The End of Miami's Reign

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In the early '70s, the team of the decade seemed to be the Miami Dolphins. Mostly, that was due to the Dolphins' perfect season in 1972. It seemed to set them up for a long stretch of success, one that might extend through the entire decade.

As great as the '72 team was, though, I always thought the '73 team was better because it had to defend the '72 team's legacy. The '73 team came into the season with a gigantic target painted squarely on each player's chest. For every team that played the Dolphins in '73, that was the game of the year.

The '73 team stood up to that challenge, going 12–2 and returning to the Super Bowl and winning. Thus, over that two–year span, Miami won 32 of 34 games.

So, when the 1974 season began, Miami was a two–time defending Super Bowl champion with a .941 winning percentage over the previous two seasons. The Dolphins started the season with a loss to New England, then won 11 of the next 13 games. It looked like the Dolphins might get the chance to win their third straight Super Bowl.

Standing in their way, though, were the Oakland Raiders, the same bunch who snapped their legendary winning streak in the second week of the season after the history–making 17–0 campaign. In the AFC semifinals on this date in 1974, the 11–3 Dolphins took the field against the 12–2 Raiders in Oakland.

It was widely assumed that, with the winner slated to face either the Pittsburgh Steelers or the Buffalo Bills in the AFC championship game the following week, the winner of this game would represent the AFC in the Super Bowl. At halftime, it appeared it would be Miami. The Dolphins led, 10–7.

But the Raiders outscored the Dolphins, 21–16, in the second half and won on Clarence Davis' eight–yard touchdown run in the fourth quarter.

The Raiders advanced to the AFC title game against the Steelers. Everyone thought the Raiders would win. The Steelers had never been to a Super Bowl before. Of course, the Raiders had only been to one at that time, but they had come close frequently. Their time had come. That was what the conventional wisdom said.

But times changed. The Raiders lost to the Steelers, and Terry Bradshaw went on to lead Pittsburgh to the first of four Super Bowl titles in six years.

Black Sunday

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You'd think that a city the size of Los Angeles would have won several Super Bowls over the years.

But L.A., which has had as many as two NFL franchises at one time but now has none, has only won a single Super Bowl — 30 years ago tonight, when the Raiders, who had only made Los Angeles their home for a couple of seasons, defeated the defending Super Bowl champion Washington Redskins, 38–9.

It was the first time the Super Bowl had been played in Tampa. Nine future Hall of Famers participated in it. Bronko Nagurski, a charter member of the Hall of Fame, tossed the coin before the start of the game. It drew the fourth–highest Super Bowl TV viewership to that time.

But it is remembered for Marcus Allen's record–setting 74–yard touchdown run.

Frankly, it is odd that the game should be remembered for that. Granted, it was an electrifying play, but a good case can be made that the Redskins were already a beaten bunch by that time. When it happened, I thought the Redskins looked like they were shell–shocked and going through the motions.

It was in the closing seconds of the third quarter. The black–clad Raiders held a 28–9 lead. Allen had already scored once that quarter. His second score took whatever wind was left completely out of the Redskins' sails.

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It really seemed, at first, as if the play would be nothing spectacular. Allen started to run to the left, ran into a wall of Redskins defenders, reversed field and ran back to the right, found a hole and slipped neatly through the Washington defense, and he was off.

The Raiders' triumph is their last — so far — in Super Bowl competition. They returned to the Super Bowl nearly 20 years later and lost.

Few who witnessed the Raiders' success in the 1970s and '80s would have guessed 30 years ago tonight that they would not be back as Super Bowl champions.

It Ain't Over Until It's Over

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Yogi Berra was credited with saying "It ain't over until it's over."

Yogi played — and then managed — in major league baseball, but the saying is appropriate for football, too.

It certainly was appropriate 45 years ago today.

On this day in 1968, the New York Jets and the Oakland Raiders were playing a football game. Joe Namath and the Jets went on to play in — and win — the Super Bowl in January. And, late in the game that was played 45 years ago today, it sure looked like the Jets were going to beat the Raiders.

Except that they didn't.

It had been a back–and–forth affair in Oakland that day, but, with 1:05 remaining, the Jets took a three–point lead. Worried NBC executives cut away from the game, and the network began its regularly scheduled broadcast of a made–for–TV movie that was based on the children's book "Heidi."

What happened next changed the relationship between professional football and television.

