Necessary Roughness: 4th Quarter

Then I look again - Deon's just faked Claiborne out of his pads. Deon goes up - reaches for the ball. He has it on his fingertips. Claiborne grabs at his ankles as Deon pins the ball against his helmet.

The ball rolls down his body. Deon desperately tries to pin it against his body. Does he have it? I can't tell. Then I watch closely.

Deon Wright has the ball pinned against his back. He's going down, one hand pinning the ball with all his might, the other trying desperately not to land badly. He does land badly.

But he lands. He has the ball trapped under his back. I can't imagine how much that landing hurt - but he has the ball. He has the ball under his back. He has the fucking ball.

I turn my head - the ref signals incomplete. The fuck do you mean incomplete?

"That's a damn catch!" I shout. I know what I saw. Deon caught it. I hope to hell the cameras caught it - then I look behind me. There's a cameraman who saw it all. It's a catch.

I storm over to Dan. "That was a catch!" I shout - he seems surprised, but he shakes his head. "Throw the challenge flag!"

"Neil, there's no way they're calling that a catch," Dan retorts. "Behind the back? We don't have a prayer."

"I saw it with my own two eyes!" I shout.

"Look, Neil," he answers. "It's not a catch."

"The fuck it isn't!" I scream. "There's a camera right there! They caught it! Deon caught the ball!"

"If they overturn the call," Dan laments, "I'll buy you a car."

"And if they don't, I'll buy you a fucking boat," I snap. "Now throw the fucking flag." Without another word, Dan agrees, and the red challenge flag flies.

The referee goes through his spiel and heads over to the booth, looking like he's looking into hunting blinders. The entire crew takes their looks. I see some head-nods, some confusion - and finally, after what feels like an hour, they have an answer.

League rules require indisputable visual evidence to overturn a call. Right now, the call on the field is an incomplete pass, so the refs have to see something that convinces them otherwise.

The referee takes the field, microphone ready. "After reviewing the play," accompanied by a pause, "the receiver possessed the ball all the way to the ground." I know that. "The ball was pressed between his back and his left hand, and he did not trap the ball. Therefore, it is a catch." I scream in affirmation, pumping my fists and not even caring that my headset goes flying. I give more high-fives than I can count, including one to a deserving Deon.

The ball is ours. The game is ours. We have just over two minutes to score. Let's fucking do this.

But before we get going, I step over to Dan. "About that car," I tease, "I'll take an SUV. Make it a nice one."

"Neil, if we win this game, I'll buy you a Porsche," he retorts, and I agree completely. I'll settle for a Cadillac if we lose, I guess.

That seems a lot less likely after the next play, as Knowshon takes us from the 19 all the way to the 5. The two-minute warning brings the clock to a stop, and we regroup. Tannehill's a little shaken up, but he's hanging in there.

He shows it on the next play - a perfect strike to Kenny Stills for the touchdown, and we're down by one. We were down 27-3 at the half - we're an extra point away from tying it, or maybe--holy shit. I have an idea.

"Dan!" I shout to our head coach. "Go for two! Run that play! Let's win this now!" He is not amused. "Let's do it! Just like the Texans!"

"Quit while you're ahead, Neil," he snaps, and he sends the extra-point team out. Franks nails the extra point, and we're tied at 34. Sixteen-point underdogs my ass - we're a defensive stop away from overtime, and I know we'll get it there.

And I really need to watch my thoughts - the opening kickoff goes out of bounds. That's a no-no - the Cowboys get it on their 35 with a minute and fifty seconds to work with. And all of a sudden, the Cowboys' offense is looking tough. The same Cowboys offense that couldn't do shit all second half - their only points came off that interception - is now shredding us. Peterson is getting the bulk of the yardage, and we burn all three of our timeouts trying to keep time on the clock, but it doesn't do us any good. Dallas rolls to our 24 with two seconds left, and the Cowboys call timeout. We're looking at a 41-yard field goal. Bailey missed earlier from 50 - barely. He's got this. And all this wild-ass comeback - the behind-the-back catch, the two onside kick recoveries, overcoming the cart-offs - it's all for naught. Unless...

I've been working with Deon on this play. It's a field goal block. Deon has a hell of a vertical and an uncanny ability to leapfrog people. It's the last play of the Super Bowl - we're not holding back.

This is it. Everything's on the line. Just breathe.

