J.J. Buchanan! And this time there really isn’t any time left on the clock
I didn’t see the Michigan v Western Michigan game live. I did watch a full recording of the game not knowing the result. I’m still not sure I know the result. With zeros on the clock, I wasn’t particularly in a good place. The internet in the hotel I was staying in wasn’t great and somehow the Western Michigan Broncos had just beaten my Michigan Wolverines. I shut the laptop. I’d catch the postgame on the train.
When I opened up the laptop again, I saw a link to, “Check out the chaotic ending of the Michigan game.” I thought – what chaos? It seemed a straightforward end of the game to me. But I did start to think whether maybe something had happened after the failed Hail Mary. Sure enough. The first one had happened. With Western Michigan up 12-7, with only nine ticks of the clock left, Bryce Underwood heaved a pass out of the back of the endzone and time had run out.
What follows next is a long argument (it’s still going on) about the rules and much debate about whether or not there was one second left on the clock or not. The officials said there was. No one in attendance at the Big House thought there was but we’ll take it. Hey. One last heave for the hell of it. We still needed a miracle play. It wasn’t like the officials had handed us the game. Not at that point.
I want to say that J.J. Buchanan gave us that miracle, but it actually doesn’t look as miraculous as some Hail Marys I’ve seen. If you watch it again, on the one hand, it’s always a miracle when that sort of play comes off. Underwood had to heave it roughly sixty yards through the air. On the other hand, I’ve never seen a last-ditch pass hauled in where the receiver almost looks like he’s catching it cleanly, in stride, at the goal line. Watch it. It’s like he’s running a post pattern and it just happens to be the last play of the game and there happens to be a lot of people standing around in the endzone for Buchanan to crash into.
As a last word on that game: I remember hearing on countless occasions that the stadium clock and the actual game clock can be out of sync. I’ve probably heard that more so in the NFL, but as a result I wasn’t as surprised as some might have been with regards to the whole issue of game clock v stadium clock. It’s only after digging into an NCAA rule book that I’d be arguing the ruling. As a Detroit Lions fan, I’ve seen worse calls.
You can usually find something wrong with every Hail Mary pass. Even the original Hail Mary, the 50-yard touchdown pass from Roger Staubach to Drew Pearson, for Dallas against the Minnesota Vikings, December 28, 1975, was a bit dodgy. There’s two Vikings defensive backs right there. The ball is underthrown. Pearson actually makes it look easy. It’s not like a crowd waiting for a jump ball in the endzone with no time left on the clock, like you see these days. It was almost a one-on-one situation with a safety coming over a little late. Also, it wasn’t the last-ditch throw of the dice we think of in these situations. There was still 32 seconds on the clock. Our understanding of the term has changed a lot since Staubach uttered those words. “I closed my eyes and said a Hail Mary.”
I’m now stretching the definition of a Hail Mary, as the play I’m now thinking of was thrown from 29 yards out. But, what I remember most about Drew Bledsoe’s last-second heave in a game against the Bills in 1998, is that after the game he said that in all his games going back to high school, nothing good has ever happened on a Hail Mary. New England were down 21–17, and with six seconds left. Bledsoe threw to Terry Glenn in the endzone, from 29 yards out, the ball fell incomplete, but Henry Jones of the Bills was flagged for pass interference. That call gave the Patriots one untimed down at the one-yard line and with no time left on the clock, Bledsoe threw the winner to Ben Coates. First time ever that one of those scenarios worked out for Drew. It highlights how the odds can be stacked against you when there’s no time and you need a score.
Of course, the most legendary one, the one everyone thinks of when you say Hail Mary, is Doug Flutie playing for Boston College in 1984 in the Orange Bowl against the University of Miami. For drama and excitement and a real prayer being thrown up at the end of it all, you can’t beat this one. The play is made all the more dramatic by Flutie scrambling for his life. I swear he almost trips over his own feet, but his low centre of gravity helps him stay upright. The ball is in the air for 64 yards, before it comes down into the hands of wide receiver Gerard Phelan who has slipped behind the mass of bodies in position for a jump ball. It’s always pointed out that Phelan was Flutie’s roommate. I don’t know why that always comes up in the legend. The clock is all zeros. The Boston College players are going crazy. The commentators, however, were all over it. “You cannot let an offensive pass receiver, in those kind of situations get behind you.” What is that we say in those situations? As a DB in football, in that scenario, you gotta be deeper than the deepest.
The amount of luck, or just bad defending, involved in successful Hail Mary plays is big. You have to feel that someone is looking down on you from above, watching that ball fall into a crowd of players. Usually it’s a tipped ball situation. Kordell Stewart to Michael Westbrook for Colorado against Michigan in 1994 has a huge element of luck but you still have to marvel at how far Stewart threw it. That ball is in the air for 70 yards.