The Raiders scored not one but two improbable touchdowns and won the game, 43–32. The western half of the United States saw the full game; the eastern half was watching a little girl on a Swiss mountain and had no idea the Raiders had won.

"Television missed one of football's most exciting and exhausting minutes of emotion," wrote Bob Valli in the Oakland Tribune. "In that minute, Oakland fans saw despair turn to delirium."

Football fans were enraged when they learned what they missed. Viewers who tuned in for the movie were enraged when NBC ran the score on the screen in the middle of one of the movie's most dramatic moments. "Short of pre–empting Heidi for a skin flick," wrote sportswriter Jack Clary, "NBC could not have managed to alienate more viewers that evening."

As a result, television changed its football broadcast policy.

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Future contracts would include explicit language pledging that all games would be shown to their completion. If a game ran long, regularly scheduled programming would be delayed.

NBC implemented that policy immediately. It is standard procedure with all commercial networks today.

To its credit, NBC poked fun at itself over the incident. Three weeks later, when the network was scheduled to show "Pinocchio" on a Sunday night, NBC's promotional advertising showed Pinocchio assuring football fans that he would rather cut off his nose than "have them cut off" the game before it was over.

And a week after that, when a game ran late, NBC announced that the regularly scheduled program, an episode of The New Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, would be delayed.

Super Bowl XXXVII: A Cautionary Tale

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When I was growing up, the Oakland Raiders were the most successful team in the NFL.

Well, with the exception of Super Bowl championships. They were damn near unbeatable during the regular season, but they usually came up just short of the Super Bowl in the playoffs.

They won a few Super Bowls in the late '70s and early to mid–80s, but then the Raiders found themselves wandering the NFL's wilderness for nearly two decades — until they appeared in Super Bowl XXXVII 10 years ago today.

But the Raiders lost to Tampa Bay on that day, 48–21, and they haven't been back to the Super Bowl since.

Ten years ago today, the Raiders gave up more points than any team has allowed in any Super Bowl since San Diego gave up 49 points to San Francisco in 1995.

I always thought that was just bad luck for the Raiders. They had the NFL's best offense, and they were favored by four points — but the Buccaneers had the league's best defense, and Tampa Bay picked off Oakland QB Rich Gannon five times.

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Dexter Jackson had two interceptions in the first half, making him the first player to do that in the Super Bowl. Teammates Dwight Smith and Derrick Brooks picked off the other three passes and ran them back for touchdowns in the second half.

I attributed the Raiders' woes to the fact that Jon Gruden, Tampa Bay's coach, had been Oakland's coach for the four previous years and knew a great deal about Oakland's personnel. I felt it gave him an edge in preparing for the Super Bowl.

But Tim Brown, wide receiver for the Raiders at the time, is alleging that Gruden's replacement in Oakland, Bill Callahan, deliberately undermined the Raiders.

Brown said Callahan changed the offensive game plan at the last minute, shifting the emphasis from the ground game to an aerial attack, and "blew this thing up."

As a result, Brown said, the Raiders went into the game "absolutely knowing that we [had] no shot."

"There's only one potential flaw in Brown's logic," writes NBC's Mike Florio. "He assumes that the new game plan came from Callahan. Who's to say that the order to throw the ball 60 times didn't come from the late Al Davis, who had a special affinity for throwing the football, and also for meddling directly in the coaching of the team?"

That's a good point.

Now, even though I live in Dallas, Texas, I am not a fan of the Dallas Cowboys. More to the point, I suppose, I am not a fan of Jerry Jones.

I have lived here for 20 of the last 24 years. I was working for an area newspaper as a sports writer/editor when Jones bought the Cowboys. I covered the press conference in which he announced the hiring of Jimmy Johnson to be the successor to Tom Landry.

And I have watched Jones display all the worst, most meddlesome and tyrannical characteristics that guys like Al Davis and George Steinbrenner possessed.

As a result, I'm inclined to think that what Florio writes should serve as a cautionary tale for Jones and those who would follow his example.

Lombardi's Super Swan Song

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The second–ever Super Bowl, which was played 45 years ago on this day, was an emotional game for the eventual winners, the Green Bay Packers.

Their coach, Vince Lombardi, hadn't officially announced his retirement yet, but there were suspicions — on the street and in the Packers' locker room — that the game against the Oakland Raiders would be his last.

In his book about the 1967 NFL season, "Instant Replay," guard Jerry Kramer wrote about the days leading up to the Super Bowl and his thoughts and observations — and growing suspicions that Lombardi would be leaving.