Deon lines up behind the line. He takes a running leap - just as the Cowboys snap. We theoretically have an infinite number of tries at this play - all that happens if Deon jumps too soon is an offsides penalty, the game can't end on a defensive penalty, and as long as the field goal isn't good, we can keep timing the perfect block for as long as we want.

The snap is perfect. The hold is good. He lines up for the game-winning field goal and what looks like a perfect kick...

Bailey doesn't see Deon coming. Deon gets both hands on the ball without even being touched. Looks like we're headed to overtime with that--wait, what the hell is happening now?

Deon has the ball. He's running it back - is he trying to win this now? Oh my God, he's past the kicker and the holder. No one even close.

He makes it to midfield - backup quarterback and holder Brandon Weeden gives chase. The clock has long since expired - this is the last play of the game unless we go to overtime. A tight end against a backup quarterback? Who would have guessed this madness?

He's at the 40. Weeden's strangely gaining ground. I don't believe this. Are we going to win this now? No overtime? Deon's pulled the miracle play of the game...and now this?

He's at the 30. The sidelines are following closely - it's getting crowded over here. I jostle for position - I get nowhere.

The 25, the 20 - Weeden takes a flying leap. He reaches out - grabs Deon's ankle. Looks like we're heading to overtime as Deon stumbles - the rest of the Cowboys are catching up, so it looks like he's coming--no. Oh my God, he gets free.

Deon takes off like a bat out of hell as Weeden is left eating dirt. He's at the 15, the 10--the line has caught up. One last chance to take down the game-winning touchdown.

For some reason, things seem to be moving in slow motion. We got this - he's at the 5 with two defenders. He takes a flying leap as I look around - no flags or whistles. A defender grabs Deon's ankle as he flies toward the end zone. Deon tries to break the plane. We look for a signal - I've never waited for so long in my life for anything--

TOUCHDOWN!! TOUCHDOWN!! HOLY FUCKING FUCK IT'S A TOUCHDOWN!! WE WIN THE SUPER BOWL! WE WIN WE WIN WE WIN I DON'T BELIEVE IT!!

I know, I know, every scoring play is reviewable - but the hell with that. We just won the Super Bowl.

The whole sideline rushes the field. Helmets fly off, grown men embrace, and confetti flies in our colors. I fall to my knees as I look over at Deon - it hits him. He's a Super Bowl champion - and he simply remains on the ground in ecstasy.

We won. I coached our team to victory. Quickly, the refs confirm it - Deon scored. No overtime today - we got it on the play of the year. My guy just ran for the winning touchdown. This is the best feeling I've had since my daughter was born.

I look over at the Cowboys clearing out - Jason Garrett, their head coach, at least has the decency to shake Dan's hand and congratulate him. I almost feel bad for the guy, knowing the shitstorm he's about to experience with his owner targeting our guys.

Soon the field is swarmed - media, fans, players, it's absolute pandemonium. Everyone on the team has on their Super Bowl hats, and the hats and T-shirts trickle down to family members in no time.

Speaking of family members, here come the girls - all four of them. I feel a bit guilty - if I had known Gretchen was going to meet someone this week, I would have ordered an extra ticket, especially since Rose just won a shitload of money.

I keep everyone close - we need a front row spot for the MVP announcement. The stage for that is going up, and someone has the task of driving the MVP's car out onto the field. It's a good one this year - a brand new Cadillac SRX, navy blue. I know who should win it. I hope the selection committee sees it that way - yeah, I'd be happy for Tannehill, but he's not the reason we won.

I look up as the media is no doubt back from break. A few key people are ushered to the front - the MVP favorites. Tannehill's up there, because of course he is - four TD passes. Three of them to Deon, who's also up there, accompanied by his mom and brother. Just for good measure, we have Knowshon Moreno and Cameron Wake. All good choices, but I'm crossing my fingers they do the right thing.

Roger Goodell, commissioner extraordinaire, is up on stage. "Congratulations to the Miami Dolphins on one of the most epic comebacks in NFL history. I lost count of the records broken tonight. It is my honor to present to Mr. Stephen Ross the Lombardi Trophy." Mr. Ross, of course, is the owner, a man who's come a long way at this whole owning an NFL team thing.

"It is also my honor to award the Super Bowl MVP. The MVP will receive the new Cadillac SRX, fully loaded. This year's Super Bowl MVP," as we all wait with bated breath...

..."Deon Wright."

