Top 40 Countdown: Five Super Bowl moments - Nos. 5 to 1
BY JEFF PASSAN
Knight Ridder Newspapers
No. 5: Naming the Super Bowl
It's such a sweet fable. Chiefs owner Lamar Hunt, as the story goes, saw his daughter, Sharron, playing with a new toy, the Wham-O Super Ball. He flopped a few letters in his head, and - Wham-O! - the game had a name prescribed by a little girl.
"Actually, there were three children at the time, and all three of them had Super Balls," Hunt said last week. "Norma, my wife, had given each of the three a Super Ball. It's just Sharron who gets the credit."
So with the 40th Super Bowl festivities set to kick off Sunday, Hunt would like to offer apologies to sons Lamar Jr. and Clark, the big game's forgotten children.
Perhaps professional sports' greatest commissioner, Pete Rozelle scoffed when Hunt proposed the name before the first championship game between the NFL and AFL.
"He definitely thought it was way too corny," Hunt said. "All of us thought it was too corny, too."
For the game's first three years, it was called the AFL-NFL World Championship Game.
Catchy, huh?
By the third year, enough media called the game Super Bowl that the league relented. The first tickets to include the words Super Bowl came in the fourth game - fittingly, the one and only Chiefs championship.
"I'm just thankful," Hunt said, "that I was moved by the power of suggestion."
No. 4: Janet's wardrobe malfunction
Five lessons learned from Janet Jackson's halftime show at Super Bowl XXXVIII:
If in doubt how best to spin the baring of a breast on national television, blame it on the costume. Justin Timberlake, who tugged the piece of leather that exposed Jackson, came up with the "wardrobe malfunction," the greatest implausible-but-can't-prove-it-false excuse since "the dog ate my homework."
High-definition television really can change one's life. Can we get a raise of hands for how many people knew nipple medallions existed before Janet showed us hers? Not many, huh? And who said the Super Bowl wasn't educational as well as entertaining?
Apparently breasts are bad. "I am outraged at what I saw during the halftime show of the Super Bowl," said Michael Powell, then-chairman of the FCC. "Like millions of Americans, my family and I gathered around the television for a celebration. Instead, that celebration was tainted by a classless, crass and deplorable stunt. Our nation's children, parents and citizens deserve better."
Apologies aren't always sincere. Jackson issued a written mea culpa, probably because if she said sorry in public she'd break out in a fit of laughter over the ridiculousness of it all. "I apologize to anyone offended," said Jackson, whose songs, for the record, include "Nasty," "Pleasure Principle," "Any Time, Any Place," "You Want This" and "Twenty Foreplay."
No. 3: Montana to Taylor
Over time, the exact phrasing has been lost. Whether Joe Montana said, "There's John Candy!" or "That's John Candy!" or "Is that John Candy?" doesn't particularly matter, though, because the intent was to loosen up his huddle before what would be the greatest drive in Super Bowl history. And Montana - no surprise, really - did just that.
Montana's 10-yard touchdown pass to John Taylor in 1989 isn't so much a great play as it is a celebration of brilliance under pressure. In Super Bowl XXIII, Cincinnati had taken a 16-13 lead, and the 49ers needed to march 92 yards in 3:20. Sensing his teammates' nerves, Montana pointed out Candy in the stands. It was like he'd hypnotized them.
With Montana at the helm, that much was expected. In four Super Bowls, he threw 11 touchdowns and no interceptions. He won three Super Bowl MVPs, and his lone miss happened to be in this game, though surely he'd trade a trophy for a game-winning touchdown toss.
To get there, Montana peppered Jerry Rice, who won MVP honors with 11 catches for 215 yards. In fact, until coach Bill Walsh called the winning play, "20 Halfback Curl, X Up," Taylor hadn't caught a ball.
With the Bengals' defensive backs fixed on Rice, Taylor shimmied free in the middle of the end zone. Montana delivered a strike, and even with Ray Horton tugging on his left leg, Taylor caught the decisive touchdown.
"There's only one thing to say about Joe Montana," 49ers coach Bill Walsh said. "He's the best there is and the best there ever was. Period."
John Candy would've agreed.
No. 2: The Namath guarantee
On numbers alone, Joe Namath didn't have a very good professional career. People tend to forget this. Behind the blue eyes, dimples and pantyhose ads was a quarterback who, over his 13-year career, threw 47 more interceptions than touchdowns.
Why all the love for Namath then? He was cool. When Namath signed with the Jets, he wanted a Lincoln Continental to go with his signing bonus. Namath was the kind of guy who could say, "I like my Johnnie Walker Red and my women blonde" while he was sipping a Johnnie Blue with a brunette on his lap.
No surprise, then, that Joe Willie made sports' most famous proclamation in 1969. Egged on by a Colts fan at a Miami Touchdown Club event three days before the game, Namath said: "The Jets will win on Sunday. I guarantee it."