At the team's afternoon meeting a couple of days before the game, Kramer wrote that Lombardi became unaccountably emotional as the team broke into smaller groups. Afterward, a teammate asked him what he thought it meant.

"Looked like there's no question about his retirement," Kramer replied.

Two days later, after the Packers beat the Raiders, 33–14, Kramer was one of the players who helped carry Lombardi off the field.

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Earlier, Kramer had recorded Lombardi's pregame speech — his last, or so everyone thought at the time. Lombardi would return to the sideline a couple of years later to coach the Washington Redskins, and he gave pregame speeches to motivate the 'Skins in the 1969 season, but he would never again deliver another speech before a Super Bowl.

It may have been on this day in 1968 that I began my lifelong attachment to the Packers. I grew up in the South — never, to my knowledge, ever got close to Green Bay, Wisconsin — but I've been a Packer fan as long as I can remember.

I think my family may have had a TV set on this day 45 years ago, but I'm not really sure about that. I remember that we did have a TV the following month because that was the month that Peggy Fleming won Olympic gold in figure skating, and my mother insisted that we eat our dinner in front of our TV set when figure skating was on.

But that's another story to be told at another time.

I kind of think I may have watched this game at my friend Larry's house. His family had a color TV, and not too many people had those in 1968. My family sure didn't. We had one of those old black–and–white portables (with a screen that was probably 13 or 15 inches) with the rabbit ears, and that was our family television.

My family lived in the country, and Larry's house was about a mile or so from ours so, if the weather was nice that day, I probably rode my bike to Larry's house, and if the weather wasn't so nice — if there was ice or snow on the ground (and there probably wasn't because we hardly ever had ice or snow in central Arkansas) — I probably walked all the way.

I have spotty memories of seeing Lombardi and the Packers on TV when I was small so I can't be sure I watched the game at Larry's. I only suspect that I did. Larry was probably my best friend in those days, and he was a Packer fan, too. If we watched the game together, I'm sure we were whooping and hollering all afternoon.

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For the second straight year, Green Bay quarterback Bart Starr was named the game's most valuable player — even though his numbers would pale next to the numbers that subsequent players piled up. He completed one pass for a touchdown and racked up a little more than 200 yards through the air.

That woulddn't have bothered me, though. Starr was my favorite player.

It's really a shame I don't have more of a memory of that afternoon because I had to wait 30 years to see the Packers play in another Super Bowl. The memory of the game that was played 45 years ago would have had to sustain me for three decades.

As it was, I spent most of that time not entirely sure that I saw the Packers play in that first or second Super Bowl — and wondering if I ever would see them play in one again.

The Immaculate Reception

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When I was growing up, the Pittsburgh Steelers were the bottom feeders of the NFL.

But all that changed rather suddenly in 1972.

The Steelers won their division and appeared in a postseason game for the first time in a quarter of a century.

That game was against the Oakland Raiders, at the time the most successful team in the NFL, 40 years ago today, and it seemed that the Steelers, who had been shut out in their only previous postseason appearance, would have to wait at least another year for their first postseason victory.

Neither team managed a score in the first half. The Steelers got two Roy Gerela field goals in the second half before the Raiders took a 7–6 lead on Kenny Stabler's 30–yard touchdown run and George Blanda's extra point late in the game.

Then the most wildly, improbable thing happened.

With time running out, Terry Bradshaw faced a fourth down 60 yards from Oakland's end zone. He scrambled around and flung a pass in the direction of John Fuqua. The pass ricocheted off defender Jack Tatum into the hands of rookie Franco Harris, who scooped it out of the air only inches from the ground and ran down the sidelines for the game–winning score.

Almost immediately, it was dubbed the Immaculate Reception.

And, almost immediately, critics claimed the Raiders had been robbed. It was, one wag suggested, the Immaculate Deception.

Well, yesterday, I watched programming on the NFL Network about the Immaculate Reception. I watched the replays that have been enhanced as much as possible by the technological advances of the last four decades.

And I have concluded that it was a legitimately completed pass.

It was, to be sure, a bizarre play, perhaps the most bizarre play I have seen in a lifetime of watching football.

It has been a source of debate for 40 years, and it probably will be a source of debate for another 40 years.

There will always be folks on either side of the issue who will never be persuaded that the other side might be right.

And that is one of the things that makes sports so special. You never know when an unforgettable moment is about to occur.

Seizing the Moment

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The Rose Bowl in Pasadena has been the scene of many memorable college football games over the years, but no professional football games were played there until this date 35 years ago.