Maybe the most bonkers one is the Bluegrass Miracle. Marcus Randall of LSU heaving one very deep to Devery Henderson against Kentucky in 2002 is probably the most ridiculous of all. I say “heaving it to Henderson” but really, it’s just thrown to the heavens and Henderson, after a couple of deflections, grabs the ball and sprints the last twenty yards to the endzone. From your own 18-yard line it’s not really a prayer. It’s like me after secondary school praying for good results after having spent all my school years getting thrown out of class. It’s not really going to happen is it? The funniest thing about that Bluegrass Miracle is that the Kentucky fans were already celebrating. They’d dumped the Gatorade on the head coach and they thought it was all over. There’s a lesson in never leaving the game early.
I hardly ever leave the game early. I remember doing so once at an NFL Wembley game. Honestly, Washington vs Cincinnati at Wembley Stadium, London, October 30, 2016. Have you any idea how much chaos it is leaving Wembley? Washington's kicker Dustin Hopkins is lining up a very kickable 34-yarder, with 2:13 left in overtime. I am halfway up the stairs to the exit before he’s even kicked it. I’m almost out of the building when the cheers go up. Then, moments later, on the concourse, I hear more crowd noise. Apparently, the kick didn’t count. The Bengals had called timeout just before the kick. The would-be winning three points gets taken off the board. Hopkins kicked again. He missed from 34. The game goes on. But not for long. It ended in a tie.
The all-time classic, “leaving too early” story lives in legend, mainly because the commentary is amazing. It was a high school game played in Texas Stadium in November 1994 between John Tyler and Plano East. It was a regional semifinal. So, it’s a big deal. John Tyler were leading 41–17 with 3:03 remaining. The stadium starts to empty. Plano East then somehow manage to score four touchdowns in 2:25. They had three successful onside kicks, and were 44–41 up. Crazy stuff. The Plano East commentators were losing their shit. The most memorable line, aimed at those in the car park who had given up on these kids, was from Denny Garver: "For all you people who left early ... you sorry dogs!" And after Plano East took the lead: "You've done missed the greatest comeback of all times! Of all times!" Then, because life can be cruel, John Tyler receives the kick-off and returns it 97 yards for a touchdown with 11 seconds left and John Tyler wins 48–44. As the kick is being returned Mike Zoffuto, the Plano East analyst declares, "Oh no! Oh no! God bless those kids! I am sick! I want to throw up!" Maybe at that point you’d go home.
It’s tempting to do a whole top ten best ever Hail Mary games of all time. It turns out, in research for this, I’ve found a whole bunch of college ones that I never even knew about. What interest me most, taking it back to the recent Michigan game, is that sports just fucks with you, fucks with your emotions. For half an hour, before I got back online to check the postgame talk, I was thinking, how can we lose to Western Michigan? What the hell is going on? Now, I’m mostly thinking, how the hell did we almost lose to Western Michigan, but at least I get to smile about that last play, that reprieve, the controversy about the last second. Winning and losing is so odd sometimes.
As a footnote: As I read that to myself, one of my favourite failed Hail Mary plays came to mind. It was the AFC Championship game in the 1995 NFL Season. Pittsburgh won the game and then went on to play in an awful Super Bowl and lose to Dallas. Seriously, Neil O'Donnell gifted the Cowboys the game. But all people are ever going to talk about with that Championship game is not how the Steelers won it, but how the Colts almost won it.
With time running out, Jim Harbaugh, who they’d dubbed “Captain Comeback” that year, had got the ball to the Steelers 29-yard line. He’d scrambled to get a first down and then they rushed to get the line set and spike the ball, leaving time for just one more play. So, you have the hectic crazy drama to get to that point. You’ve got 5 seconds on the clock and then you have a proper jump ball. This is one of those ones where everyone is in the endzone, and the ball is surely going to ricochet all over the place. It was a beautiful looking lofted ball. It had a chance, or as much chance as any throw in that scenario. Aaron Bailey, bless him, who is probably mainly remembered for this play, almost pulls it in. At one point he’s falling to the turf with the ball on his belly. If he manages to wrap his hands around it, just hug the damn ball, then it’s a miracle win. But by the time he hits the ground the ball rolls away and it’s all a very dramatic but ultimately failed Hail Mary. The Steelers survived, 20–16.
Where next?
→ If you want to see how sport can turn a straightforward result into a completely irrational emotional experience, 90 Point emotional ride
→ If you want to explore what losing can mean when the result matters far more than it really should, Loss
→ If you want another personal reaction to an amazing performance, this time based on a musical emotional ride, The Noise Coming From Philippe
If the writing resonates, stay with it.