Maybe you didn't see it live, but you've seen it many times. Redskins, Giants, Monday night, national TV: a big game. And then the tackle. The game is hardly remembered, but that one play is never forgotten.
Start of the second quarter, Joe Theismann hands off to John Riggins, who puts his head down and runs toward the inevitable collision with the defensive line. Improbably, Riggins stops, pivots and laterals back to Theismann. It's a flea flicker. But the Giants aren't fooled. Before Theismann can throw downfield to Art Monk, he is surrounded by a tsunami of blue Giants jerseys. Lawrence Taylor, uber-linebacker, jumps on the Redskins' quarterback and rides him to the ground.
But Taylor immediately jumps up like a puppet--reacting to Theismann's scream and the actual sound of bones cracking--and desperately motions to the Redskins' bench for help. Taylor then grabs the sides of his helmet, a reflexive gesture that screams, "Oh, no!" Remarkably, the baddest dude in the NFL is horrified by what he has done.
This iconic sports moment happened on Monday, November 18, 1985. And I was there, in the upper press box, high up in old RFK stadium, working as a spotter for the NBC radio announcers, Don Criqui and Bob Trumpy.
What's a spotter? I'm a guy who stands next to the play-by-play announcer and points to players' names on a board, identifying who caught a pass, made a tackle, fumbled the ball, or did anything significant on the field. I let the announcer know who's on the bottom of a fumble pile, who nailed the kick returner, who was caught holding in the middle of the line. I'm the extra pair of eyes in the broadcast booth, binoculars stuck to my face, ready to point at the number of whoever made a key play.
At that moment, there was no number to point at. We all knew it was Theismann on the ground, waiting for a stretcher to carry him off the field. In those days, RFK lacked a megatronic, high-def scoreboard to replay the tackle, but Trumpy, Criqui and I looked at our TV monitor to watch the replay. In slow-mo, we saw Theismann's leg bend at an unnatural angle that, even now, is cringe-inducing. A gasp went through the crowd and Criqui explained to the unseeing radio audience that this was proof of how many fans brought small TV's to the stadium. They watched as we watched.
As Criqui soldiered on, describing the scene of players and trainers standing around, Trumpy and I looked at each other and shook our heads. We didn't know how bad it was, but we knew it was bad. I actually wrote on a piece of paper, "Career?" and showed it to Trumpy. He shrugged, and then nodded, maybe.
Ironically, the flea flicker was my wife's favorite play. She had no idea what it was; she just liked the sound of it. It made her laugh. Her fascination with the oddest sounding football play once got me in trouble, as I spoke on a live mike.
As a spotter, you never speak during the game. All communication is done by pointing at a board, with the players' names on it, outlined by position. Once, when the Redskins hosted a playoff game, I spotted for the French-speaking Canadian TV network. Like most monolingual Americans, I had no idea what they were saying, but it didn't matter; I just kept pointing at who made catches and tackles.
However, at some point in this game, there was a timeout and I assumed they were at commercial. I tapped the announcer on the shoulder and asked, "How do you say flea-flicker in French?" Unfortunately, the announcers had been uncharacteristically silent as their cameras panned the field. Their mike was on. The announcer quickly placed his finger to his lips as I suspect thousands of TV viewers in Quebec thought, "Qu'est que the hell c'est?"
Besides those broadcasters from the frozen North, I had the opportunity to work with many TV announcers. I was always impressed by how the announcers could keep track of all the action, describing it as I pointed frantically and their producers yelled in their earphones. Marv Albert was always pretty loose and funny off camera. Curt Gowdy (Google him: he was once one of the most famous announcers, baseball or football) was about the most relaxed man I've ever worked with. Dick Enberg was ever the consummate professional and gentleman.
Almost all the regular announcers were nice and competent. The few exceptions were the rookie announcers, working a test game to see if they merited a long-term contract. Understandably, they were as nervous as inbred poodles. And who could blame them? There was a lot at stake. I remember one guy holding up a mirror and spending five minutes combing his eyebrows before his first telecast. I guess it calmed him down because he worked for the networks for several years.
Our game was held up for many minutes before they carted Theismann off to the hospital and emergency orthopedic surgery. Because of that play, the left tackle position became one of the most important and highest paid among NFL players.
We didn't realize that then. As backup QB Jay Schroeder came in to relieve Theismann and win one for the 'Skins and their fallen QB (who never played again), we went back to work and focused on a great game between great rivals. Only later did we realize that we had been eye witnesses to history.
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