Only five professional football games have been played in the Rose Bowl — and all were Super Bowls. The NFL has a policy against holding a Super Bowl in a city that does not have an NFL franchise, but that does not mean Super Bowls can only be played in stadiums that are the full–time homes of active teams.

The Rams and, for a time, the Raiders played in other stadiums when they were based in Los Angeles, but, by the mid–1990s, the Raiders had returned to Oakland and the Rams had moved to St. Louis.

Thus, Los Angeles no longer has an NFL franchise — which is why no Super Bowls have been played there since 1993 — but it was the most popular Super Bowl destination for more than 15 years, starting with the game that was played on this day in 1977.

That was one of the things that made Super Bowl XI noteworthy before it was played — the fact that it was being played in the Rose Bowl where so many great college football games had been played in the past, but, up to that time, no professional games had been played there.

Another thing that made it noteworthy was the knowledge that championship futility was going to end for one of the two entrants. The Oakland Raiders and the Minnesota Vikings had both been to the Super Bowl before and come away empty handed. They had made the playoffs on other occasions as well and missed the Super Bowl entirely.

When I was a child, the Dallas Cowboys were known as the team that couldn't win the Big One. But the Cowboys shook that monkey from their backs, winning it all in January 1972 and returning as the Super Bowl's first wild–card entry a year before the Raiders and Vikings met on this day.

By the mid–1970s, a handful of NFL squads had emerged as the latest teams that couldn't win the Big One. The Raiders and Vikings were clearly in that group when the 1976 season began, and they surged to their division titles as if they were men on missions.

They both won rematches of early regular–season contests in their respective league championship games, advancing to meet in the Super Bowl in Pasadena, and each was impressive in its own way.

The Vikings overwhelmed the Rams, who fought to a 10–10 tie with Minnesota in the second week of the season, and the Raiders beat the two–time defending Super Bowl champion Pittsburgh Steelers, 35–20. The Raiders beat the Steelers by a field goal in the season opener.

The first quarter was a testament to the desire on both sides as neither team managed to score.

Defense played a prominent role in that game. I guess you wouldn't think that if all you knew about the game was the final score (Oakland 32, Minnesota 14), but it is really true.

Minnesota entered the game with the NFL's second–best defense even though many Viking starters were thought to be nearing the ends of their careers (as, in fact, many were), but if either defense was in the spotlight prior to the game, it was Oakland's. The Raiders were ranked 12th in defense, but they had often been criticized in the mid–1970s for being too aggressive.

Undoubtedly, the Raiders' defensive backs were a hard–hitting bunch, especially George Atkinson. After breaking Russ Francis' nose in the first round of the AFC playoffs and then giving Lynn Swann a concussion in the AFC championship game, Atkinson was truly the center of attention.

But it was teammate Jack Tatum — also known as "The Assassin" — who delivered what is rightly regarded as the hardest blow in Super Bowl XI, if not in the history of the Super Bowl.

Minnesota quarterback Fran Tarkenton found Offensive Player of the Year Sammy White on a crossing pattern. The pass didn't hit him in the numbers, but it required no special effort to catch, either, and White caught it in stride. Tatum seemed to come from nowhere and knocked off White's helmet with a teeth–rattling hit. Incredibly, White held on to the ball.

Such concentration should have been rewarded, but, of the Vikings' four (so far) Super Bowl losses, the margin in the game they lost 35 years ago today was the widest.

White's heroic effort was for naught, and none of his successors in purple have had the opportunity to make up for it.

In the 35 years since that day, the Raiders have been back to the Super Bowl on several occasions. The Vikings have never returned.

Sometimes I wonder if they ever will.

The First Wild Card to Win It All

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It might have been appropriate if the New York Jets had won the AFC championship on Sunday.

Why? Well, because it was 30 years ago today that a wild card team first won a Super Bowl.

If the Jets had beaten the Steelers on Sunday, the Super Bowl would have been played between two wild–card teams. I don't think that has ever happened before.

Four other wild–card teams have won Super Bowls since the Raiders did it 30 years ago, and three of them have done so since the dawn of the 21st century.

But, even in 1980, wild cards weren't new to pro football. They had been part of the playoff landscape for a decade by the time the Oakland Raiders defeated the Philadelphia Eagles in New Orleans on Jan. 25, 1981. And a wild card made it to the Super Bowl for the first time five years later.