At the time, this amounted to heresy. To say something so bold ... well, that was plain obnoxious. But someone from the AFL, the runt league, claiming supremacy over the NFL? No one wanted to cross that line.
The next day, lounging by the pool, Namath reiterated the guarantee. And the Jets did beat Baltimore, 16-7. Namath was chosen MVP, which could've stood for Most Valuable Predictor. Legions of imitators have predicted victory since Namath. No one has done so with the panache and hubris of the original. On his victorious night, Namath jogged off the field bathed in light from the cameras and the popping flashbulbs. And he lifted his right hand and held up his index finger to remind the world, indelibly, that he was Joe Namath, and he was cool.
No. 1: Mike Jones' `The Tackle'
The greatest play in Super Bowl history shouldn't have happened. If Rams linebacker Mike Jones had simply followed his assignment, Titans wide receiver Kevin Dyson would have scored the game-tying touchdown in 2000 in Super Bowl XXXIV.
See, Tennessee saw a vulnerability in St. Louis' defense, one it tried to exploit with 6 seconds left and down 23-16. The Titans already had driven 78 yards, and at the 10-yard line, Dyson was to run a quick slant route. According to the plan, Jones would be covering tight end Frank Wycheck, leaving the middle open for an easy score.
Only Jones thought back to his prep days at Southwest High, to his college days at Missouri, to the days when schemes didn't confine him. Jones trusted his instincts, which told him that Dyson was going to score.
So he shed Wycheck and lunged toward Dyson, who had caught the ball at the 5-yard line. The entire sequence played out in slo-mo. The "Chariots of Fire" theme practically blared in the background.
Jones held Dyson's ankles. Dyson lunged.
"I never thought of that one play being as dramatic as it seems," Jones said. "Even after the game, it was just a tackle to me. It just happened to be the last play of the game."
Indeed it was the final play. Dyson's outstretched right arm fell limp at the 1-yard line. Jones, like a rodeo cowboy, had wrangled him just in time.
"You see in the pictures with me stretching, and I really felt like I was that close, and I could really taste it," Dyson said. "It's frustrating at the end to come up short. (Jones) made a great play, and obviously I didn't get it done."
Finally, Jones had. He was part of the Mizzou team that lost the "Fifth Down" game. He was due. And so was Dick Vermeil, his coach with St. Louis, who cried up a storm because Mike Jones did what he wasn't supposed to.
"I don't feel like a hero," Jones said. "I feel like a guy who is a Super Bowl champion."
BY JEFF PASSAN
Knight Ridder Newspapers
No. 5: Naming the Super Bowl
It's such a sweet fable. Chiefs owner Lamar Hunt, as the story goes, saw his daughter, Sharron, playing with a new toy, the Wham-O Super Ball. He flopped a few letters in his head, and - Wham-O! - the game had a name prescribed by a little girl.
"Actually, there were three children at the time, and all three of them had Super Balls," Hunt said last week. "Norma, my wife, had given each of the three a Super Ball. It's just Sharron who gets the credit."
So with the 40th Super Bowl festivities set to kick off Sunday, Hunt would like to offer apologies to sons Lamar Jr. and Clark, the big game's forgotten children.
Perhaps professional sports' greatest commissioner, Pete Rozelle scoffed when Hunt proposed the name before the first championship game between the NFL and AFL.
"He definitely thought it was way too corny," Hunt said. "All of us thought it was too corny, too."
For the game's first three years, it was called the AFL-NFL World Championship Game.
Catchy, huh?
By the third year, enough media called the game Super Bowl that the league relented. The first tickets to include the words Super Bowl came in the fourth game - fittingly, the one and only Chiefs championship.
"I'm just thankful," Hunt said, "that I was moved by the power of suggestion."
No. 4: Janet's wardrobe malfunction
Five lessons learned from Janet Jackson's halftime show at Super Bowl XXXVIII:
If in doubt how best to spin the baring of a breast on national television, blame it on the costume. Justin Timberlake, who tugged the piece of leather that exposed Jackson, came up with the "wardrobe malfunction," the greatest implausible-but-can't-prove-it-false excuse since "the dog ate my homework."
High-definition television really can change one's life. Can we get a raise of hands for how many people knew nipple medallions existed before Janet showed us hers? Not many, huh? And who said the Super Bowl wasn't educational as well as entertaining?
Apparently breasts are bad. "I am outraged at what I saw during the halftime show of the Super Bowl," said Michael Powell, then-chairman of the FCC. "Like millions of Americans, my family and I gathered around the television for a celebration. Instead, that celebration was tainted by a classless, crass and deplorable stunt. Our nation's children, parents and citizens deserve better."
Apologies aren't always sincere. Jackson issued a written mea culpa, probably because if she said sorry in public she'd break out in a fit of laughter over the ridiculousness of it all. "I apologize to anyone offended," said Jackson, whose songs, for the record, include "Nasty," "Pleasure Principle," "Any Time, Any Place," "You Want This" and "Twenty Foreplay."
