The Education of Giacomo Jones Ch. 06

The backward pitch, however, was high. Very high. The back tipped it and it hung in the air for what seemed an eternity before Quigley, who gave up the long pass moments before, cradled it in his arms and took off down the left sideline 94 yards for a Fulbright touchdown. Hurley's PAT gave Fulbright a 35-24 lead midway through the third quarter.

If you followed Fulbright, that play was part of the Generals' not-so-secret sauce. It was a mature team made up of smarter-than-average players. They had to be: Fulbright and Vanderbilt were the only two Southeastern Conference schools that refused to dumb down admission standards for athletes as the state-supported schools that accounted for the rest of the SEC's schools had. Consequently, the Generals made few mistakes of their own, but took advantage of mistakes opponents made. Fulbright had the fewest turnovers in the conference and was its least-penalized team.

The next possession would be critical for Tennessee. It needed to score — at least a field goal — to keep the game close to have any prayer of a fourth-quarter comeback. The turnover on the Vols' last offensive play had been brutal. The errant pitch was the difference between Tennessee taking a three-point lead and, now, being down by 11. Another such error and Fulbright uncork the champagne.

The downside to quick defensive touchdowns off turnovers is that the defensive team has to go right back onto the field. But for the tipped pitch and Quigley's return, Tennessee had driven the football 84 yards against Fulbright's defense, running plays at a relentless pace and wearing the Generals down.

The freshman kick returner let Fulbright's second kickoff of the half hop harmlessly out the back of the end zone and went to work on their own 25. The Vols were following the same plan of attack that had produced the previous drive, and with considerable success. Another first-down pass to the tall receiver who came down with the contested ball again. Eight plays into the drive, the Vols were back inside the Generals' 20. Now, with the Fulbright defensive front clearly winded, Tennessee decided to continue pounding the ball up the middle, scoring on a quarterback sneak on second down from the 2. That pulled the Vols to within four points.

Fulbright got the kickoff on the last play of the third quarter, returning the ball to its own 33. Time for a statement drive, a differentiator, a slam-the-door moment against Tennessee's often undisciplined defense.

The Generals continued, as Tennessee had, concentrating on running plays inside — between the left tackle and Rance at right tackle — run at a dizzying pace. Neither Tennessee's defense nor Fulbright's offense had been on the field since the middle of the third quarter and both were rested. With so much on the line, the contact on every play was vicious.

Without throwing a single pass, the Generals had notched three first downs in eight plays, not an eye-popping per-carry average, but consistent. Now on Tennessee's 35, the play count (and the statistical likelihood against sustaining so many snaps without an error) was getting too high for comfort, and Perry Hemphill knew it. His strategy of pounding the ball and moving the chains to draw up Tennessee's defense seemed to be working. Linebackers and even cornerbacks were walked up two yards from the line of scrimmage, or even closer. The Vols' single safety was also playing shallow, intent on forcing Fulbright into a fourth down showdown and, ultimately, off the field.

So Hemphill sent in a huge change-of-pace play — faking another dive on third and four out of the same run formation the Generals had shown for the entire drive, then having Gerow pull up and hit Fernandez on a shallow slant just behind the area the linebackers would have vacated to jam into the line to bottle up the run.

Philando Fernandez was difficult for even elite defensive backs to cover, both because of his extraordinary quickness in making cuts and his Olympic-caliber speed which made him impossible to control if he got a step on a defender. Where the freshman needed work was on his hands. Unlike Mojo Hale, who was human flypaper any time a ball came reasonably within his reach, Fernandez had difficulty concentrating on the pass or, as the coaches say, looking the ball into his hands. His inclination was to turn on his afterburners and head upfield before he secured the ball.

Gerow's pass hit Fernandez about facemask high, and, predictably, he had trouble handling it. He didn't give up on the pass, though, and kept bobbling the ball hoping to find its handle. In retrospect, it would have been better had it fallen the ground incomplete. As he was trying to bat the ball into his arms, a Tennessee cornerback collided with him, sending the ball wobbling through the air back toward the line of scrimmage where a Volunteer linebacker grabbed it. He tucked the ball into his gut and churned for another 10 yards, almost to midfield, before a pack of Fulbright players wrestled him down.

