Reliving A Football Miracle

I just saw a retrospective on the 30th anniversary of the Miracle at the Meadowlands on ESPN, and it reminded me that I did a story on the 20th anniversary, back when Herman Edwards was coaching defensive backs for the Bucs. Here's the famous play, and here's my story as it ran in the Tampa Tribune 10 years ago:

The Miracle
The images may be fuzzy, but for those who lived it 20 years ago, the memory is as vivid as yesterday.

CARTER GADDIS
of The Tampa Tribune

TAMPA — Lo, comes the time to ruminate upon the Miracle at the Meadowlands. Twenty years ago today, defensive back Herman Edwards was touched by the hands of the football gods and victory was bestowed on wings of Eagles.
Know this: We live not in an age of such miracles. Today, when a football team leads by five and time is expiring in the fourth quarter, the quarterback humbly kneels down amid the sheltering safety of his teammates. Game over. Amen.
In that simpler age, long before Edwards undertook his current task of coaching the Bucs' defensive backs, a miracle of stupefying proportions blossomed in the New York Giants' huddle two decades ago.
New York led Edwards' Eagles, 17-12.
The clock ticked down with less than 30 seconds to play.
The Giants Stadium crowd of 70,318 sensed no miracle, only victory for their men in blue.
New York's offense huddled around quarterback Joe Pisarcik, who gazed toward the sideline and sought guidance from Coach John McVay.
And Pisarcik did say, "Pro, up 65."
And the other Giants did say, "What, are you nuts? Just fall on the darn ball."
But Pisarcik would not disobey the all-seeing, all-knowing offensive coordinator in the sky box, Bob Gibson.
The Giants broke their huddle, but not of a single mind. Only Pisarcik knew he planned to run the fatal play, "pro, up 65," a clock-killing handoff to fullback Larry Csonka.
Of such flaws are miracles made.
"In this situation, I'm standing right by [Giants slot back] Doug Kotar, and Doug Kotar and myself are talking," Edwards said. "He's saying, "We're going to kill it.' I'm saying "Good game' and all that. We're talking. It's over.
"The ball's being hiked, and he doesn't even know it's being hiked. The ball's being bobbled already. I kind of step at Kotar, and he's probably thinking I'm just stepping up. And then I see Joe trying to get the ball, and he's kind of fumbling the ball now. Csonka goes through and it's too late, the timing's off. It goes off his hip. The next thing I do, I just arm over Kotar and he's saying, "What are you doing?' It hits the ground on a bounce, and it was just like a layup."
A 26-yard layup for a game-winning touchdown. A 19-17 victory for the Philadelphia Eagles, who went on to make the playoffs for the first time in 18 seasons. A springboard to future success that would lead all the way to Super Bowl XV three years later.
A miraculous finish that forever changed the face of the game. Or, more precisely, the end of the game. A week later, late in a 14-10 victory against the St. Louis Cardinals, Eagles coach Dick Vermeil became the first to institute the "Herman Edwards" formation — a running back lined up well behind the line of scrimmage to guard against mishaps between the quarterback and the center.
The end of the age of miracles.
Fortunately, the final Miracle was captured on film, cinematic proof that such a thing once was possible. Non-believers are easily refuted today because NFL Films veteran shooter Phil Tuckett had the presence of mind to move to the end zone behind the Giants on the off-chance something crazy — something miraculous — might happen.
That's how we know that Edwards, wearing No. 46, swept past Kotar to snatch the ball from the grasp of the flailing Pisarcik. It's how we know the ball actually bounced once and hit Pisarcik in the face mask before finding its way into the hands of the Miracle Man.
It's how we know Eagles rookie linebacker Reggie Wilkes nearly tripped Edwards on the way to the end zone. It's how we know Eagles safety John Sanders was the first to raise his arms in a triumphant signal of touchdown, just before Edwards spiked the ball into the red-painted "A" in GIANTS.
"In all my 25 years of coaching, I've never seen so horrifying a finish to a game," McVay said at the time.
From his less subjective point of view from behind the lens, Tuckett felt the power of the Miracle even then.
"When it was unfolding it was like some kind of dreamscape thing," said Tuckett, now an NFL Films vice president of special projects. "I distinctly remember while he was running there wasn't a sound, wasn't a gasp. ... Sometimes on an incomplete pass you hear that deflation. That day, it was like everybody held their breath."
Edwards, too, was dazed by the significance of the moment.
"It happened so fast. Once the ball hit the ground, I caught it on a good bounce. The next thing I know, I'm in the end zone," Edwards said. "And Giants Stadium, now, is packed. But it's quiet. I mean, it's dead quiet. Everybody's kind of looking around, and I'm kind of looking around going, "Did this really happen?' ... The feeling of that didn't really hit me until the next day."
On that next day, Gibson lost his job. The Giants won only once more that year, and McVay also was fired. Pisarcik lost his starting job, stayed with the Giants for one more season, and played his last four seasons with — of all teams — Philadelphia .
Edwards, a non-drafted free agent signed out of San Diego State in 1977, was with the Eagles for nine years. He started all 135 games he played at defensive back, and still holds the team record for interceptions with 38, including five in the postseason.
He also holds the NFL record for miracles.
"I think the thing that appealed to me most about it was people can get jaded, because miracles don't happen in real life," Tuckett said. "In an athletic event, that's still a possibility, where there's a complete reversal of fortune in an instant like that. This is the one element of life that still has the potential for chance, and a miracle happening right in front of you."