In 1987, my family and I went to a formal fund-raising dinner that my Dad organized at a Washington D.C. hotel. It was a very exciting event as it was attended by a wide range of dignitaries and personalities. Even without knowing who everyone was, I remember being mesmerized by the scene and feeling the energy created by the atmosphere and the mere fact that I was also in the nation's capitol!
When the event was over, my Dad asked me to go get the family van in the parking garage about two blocks away where I had parked it. Walking the street at night was enough of a cultural experience for me, and when I arrived to where I remembered parking the vehicle, it was gone.
My heart began to skyrocket as I quickly tried to dismiss the fact that it had been stolen while feeling an overwhelming tidal wave of guilt. I then quickly formulated the theory that I was on the wrong level and found a sign that read "Level 3" with an arrow beside it pointing up. The sign was above a door so I figured that the two were working together to help me in my dilemma.
When the door shut behind me inside that vacuous stairwell, the slam sent off a reverberation that screamed, "No!"
I approached the door the next floor up, and it was locked. This vertical shaft seemed to spin, the cussing increased, and the sweating seemed excessive as I flew up the stairs trying the next seven doors all of which were cemented shut. The next chance for ending this nightmare was the last door before reaching the roof and it was open. I walked into an office space that was dark and empty but it had an elevator.
Luckily, it wasn't locked off and took me to the first floor where I knew I could get out and try this again. It emptied me into a glass vestibule off of the building lobby about 75 feet from the front door. I walked up to the glass doors separating me from the lobby and they were locked --- of course. I yelled and screamed as D.C. denizens walked by completely oblivious to my dilemma.
I felt like I had just entered a vacuum that had devoured every attempt of mine to succeed in this predicament and it left me extremely weary and vulnerable.
As I sat on the floor up against the wall completely void of all energy, I found myself staring through a large plant that was next to the door and noticed something shiny. As I pushed the very heavy planter away, I found the exit button tucked away in the corner of the "death chamber" like some practical joke by the building engineer.
I walked out of the building and headed back to the hotel and was then greeted by family and friends like someone who had been presumed dead in a plane crash but had survived on a remote island.
When I arrived at Texas Stadium last Sunday, the atmosphere was radioactive. I walked among Cowboys and Giants fanatics screaming, chanting, and displaying their opinions about their team and where they were destined to go after this do-or-die battle. You could feel the drama swelling like a tidal wave. Everyone knew that this was not just any game.
Standing on the cement landing next to the row where my seat was and looking out over the field gave me chill bumps that could be used as sandpaper and stung like a flock of bees. I saw Jerry Jones and his entourage along with Romo, T.O., Witten, Demarcus "Beware" Ware, Marion Barber, and the rest of the Dallas Cowboys. The surroundings and climate screamed that everyone on the field and in the stands knew what was at stake; the mission was clear and simple.
The Giants struck first in the first quarter, but that wasn't anything new as Dallas had started out slow in the first half all season. With 3:05 left in the first half, Barber woke up with crowd with an electrifying 36-yard burst up the middle. Six plays later, Romo found T.O. in the end zone. The Dallas defense smothered NY on the next series and got the ball back and engineered a ten minute drive that resulted in a Barber TD with :53 to play in the first half and a 14-7 Dallas lead. The kilowatts in the arena were volcanic.
What happened next took me back twenty years ago when that door slammed shut behind me as I attempted to go up the next level in the parking garage. Deep in the pit of my stomach, something told me that things might be fixing to get ugly. The G-men, behind a flawless Eli Manning, conducted an impressive seven-play drive and closed out the half with a TD tying the score at 14-14. Most teams would have played for a field goal at best, but that TD created a disturbance in The Force.
Dallas took the second half kickoff and went on a 14-play drive taking up the first 8:07 off the 3rd quarter only to end with a 4th and 12 from the Giants 16-yard line. When they chose to kick a field goal and take a 17-14 lead, I cringed and looked to the heavens for an explanation as this decision violated one of the commandments of my football religion: THOU SHALT NOT KICK A FIELD GOAL INSIDE THE RED ZONE DURING ANY NFL PLAYOFF GAME. I will always believe that it is worth the risk to go for the TD on fourth down inside the opponent's 20 unless you're down by three points or less in the fourth quarter with less than two minutes left. If you don't succeed, then you've got them pinned deep in their territory, and your defense should be good enough to make the opposing offense sweat. They got you this far in the season.
As the ball sailed through the uprights, I felt like I did when I found the open door but it led to a dark office space. At least I'm not in that stairwell, but this still isn't quite the answer I was looking for.
The Cowboys proceeded to stop the Giants on their next drive, but something changed in the air after that field goal. Dallas continued their dull and erratic ways by committing horrible penalties and putting a bridle on their momentum. With 53 seconds left in the third quarter, NY drove the field and scored the go-ahead TD with 13:33 left in the game.
This is typically plenty of time for a 13-3 team who is down by four at home in the playoffs, but the Cowboys seemed to lose hope and did not play with the heart and enthusiastic energy that led to such a successful regular season. More penalties emerged, passes were dropped, and the collective sweating of the Dallas throng began to increase. When Dallas got the ball with 1:50 left in the game and on the Giants 48-yard line, there was a temporary feeling of relief and zeal as Romo broke the huddle and took his place behind center.
The drive included a nice run by Barber and a couple of key catches by Jason Witten, but more dropped passes and another false start put Dallas at the Giants 23 facing a 4th and 11.
I felt as if I had just been spit out of the elevators into that glass closet looking at freedom 23 yards away. Dallas had succeeded all year in this do-or-die situation (anyone remember the Detroit, Buffalo, or Minnesota game??) Finally, let's score this TD and end this agonizing experience!
Romo went back to pass and saw Terry Glenn streaking along the back of the end zone and let the ball go. It was like I was approaching the glass doors ready to walk into the lobby and then out of the building to breath the fresh night air.
I saw R.W. McQuarters flying in front of Glenn with his eyes peeled on the ball and I saw what was developing. I felt helpless because there wasn't anything I could do to get Glenn in position to catch the ball. McQuarters intercepted the ball and put a lock on the Cowboys season.
NY Giants 21 Dallas 17.
The air, fervor, and hope of all inside Texas Stadium was immediately vaporized.
Deep inside, I was yelling and waving my arms trying to get the attention of the football gods passing by to make them see that this did not end the way it should have. I needed them to rescue Dallas by providing a way out of this suffocating and fatal blow. Where's the flag?!?! Didn't the Giants call a timeout right before the snap?!?! Something! Somebody! Help!
I stood there knowing that the Cowboys season was over but only because it felt like a Marine drill sergeant was yelling it in my face from about 2" away spit and all. I was trying to find the exit button, but it was no where to be found.
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