The statement drive Fulbright was hoping for didn't happen, and now the Generals found themselves with their backs to the wall and needing their weary defense to save the day and keep them in the driver's seat for the SEC's Eastern Division crown and a berth in the conference championship in two weeks.

With 10 minutes left to play, Tennessee went back to work pounding the tired Fulbright defensive front with one running play after another. It was a valiant effort, allowing perhaps two yards on first down, four yards on second, but then getting ripped for seven or eight (and a new set of Tennessee downs) on third. The Volunteers had pushed the ball to the Generals' 35 and burned five minutes off the clock in the process.

Perry Hemphill called his first timeout of the second half to give his defense a breather. His guess — and it turned out to be correct — was that ESPN would stretch it into a three minute break because the fast-paced, incessant ground game had afforded the network no time to air commercials.

Trainers brought oxygen canisters along with plenty of Gatorade to the weary defensive players. Hemphill was urging his linemen and linebackers to dig deep and try to push Tennessee into a fourth down situation that would essentially decide the game. Still four points down, a field goal this near the end would do Tennessee no good. Only a touchdown could save the Vols, and that created a high-stakes sense of desperation on both sidelines.

When the officials summoned both teams back onto the field and blew the ball ready for play, Tennessee continued its ground assault, gaining three yards on first down, four on second and two on third. That created, as Hemphill hoped, a decisive fourth down situation. This time, Tennessee coach Josh Heupel called time out but only got a 30-second respite. When the two teams returned to the line of scrimmage, Tennessee lined up in a power formation its quarterback under center and with a linebacker and a tight end in behind him, ostensibly to push the quarterback forward for the needed yard or more. Fulbright's defense took note and pulled 10 of its 11 men to within a yard of the line of scrimmage in an effort to stymie the Tennessee quarterback sneak.

The ball was snapped and after initially crouching as if he were looking for a crease to lunge forward, the quarterback broke to his right and found his wide receiver streaking downfield 15 yards away from everybody. It was an easy pitch-and-catch, the ball lofted softly to the lonely Volunteer receiver who would walk into the end zone and, with the extra point, give Tennessee its first lead of the game, 38-35, with three minutes remaining.

Tennessee's pocket of fans, who were ready to head for the exits a short time earlier when LaShon Quigley returned a bobbled pitch 96 yards to increase the Vols' deficit to 11 points, were now howling the lyrics to "Rocky Top" as the Tennessee band played the melody.

On the sidelines, Perry Hemphill was not only unruffled, he had a wry smile on his face. He'd been in this situation before. This was similar to the opening game of the season and the heroic final drive that gave the Generals their upset win over Wake Forest on this same field.

"Guys, this is the situation you were built for," he told his offense before the ensuing kickoff from Tennessee. "Go out there and win this."

The game's final drive began on Fulbright's own 25 after Quigley took a knee in the end zone rather than risk a runback with Tennessee's coverage team closing fast.

With 180 seconds and two time outs, the Generals still had time to run the ball, but it was clear to Tennessee that Fulbright would have to pass to cover the 75 yards necessary for a game-clenching touchdown.

Mason Gerow started out with a play-action pass, going right back to Fernandez despite the turnover the last time he touched the ball, this time for a gain of 12 yards across the middle of the field.

A 38 read option gained nine yards in one of the few times it had been run that day. It would have gone farther but for the extraordinary lateral pursuit of Tennessee's linebackers. On second down, the Generals lined up in the same formation and, when the ball was snapped, appeared to be running the same play, but Gerow kept the ball instead and zipped a pass to Mojo Hale who had just made a stunningly quick cut for a man his size an broken into the flat 10 yards downfield. The catch and Hale's tackle out of bounds gave Fulbright the football at the Tennessee 44 and stopped the clock with 1:47 remaining.

Fulbright quickly got over the ball and lined up in the shotgun formation with receivers spread wide left and right and Dorie Masters alone in the backfield to block for Gerow. The ball was snapped and Gerow dropped back three steps as Tennessee front-line defenders rushed toward him. At the last instant, Gerow stepped forward between two Vol linemen and flipped the ball to Masters with room to run. He gained 14 yards before he was dragged down from behind, drawing a yellow flag against Tennessee for an illegal horse-collar tackle. That was a 15 yard penalty and, given that the infraction happened at the Tennessee 30, moved the ball to the Tennessee 15 and stopped the clock again with 1:34 left.