But until this day 30 years ago, no wild card team had ever won a Super Bowl. The Dallas Cowboys came close back in Super Bowl X (which was also played in New Orleans), but they eventually lost to the Pittsburgh Steelers.

What seemed to surprise people the most about the Super Bowl that was played 30 years ago today was not necessarily the fact that the wild card won it — although that was surprising.

It was the relative ease with which the Raiders cruised to a 14–0 lead at the end of the first quarter — and ultimately prevailed, 27–10. When you consider who they were playing, that was positively stunning.

The Eagles had been one of the NFL's elite teams in the 1980 season, racing to an 11–1 start. Ron Jaworski was the top–ranked quarterback in the NFC. The Eagle defense kept all its opponents from scoring more than 24 points (and held most of their foes under 20) until Dallas scored 35 against Philly on the final day of the regular season.

The Raiders, on the other hand, caught just about everyone by surprise. They had made a lot of changes during the offseason, and I think most observers just wanted to wait and see how all the new parts would function together. They got off to kind of a sluggish start (2–3) and had to deal with the loss of their starting quarterback to a broken leg, but then Jim Plunkett came in, the Raiders won six in a row, and Oakland actually finished tied with San Diego atop their division.

But San Diego was awarded the division crown on a tiebreaker — which meant that, when the teams played for the AFC title, the game was played in San Diego. When they played there in the second week of the season, the Raiders lost in overtime. When the AFC title was on the line, however, Oakland surged to a 21–7 lead in the first quarter and never looked back.

It was more of the same two weeks later when the Raiders and Eagles faced each other in the Super Bowl.

The Eagles came into the game favored by three points. That surprised me because I really felt that most people believed the Eagles would win by a wider margin.

But that, of course, was not what happened.

When the game was over, everyone praised the Raiders' performance — and the Raiders did deserve that praise — but I recall less attention being given to what may well have been Jaworski's worst performance as a pro.

It was certainly his worst performance on a postseason stage. He completed fewer than half of his passes and was intercepted three times.

And by the time he threw his only touchdown pass in a Super Bowl, the Raiders had built a 24–3 fourth–quarter lead.

It was the greatest defeat, I have no doubt, of Jaworski's career.

But the flip side was that it must have been the pinnacles of the careers of the many castoffs whose careers were revived by Al Davis. The Raiders' bombastic owner picked up guys like Plunkett, Kenny King, John Matuszak and many others who asked only to be given a chance to prove that they could still contribute.

Plunkett threw three touchdown passes — two to Cliff Branch and one to King that covered 80 yards, a record that still stands. He was named the game's MVP.

What became of the team that cut Plunkett earlier in 1980? Well, I guess you could say they did all right.

That would be the San Francisco 49ers, An up–and–coming quarterback named Joe Montana emerged as their quarterback in 1980 and wound up taking San Francisco to — and winning — four Super Bowls in the '80s — starting the next year.

But that's another story.

A Christmas Eve Classic

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I'm a football fan. I've been a football fan all my life, and I have seen a lot of football games.

Most have been entertaining. Not all have been memorable.

It seems to me that there are three things, any one of which can make a football game truly memorable:

• Extreme conditions


• A remarkable individual performance


• A fantastic finish

When I say "extreme conditions," I'm talking about something like the "Ice Bowl," in which severe weather plays a significant role in the outcome.

Of course, I guess that could also mean playing a game under unusually stressful circumstances. This would have applied, I suppose, if the NFL had played its regularly scheduled games the weekends after the 9/11 attacks or the assassination of John F. Kennedy.

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When I say "a remarkable individual performance," I'm talking about something like the day 45 years ago this month when Chicago Bears rookie Gale Sayers scored six touchdowns against the San Francisco 49ers.

And when I say "a fantastic finish," I could be talking about something like the "Ice Bowl," which had the coldest air temperature ever recorded in an NFL game.

But sometimes what makes a game's finish truly fantastic is the fact that the issue is not resolved in the regulation 60 minutes and overtime is required.

One day, I guess, the NFL will perfect its overtime provision. It will probably have to experiment with different formats, including the one currently in use in the NCAA, in which each team gets a chance on offense, and the game continues if neither team has the lead after both have had that opportunity.

In that arrangement, it is advantageous to get the ball second. That way, your team knows how much it must score either to win the game or force another overtime period.

As things stand now in the NFL, the first team to touch the ball might score and the other team would never have that opportunity. Consequently, in this arrangement, it is to a team's advantage to get the ball first.