No. 3: Montana to Taylor
Over time, the exact phrasing has been lost. Whether Joe Montana said, "There's John Candy!" or "That's John Candy!" or "Is that John Candy?" doesn't particularly matter, though, because the intent was to loosen up his huddle before what would be the greatest drive in Super Bowl history. And Montana - no surprise, really - did just that.
Montana's 10-yard touchdown pass to John Taylor in 1989 isn't so much a great play as it is a celebration of brilliance under pressure. In Super Bowl XXIII, Cincinnati had taken a 16-13 lead, and the 49ers needed to march 92 yards in 3:20. Sensing his teammates' nerves, Montana pointed out Candy in the stands. It was like he'd hypnotized them.
With Montana at the helm, that much was expected. In four Super Bowls, he threw 11 touchdowns and no interceptions. He won three Super Bowl MVPs, and his lone miss happened to be in this game, though surely he'd trade a trophy for a game-winning touchdown toss.
To get there, Montana peppered Jerry Rice, who won MVP honors with 11 catches for 215 yards. In fact, until coach Bill Walsh called the winning play, "20 Halfback Curl, X Up," Taylor hadn't caught a ball.
With the Bengals' defensive backs fixed on Rice, Taylor shimmied free in the middle of the end zone. Montana delivered a strike, and even with Ray Horton tugging on his left leg, Taylor caught the decisive touchdown.
"There's only one thing to say about Joe Montana," 49ers coach Bill Walsh said. "He's the best there is and the best there ever was. Period."
John Candy would've agreed.
No. 2: The Namath guarantee
On numbers alone, Joe Namath didn't have a very good professional career. People tend to forget this. Behind the blue eyes, dimples and pantyhose ads was a quarterback who, over his 13-year career, threw 47 more interceptions than touchdowns.
Why all the love for Namath then? He was cool. When Namath signed with the Jets, he wanted a Lincoln Continental to go with his signing bonus. Namath was the kind of guy who could say, "I like my Johnnie Walker Red and my women blonde" while he was sipping a Johnnie Blue with a brunette on his lap.
No surprise, then, that Joe Willie made sports' most famous proclamation in 1969. Egged on by a Colts fan at a Miami Touchdown Club event three days before the game, Namath said: "The Jets will win on Sunday. I guarantee it."
At the time, this amounted to heresy. To say something so bold ... well, that was plain obnoxious. But someone from the AFL, the runt league, claiming supremacy over the NFL? No one wanted to cross that line.
The next day, lounging by the pool, Namath reiterated the guarantee. And the Jets did beat Baltimore, 16-7. Namath was chosen MVP, which could've stood for Most Valuable Predictor. Legions of imitators have predicted victory since Namath. No one has done so with the panache and hubris of the original. On his victorious night, Namath jogged off the field bathed in light from the cameras and the popping flashbulbs. And he lifted his right hand and held up his index finger to remind the world, indelibly, that he was Joe Namath, and he was cool.
No. 1: Mike Jones' `The Tackle'
The greatest play in Super Bowl history shouldn't have happened. If Rams linebacker Mike Jones had simply followed his assignment, Titans wide receiver Kevin Dyson would have scored the game-tying touchdown in 2000 in Super Bowl XXXIV.
See, Tennessee saw a vulnerability in St. Louis' defense, one it tried to exploit with 6 seconds left and down 23-16. The Titans already had driven 78 yards, and at the 10-yard line, Dyson was to run a quick slant route. According to the plan, Jones would be covering tight end Frank Wycheck, leaving the middle open for an easy score.
Only Jones thought back to his prep days at Southwest High, to his college days at Missouri, to the days when schemes didn't confine him. Jones trusted his instincts, which told him that Dyson was going to score.
So he shed Wycheck and lunged toward Dyson, who had caught the ball at the 5-yard line. The entire sequence played out in slo-mo. The "Chariots of Fire" theme practically blared in the background.
Jones held Dyson's ankles. Dyson lunged.
"I never thought of that one play being as dramatic as it seems," Jones said. "Even after the game, it was just a tackle to me. It just happened to be the last play of the game."
Indeed it was the final play. Dyson's outstretched right arm fell limp at the 1-yard line. Jones, like a rodeo cowboy, had wrangled him just in time.
"You see in the pictures with me stretching, and I really felt like I was that close, and I could really taste it," Dyson said. "It's frustrating at the end to come up short. (Jones) made a great play, and obviously I didn't get it done."
Finally, Jones had. He was part of the Mizzou team that lost the "Fifth Down" game. He was due. And so was Dick Vermeil, his coach with St. Louis, who cried up a storm because Mike Jones did what he wasn't supposed to.
"I don't feel like a hero," Jones said. "I feel like a guy who is a Super Bowl champion."
