9712150058
DETROIT FREE PRESS
971215
Monday, December 15, 1997
METRO FINAL
1C
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1997, Detroit Free Press
WHEN THE LIONS NEEDED IT MOST, MOORE WAS ALL HEART
There were no warm-ups for Herman Moore. He began the week on crutches, and
now, on Sunday morning, he took the first bus over to the stadium -- "The one
with the players who like to get here and sleep," he would say later -- but he
did not sleep. Nor did he stretch or even jog. He went straight to the
trainer, Kent Falb, who hooked Herman's left foot to an electric stimulator:
two pads, some conducting jelly and a flipped switch on a little black box.
He sat there, his torn ligaments getting buzzed, even as his teammates dressed
and wished each other luck. He sat there even as they ran onto the field for
warm-ups. And he sat there, with the little wires hooked to his feet, like a
truck at a gas pump trying to squeeze every last second of rehab into his
tank.
Finally, he heard the national anthem echo through the tunnel. He looked at
Falb, the gray-haired trainer who's been fixing broken Lions for 32 years.
Falb removed the pads and wires. He pointed to his heart. "Whatever you're
going to do today, Herman, will have to come from here."
Well, isn't that where the best football begins?
So it was on this Sunday afternoon, in the final two minutes of a game and a
season that had been sometimes depressing, sometimes satisfying, but was about
to end in a maddening fashion -- that the cream rose to the top, that the pain
was conquered, and the heart took over.
"I want the ball," Herman Moore said.
Their last chance came gift-wrapped
Of course, they all wanted the ball. Every angry man wearing a Detroit
uniform. After Scott Mitchell's poorly thrown interception with less than
three minutes left, the Lions were begging for redemption. There had been so
many near-misses on this December afternoon. Two blown field goals. Barry
Sanders getting stuffed on a fourth-and-goal at the 1. And now this lousy
interception.
They were still only trailing by six, but if the Vikings scored, even a field
goal, the game was lost, the playoffs missed, the season a washout. "I was
hoping the football gods would finally give us a break in this place,"
Mitchell would say.
Merry Christmas, Scott. Eddie Murray, in the nicest thing he ever did for his
old team, blew a 37-yard field goal with two minutes left, and the Lions
suddenly had one more chance. As they ran into the huddle -- Kevin Glover and
his concussion, Larry Tharpe and his bad ankle, Mike Compton and his broken
wrist, Moore with his torn ligaments and dislocated fingers, so bad he had not
practiced one minute all week -- they gathered together with inflated spirit.
"This is our season," Moore said.
And suddenly, it was a different team. The offensive line, which had been
mowed like tall grass much of the game, stiffened. Mitchell, previously
erratic, was now sharp. He completed his first pass, to Tommie Boyd, 12 yards.
His second to Sanders, six yards. Then an eight-yarder to Barry. A nine-yarder
to Morton, who needed to get out of bounds but went down a few inches shy.
"Time out!" the Lions screamed.
Twenty-eight seconds left, ball on the Vikings' 32. No time-outs left. This is
when your stars win you games. This is when Moore -- who to that point had
caught just four insignificant passes -- forgot the wires, the crutches, the
cortisone shots and the fact that he felt a snapping pain every time he tried
to go left.
He lined up right. Just before the snap, he froze for an instant, because the
Vikings were pointing as if there were a penalty. But he heard no whistle and
figured, "Forget it, I'm going." He ran about 20 yards and cut into open field
over the middle. Mitchell threw high, but high is where Herman lives. He
lifted off his one good foot and made a great stretching catch at the 12.
That left 12 seconds on the clock. Time enough for two plays. Mitchell tried
Morton in the end zone, incomplete -- but pass interference was called on
cornerback Dewayne Washington, which gave the Lions one last chance, from the
1, where they had already blown a golden opportunity.
First-and-goal, season in the balance. They stepped to the line. Mitchell
glanced at Moore.
Six seconds from staying home for the holidays . . .
Finally, a momentous moment
By now you know what happened. Moore drew single coverage, he went wide in the
end zone, and Mitchell never hesitated. He zipped a high fastball, and Moore
ignored the pain and went airborne, trusting his hands.
He caught the ball like a magnet catches metal.
Touchdown. A 14-13 victory. In two minutes, the Lions had gone from
all-but-out of the playoffs to possibly hosting a first-round game. In the
locker room, they sounded like high-schoolers, all whoops and yells.
But there was something very mature about what they'd done. Staring their dour
legacy in the face, they made it blink first. And they won a game they seemed
destined to lose.
"It wasn't time to go home," Glover said, his voice hoarse from yelling.
"Every one of his felt the same thing."
There are moments that make a season, and moments that make a team. This was
both. It assured no losing record in Bobby Ross' debut year. It showed the NFL
that the Lions are not over until they're over. And it proved what the trainer
and his little black box already knew:
All the wires, tape and padding cannot make a heart beat. The Lions are alive
because they willed themselves to be. There is no telling where an attitude
like that can take you.
Mitch Albom will sign "Tuesdays With Morrie" at 7:30-8:30 p.m. Tuesday,
Waldenbooks, Livonia; 7-8 p.m. Wednesday, Smith's Books, Devonshire Mall,
Windsor; and 7-8 p.m. Thursday, B. Dalton, Eastland Mall, Harper Woods. To
leave a message for Albom, call 1-313-223-4581.
THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION MAY DIFFER SLIGHTLY FROM THE PRINTED ARTICLE.
LIONS; COLUMN