Fulbright's crowd could sense the magic once more. The steady roar of the home crowd was pregnant with a sense of anticipation.

The problem with drawing near to the end zone is it compresses the field for the defense, giving it less real estate to cover, and mitigates the advantage of speed for the offense, giving it fewer passing options. Having a speedster like Fernandez meant little if he couldn't get a step on a defender and use his 4.29-second speed in the 40-yard dash to scorch him on a sprint downfield. There was only so much damage his fleet feet could do in a span of 15 yards.

That and the fact that Fulbright still had two timeouts convinced Hemphill that it was time to pound Tennessee inside on the ground, that the Vols were shellshocked and on their heels.

A dive in the guard-center gap between Crews and James gained two yards. The 38 read option with Bookie Riemers squeezing off Rance's right hip gained four yards. On third and four, Hemphill signaled a misdirection running play, a 33 counter play with Riemers taking the ball left between the guard and tackle on a play that initially appeared bound for the right side of Fulbright's line behind Rance. It gained three yards.

Decision time: go for it on fourth and one from the six and try to win it in the final 30 seconds or bring in Gene Hurley for the field goal that would tie the game and, most likely, send it into overtime.

Hemphill called timeout with 27 seconds left. He knew the decision ahead would be one of the most important in his career.

The advantage of risking everything on fourth and one was that even if his team picked up the one yard, it still had a few more yards to go for the winning touchdown. If his offense gained enough yards for the first down, the game clock would pause momentarily to allow for the sideline crew to reset the chains before it would restart.

The disadvantage, however, was devastating: the game was over and Fulbright would have lost its second game. Given that Georgia had finished its SEC schedule, mauled a team from the Mid-American Conference in Ohio and faced only its woebegone in-state rival, Georgia Tech from the Atlantic Coast Conference, in its season finale, the Bulldogs would clinch the SEC East with only one loss to Fulbright's two.

The pressure showed in Hemphill's face as his offense gathered around him.

"What do you think, Matt?" the coach said, looking his quarterback in the eyes.

"They're jamming the box and getting wide on those linebackers is tough. Maybe a disguised pass play like the one Tennessee just scored on?" Gerow said.

Stark Middleton shook his head.

"I coached with Tennessee's defensive coordinator at Texas Tech, I know him well, and after what they just did in almost the same situation, his antenna will be up for a that play," he said.

Hemphill pulled down the mouthpiece to his headset and addressed the defensive coordinator in the crow's nest.

"What do you think? Can we get a stop on them if we go to overtime?" he asked. He nodded his head. "OK, I'm holding you to it."

"Field goal," Hemphill yelled.

Gerow, Crews, Rance, Mojo, Bookie and Dorie looked at each other, their faces blank in disbelief. The magic had always saved the Generals before. The only time they came up short was on a game-ending kick attempt gone bad on that sultry night in Starkville, Mississippi. Gerow followed his coach appealing to him to reconsider and play for the win, but the timeout had expired. The decision was made. It was just a 21-yard field goal, barely more than an extra point. It was up to Hurley to kick the game into overtime.

The placekicking team raced onto the field and set up. The play clock was down to 5 seconds before the Generals were set. With two seconds left on the play clock, just before the ball was snapped, Tennessee called a timeout in an effort to ice Hurley, give him time to think about it, to freeze him.

Hurley did what he always does: he took a quick jog to the sideline, reset himself mentally, and then jogged back onto the field as he would for any kick, aligned himself to the exact point where the holder would place it and go through his pre-kick mental checklist.

When the ball was whistled ready to play, the two teams lined up again, Hurley took his precise spot behind and 45 degrees off to the left of where the ball would be held for him. But before the center snapped the ball, there was a commotion to Hurley's left, whistles blew and two yellow flags lay on the grass. Somebody had jumped. But who? If the penalty was against Tennessee, that would be half the distance to the goal line and a Fulbright first down at the three. If it was Fulbright, that would move the ball back to the 11, turning Hurley's task into a marginally more difficult 26-yard field goal.

"Illegal motion, No. 85, offense. Five yard penalty. Remains fourth down," the referee announced.