The crowd erupts. And Deon couldn't be happier - I still don't think he knows what to do with himself. Less than a year ago, he was an undrafted free agent we took a chance on, one who barely made our roster. And now here he is on top of the football world after playing the game of his life.

Goodell continues, probably thankful he doesn't have to award the Cowboys the trophy when he knows he'll be ripping them apart in a few weeks. "Deon, your performance tonight was one for the ages. A new record for receiving yards. Three touchdowns. And you are the first person in Super Bowl history to recover an onside kick and block a field goal in the same game. And that behind-the-back catch - I still don't know how you pulled that off. You earned this MVP, Deon. Congratulations."

The crowd cheers like mad as Deon takes the mic. "Thank you, Commissioner. And thank you to the Miami Dolphins for believing in me." He seems a bit uncomfortable. Deon's kind of shy--well, he's quite shy. And now the whole country's watching him. "I wouldn't be here if my coaches didn't believe in me and give me this opportunity. Coach Garrett, my position coach," Who, me? "This man invited me into his home and treated me like family." Well, actually it was my sister's home. And he invited me to his hometown - a place I really like. "Coach, come on up here." He motions me up here as someone takes his mic.

He walks up to me as I climb up the stairs - my entourage in tow. Aisha and Gretchen follow me up with Isabelle and Crystal in tow. But before I get up there, he leans in and whispers to me: "Do it." What? "Right here. It's the perfect time. Go for it."

I'm a bit taken aback, but I'm ready. Good thing I have these cargo pants full of all kinds of things.

I take the mic. Isabelle stands next to me, and I put my arm around her. Crystal stands at my other side and does the same. "I don't even know where to begin," I stammer. "Having one of my players win such an award is...indescribable. This team, to come from where we did and make it all the way to the top, I'm still in disbelief."

"We got here because everyone worked like hell to make it happen. That wasn't just the players playing and the coaches coaching. The scouts who found Deon. The front office staff making the roster all it could be. And one of our newest additions who found us Trent Williams. And that isn't all she found. She found a coach, a rough-around-the-edges coach, a man who didn't get along with her at first, and together, we built a champion. And we built a lot more than that."

"Right now, I'm looking at this woman, this amazing woman who's so much more than beautiful." I have Aisha's attention. I'm just not sure I have my own comprehension. "I was going to do this later, but...I can't wait any longer."

I reach into one of my pockets. Aisha looks me over - it's setting in for her. I think it's setting in for the others on the podium - and in the stadium.

I turn my attention to my gorgeous girlfriend. "Aisha, I've fallen in love with you. You have my heart, and just as important, you have my daughter's heart. And I'm ready to spend the rest of my life with you."

I drop to one knee - I think every camera in the stadium is on me. If I weren't riding on an insane amount of adrenaline, I'd probably break down. But this...this is incredible.

I open the box I've had since this morning - I knew I was doing this if we won, but not like this.

"Aisha Claiborne, will you marry me?"

I look up at her face. It's impossible to describe - she doesn't want to cry, but it's hard not to. God I love this woman.

I see someone scrambling to get her a microphone as I hold the ring in my hand, ready for it to go on. I've just asked my girlfriend to marry me in front of over a hundred million people - boy am I fucked if she says no.

I'm pretty sure that won't happen.

Aisha grabs the mic, looking as if she's barely able to speak.

"YES!"

I wrap her up in my arms as the stadium's cheers turn deafening. We kiss as the cameras take a myriad of pictures. For that moment, though, even though I know it's a full stadium, to me, Aisha's the only other person in the world. I couldn't be happier.

The field clears out soon enough. Gretchen agrees to escort the girls back to the hotel while Aisha and I answer a few questions for the media. After that, it's time to head out. We have an early day tomorrow - the Early Show wants me and Aisha on, and I can't wait to see the big plate of crow Cowherd's going to eat after he called us frauds. Who's the fraud now?

No matter, though. Aisha and I have a car ready to take us back to the hotel, so we head to the tunnel so we can head out. We don't get too far - look who's here.

Mr. Ross meets up with us. "That was a hell of a game, Neil," he tells me - I thank him. "I know you ran the offense in the second half, and you did a hell of a job with it. We'll be interviewing for head coach and offensive coordinator." I'm well aware and I've submitted my resume for both. "Now we have to conduct interviews for both positions, but if you interview half as well as you coached tonight, one of those jobs is yours."