Of course, that practically assumes that, if you get the ball, you're going to score. It doesn't always work out that way.

It didn't work out that way 33 years ago today.

I remember the Christmas Eve of 1977 quite well. My family was visiting my grandmother in Dallas, as usual. And, as usual, I was sick that Christmas Eve.

When I think back on my adolescence, I recall being sick during the Christmas holidays — usually a cold but occasionally a virus — a lot more frequently than I recall enjoying good health.

And on Christmas Eve 1977, a stomach virus was keeping me close to the bathroom in my grandmother's house.

It was a Saturday, the first day of the NFL playoffs. The Oakland Raiders were the defending Super Bowl champions, but they had lost the AFC West to the famed Orange Crush of Denver so they were the AFC's wild–card team and had to travel to Baltimore to play the Colts, winners of the AFC East.

I remember stretching out on my grandmother's sofa and my father sitting in one of her parlor chairs. My mother must have been doing some last–minute Christmas shopping. My grandmother and my brother may have been with her.

My father and I are the only ones who were in that living room that afternoon, and we watched an intense struggle between the Raiders and the Colts, a back–and–forth affair that went into overtime, then went into a second overtime.

It wasn't the longest game ever played. That was the AFC playoff game between Miami and Kansas City on Christmas Day in 1971.

It wasn't a championship game. If it had been a championship game, it might have been the longest one ever played.

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The championship game that holds the distinction as the longest remains the AFL title game between the Dallas Texans and the Houston Oilers on Dec. 23, 1962. The Texans won that game, 20–17, 2:54 into the second overtime period.

The Colts–Raiders game falls somewhere in between. It went into a second overtime period, it matched future Hall of Famers and great coaches, it never appeared to be in either team's pocket until tight end Dave Casper scored the winning touchdown.

I will always remember watching it with my father in my grandmother's living room on Christmas Eve 1977.

Ironically, the teams may be poised to make some more holiday memories this weekend. The teams will meet in Oakland on Sunday.

Neither team can clinch a playoff spot on Sunday, and it is highly unlikely that the teams can match what their franchise ancestors did in Baltimore 33 years ago.

But it might be fun to watch — and possibly memorable.

The Immaculate Reception

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On this day in 1972, Terry Bradshaw completed a pass to Franco Harris that scored the game–winning touchdown against the Oakland Raiders in the first round of the AFC playoffs.

Over the years, Bradshaw probably completed dozens of passes to Harris. But what made that play so memorable was the fact that Bradshaw hadn't been throwing to Harris. His target, based on the play that had been sent in from the sideline, was meant to be a fellow named Barry Pearson, a rookie receiver.

Oakland led, 7–6. It was Pittsburgh's ball, fourth–and–10 on the Pittsburgh 40. There were 22 seconds left. After the ball was snapped, Bradshaw was almost immediately under considerable pressure by Oakland's linemen, and he scrambled around a bit, then threw the ball in the direction of John Fuqua.

Fuqua collided with the Raiders' hard–hitting safety, Jack Tatum, and the ball ricocheted in Harris' direction. Harris scooped up the ball before it could hit the ground and ran in with what wound up being the winning touchdown.

It may be the most famous play in NFL history. NFL Films chose it as both the greatest play and the most controversial play of all time.

It is called "The Immaculate Reception," a name it apparently was given that very day.

The story I've heard is that the nickname was used first by a Pittsburgh sportscaster, who was reporting on the game. A Pittsburgh woman called him and suggested it. He used it, and it has been in use ever since.

I've heard lots of nicknames for games, plays and players over the years, and that one may be the most perfect I've ever heard.

What makes it perfect is knowledge of the Steelers' history — and how that play really changed things for them forever.

The 1972 season was the Steelers' 40th in the NFL. More than 75% of the time, the Steelers had finished seasons with losing records. As they entered their game with the Raiders on this day 38 years ago, they had never won a playoff game. But Harris' catch heralded the changing of the guard in the NFL.

The Steelers didn't win the Super Bowl that year. Instead, they lost the AFC Championship to Miami the next week, and Miami went on to cap its 17–0 season with a Super Bowl triumph over Washington.

But the Steelers wound up being the dominant team of the decade, winning four Super Bowls with Bradshaw, Harris, Lynn Swann and the Steel Curtain defense.

And the seeds for that great run could truly be said to have been planted in Three Rivers Stadium on this day in 1972.

That was what made it the Immaculate Reception.