A freshman reserve tight end playing on special teams had crouched too far forward in his two-point stance and, when he adjusted to steady himself, drew Tennessee's defender across the line and caught the eye of the line judge and the head linesman.

So now, on fourth and six, Fulbright had no choice but attempt the game-tying kick. Fulbright and Hurley lined up in field goal formation for the third time. By now, the team just wanted to get the kick done, get off the field, hold Tennessee scoreless for about 20 seconds and go into overtime.

Unlike a time out, a penalty afforded Hurley no time for his reset routine of jogging toward the sideline. He just backed up five yards, got back into position aligned with the holder and focused on the exact spot where the holder's left hand touched the turf, the square inch where the ball would be placed.

Finally the pass came from the center. It was high and slightly to the left, prompting the holder to extend himself to snag it and disrupt his spatial orientation to the spot on which Hurley was focused, the spot where the ball would have to be. Hurley, as he had practiced thousands of times, began his progression toward that predetermined spot as soon as the center snapped the ball. His kicking foot would reach it a millisecond after the holder put it in place. But with the snap off-target and the timing off, that put the hold farther left than the spot Hurley had calibrated for the kick.

He could tell the instant his foot contacted the ball that something was off. The deep, resonant thud — the feel that comes from hitting the ball squarely on its sweet spot and sending it soaring perfectly high above the crossbar and between the uprights — wasn't there. Hurley didn't have the heart to watch.

The ball cleared the line of scrimmage and did better than Hurley might have expected. It wasn't a clean kick to be sure. Rather than the signature end-over-end spin of a properly kicked ball, this had a slightly lateral wobble and yaw as it climbed, heading for the left upright. It smacked the vertical, bright yellow aluminum pole about midway up. Had it been slightly more to the right, it might have caromed inside of it and landed behind the goalpost, good for three points and a tied game. Instead, it bounced back onto the gold-painted grass of the end zone. No good.

Hurley heard the Tennessee band strike up "Rocky Top" again as the tiny contingent of Vol fans went as crazy on this afternoon. He squatted and stared helplessly at the ground as Tennessee players leapt for joy heading toward their sideline.

"C'mon, roomie. Not your fault. You did all anybody could ask," Rance Martin said as he squatted beside Hurley. Together, they both stood and trotted to Fulbright's sideline.

Tennessee's offense came onto the field, lined up in victory-safe formation, snapped the ball once, the quarterback took a knee and the celebration in orange began in earnest as the final 20 seconds clicked helplessly off the clock.

The scoreboard bore the bitter evidence that Fulbright's championship dreams had just vanished, and it burned itself into Rance's memory: Fulbright 35, Tennessee 38. His heart sank. His stomach was queasy. In that moment, part of him wanted to cry; the other part wanted to rip Perry Hemphill's fucking head off.

There would be no fans in green and gold storming the field on this day. There would be no celebratory parade through Fallstrom's main drag. The gray, overcast afternoon seemed even darker, more devoid of color, as the team walked toward the tunnel and the locker room, looking at fans who stood in silent disbelief.

Rance felt a hand clasp his arm. He turned, still stunned, and saw Gia. She had been crying, but she was smiling through her tears.

"This sucks, Rance, but it just occurred to me: we've been through a hell of a lot worse in the past few weeks, and we're doing OK. I've got you; you've got me. I love you, Rance Martin," she said.

Rance turned and held her tight against his sweaty uniform.

"I know you're right, baby. At least we've got the benefit of that perspective. In my mind, I know that but ... this one's going to take a while to get over," Rance said. She reached for his face and gave him a chaste kiss appropriate for the circumstance.

"I'll wait for you outside the equipment area. Mom and dad have their tailgating setup in the Reserve," he told Gia.

Gia nodded sympathetically. "See you then."

●●●

A gray mist fell from the gunmetal skies as dusk approached across the dreary, dispirited and thinning crowd in the vast expanse of the Fulbright Reserve where Ed and Lorrie Martin had erected their green and gold party awning. Their tailgate spread of pork barbecue, slaw, fries, biscuits and apple turnovers bought for the day's festivities after Fulbright's huge game with Tennessee had barely been touched. Not even Rance, who had played four quarters of football, could muster a respectable appetite.