"Thank you, sir," I answer, still floating from the win and everything after it.

"Now enjoy your night. And congrats, both of you," he finishes.

"Thank you," I reply, and we're on our way.

I decide to carry Aisha into the car, just because I can. She appreciates it.

(Four Seasons, Palo Alto, CA, hotel suite, Sunday night, 11:00 pm)

This...this has been the best day of my life. I'm a little sore it has to end, but then I check my watch - never have I been so thankful for a time difference. I still have an hour left of Super Bowl Sunday even if it's two in the morning back in Miami.

The girls caught a quick nap on the way over, so they're very pleased to see us. We gather in Gretchen's suite, where we're greeted as only Isabelle and Crystal would greet us - lots and lots of ice cream.

Something seems off, though - Crystal's grinning from ear to ear, but something's off about Isabelle. I wonder if she's sick. I take her aside.

"Talk to me," I plead. "I know something's not right."

She's slow to talk, but eventually she sighs and gets it out. "It's Mom," she exasperates. I don't know where she's going with this, but if she's still bothered by her mom's idiocy, then there's not much I can do right now. I can get her into counseling, and I probably will anyway, but...I don't even know.

"I thought she'd change her mind." I thought that for a long time. "You even told me she would." I did? "You told me she'd come back if the Dolphins won the Super Bowl."

Wait - I remember this conversation. "That's not what I said, honey." I remember it well - this was the day after the loss to the Patriots when Philbin got fired. All this seemed completely impossible then. It still seems impossible. "All I said was that the Dolphins had a better chance to win the Super Bowl then we did of getting your mom to do her job." As I recall, we were running 250-1 in Vegas after that loss. Knowing what I know now about Andrea, I wouldn't bet 250-1 on her.

Then we're interrupted. "I know you're upset, Isabelle." It's Aisha. We didn't shut the door - not on purpose, but I'm not upset about it. "And I can't make Andrea come back. I can't make her be a mom." It's a little late for that. "But I can do something." She has my daughter's attention. "I can be your mom."

"I don't understand," she answers, clearly not sold.

"I know last night I told you how much I love your dad," she continues. "I left a few things out. Most importantly, I love you just as much. And when Andrea signed away her rights, she left it open for me to take her place." Now for the reveal. "After that court hearing, I met with the judge, right there with your dad. And I started the process to adopt you."

I know all this. Isabelle doesn't. Actually, no one else does - we've been keeping it a secret until the end of football season.

Isabelle doesn't wait - she rushes up to Aisha, trying to hug both of us. I pick her up - she's not a little girl anymore, so it takes a little more effort. Good thing I keep myself in shape.

"I'll always be there for you," whispers Aisha to a sobbing Isabelle - at least this time, she's happy. "Now how about we get some ice cream?"

"I'll even carry you," I remark, and Isabelle agrees. We head back into the living area of the suite as I set Isabelle down to dig into her dessert.

She doesn't keep her secret long. "I've got a mom again!" she joyfully announces.

"That's awesome," replies Crystal. "I hope that happens for me soon and I can stay close." Isabelle doesn't know what's going on. "I heard there was someone trying to adopt me but there was a problem with the application."

I know where she's going with this. "I found out about that at the same time as the court hearing. I'm the one who tried to adopt you. And the problem was," I pause, "someone beat me to it."

She seems confused. Aisha speaks. "That person was me." Her sadness goes away right away. "I talked it over with your foster parents. You'll be going home with me, and then when Neil and I get married, you'll be our daughter."

"And my sister," chimes in Isabelle. "Just as long as we can keep playing basketball."

Aisha smiles. "You girls can play all the basketball you want," she assures. "Just keep your rooms clean and your grades up." Isabelle's more than pleased to have a clean room - she's better at it than I am. "I think I'll be pretty good at this whole mom thing." Well, she's awesome at almost everything else.

We finish off the ice cream and the girls get off to bed. Aisha and I head off to our suite, never more pleased than at that moment.

I kiss her - passionately. Off comes her top, exposing a red bra underneath. I know the underwear matches, and she confirms it when her bottoms come off.

"This doesn't mean," I ask as I unfasten her bra, stripping her naked before she even gets my shirt off, "the sex gets boring or anything." I slide her red thong off.

"Bend me over and whip my ass, Neil," she demands as I throw her on the bed face-first, her gorgeous, round ass exposed. I wind my hand up and slap it hard.