Ain't that a kick in the head

TALES FROM THE TAILGATE
Eagles 34, Pats 31 OT (11/29/'87): Another tale from the strike year. And this one pretty much sums that season up. The strike lasted for three fun-filled weeks. And I do mean fun-filled. After two weeks of scabball the Pats made an announcement that brought a smile to the collective faces of their fans. Not the end of the strike. It was the return of Doug Flutie, he of the Boston College hail-Mary miracle touchdown pass. Flutie, hometown icon, was crossing the picket line and putting on a Pats uniform. Did I say scabs? Replacement players? I mean guys who just love to play football! Flu-tie! Flu-tie! And he lived up to the hype, leading the Pats to a 21-7 victory against the Houston Oilers in which he turned replacement WR Larry Linne into Belitnikoff with 87 yards catching and a touchdown. Lin-ne! Lin-ne! The new Pats went 2-1 and kept the team in first place as the strike was settled and the regular players returned to take their place. Except Flutie. He was staying. But as it turns out not playing.

With Grogan hurt the Pats had a choice between California boy Eason and the hailed Flutie to be the QB the rest of the way. If there were any fans who wanted Eason I never met one. Still haven't. But Coach Berry, the former Colt great who was big on loyalty, gave Eason the job. Eason and the rest of the regulars were whipped by Indy 30-16 and looked more lost than the scabs. But Grogan soon returned and the team stumbled its way to a 5-5 record with five games to go. Good enough for first place in the division. And second place. And third. And fourth. And, yes, last. All five teams were 5-5. No, really. It's true. If you ever need a definition of mediocrity just refer to the AFC East Division in 1987. Strike or not, the Pats were a good team and if they could just make it to the playoffs... well, who knows what could happen.

Jim and I were ready for the stretch run. He had endured the strike game with me so the other ticket was his for any game he wanted. And we wanted the Eagles. Philly's strike team didn't win a game and had basically sunk their season so we expected a sure victory. And it should have been. But it wasn't. The Pats lost 34-31 in OT in a game that to this day I still don't really believe they lost. Kind of like that Super Bowl not too long ago. The Pats were getting smashed 31-10 going into the fourth quarter. Grogan couldn't start the game so Coach Berry passed over Flutie yet again (was it the height thing?) and pegged career backup Tom Ramsey to start at QB. Ramsey won his first career start a week earlier but on this day was working on what Jim and I were sure was his last. The crowd was yelling for Flutie and yelling for blood. But Jim and I didn't do much screaming. We weren't the yell-obscenities-at-your-team-when-they-are-losing kind of fans. We just sat there in the rain and groaned a lot and talked about getting out of there early and beating the traffic.

But in the last 10 minutes of the game Ramsey silenced all the Flutie chants and led the team on three scoring drives to tie the game 31-31 with a little more than a minute left. The mood turned from dangerous to delirious. And then Johnny Rembert picked off a pass by Randall Cunningham and the Pats were lining up for a field goal to win the game with just seconds left. Everyone was elated. And then the barefooted kicker walked out on the field. Tony Franklin. Statistics will show that he was a great kicker in the NFL. He's the only kicker to make two field goals beyond 60 yards in one game. He had his best years with the Eagles. The team he was about to beat. But he had missed a kick to cost the Pats a game earlier that year against the Cowboys and had already missed one in this game. Franklin was a short, chunky guy with a bad porn-mustache who suddenly looked like he was near the end of his career. In other words, your typical '80s kicker. And he didn't wear a shoe on his right foot. His kicking foot. I had always wondered how he could kick a football with his bare foot in ice-cold Philly and New England. But he did. As he walked out to kick with his head down the crowd began to shout words of encouragement. "You better make this kick you fat piece of ..." "This kick is so easy my mother could make it!"

Turns out it wasn't that easy. Franklin missed the kick. Did he just miss another field goal? Aaaaaaaaah! Franklin kept his head down and walked off the field. The words of encouragement returned. Louder. One of the great things about sports is that it can often give an athlete a chance to quickly redeem himself. A fielder can make a big error but then step to the plate in the next inning and crack a game-winning homer. A kicker can miss a key field goal but his team can win the coin toss and march down the field to set him up to kick the game winner in overtime. And that's exactly what the Pats did. Franklin came out to kick again. "Come on Franklin," I thought."You can't miss another one. Not even washed-up kickers miss three in a game. The odds are in your favor." The ball was snapped, Franklin's bare foot smacked it and it sailed through the air and ... landed short in the endzone. He missed again! Franklin was quoted after the game as saying "The only way I could feel worse is if I went outside and a seagull dumped on my head." I knew the feeling. Franklin headed to the sideline and disappeared under a large raincoat. The crowd verged on becoming a sociology-class study on mob violence. The Pats got the ball back but fumbled and then the Eagles' kicker did what Franklin couldn't do. He made a kick.

Jim and I stood there in the rain. Then we looked at each other and without saying a word began scrambling down the rows of benches towards the field. We climbed over a wall and made our way down to the railing near the ramp where the players came off the field. Franklin lagged behind the others. Alone. He was still covered in the raincoat that could not protect him from the obscenities the fans were hurling his way with more accuracy than his kicks. As he passed in front of us I screamed the first thing that came into my head. "You suck!" I know, not very original. Jim's was a little better. "Hey Franklin. It's almost December! Put a f---ing shoe on!"