extra point attempts, but what about kickoffs? Who would handle those? Looking for volunteers, their coach saw Tillman, a safety who had never kicked before, step up. His kickoffs weren't great. They couldn't even be considered good. But he was the only one willing to do it.
That's the Tillman I'll remember. That game is the reason I knew who he was before he joined the Rangers. It's too bad that for the rest of the world, he'll be remembered as a guy who died far too young.
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