God-Forsaken Place Kicker
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Wednesday, August 31, 2005
God does not believe in college football. Or so I once believed.
That was before the final 24 seconds of the Mississippi State vs. Ole Miss game in 1983. That was before we -- the unwashed, the ragged, the proletariat (by which I mean, Mississippi State fans) -- were about to be redeemed over the rich, snotty, blue-blazer-and-khaki crowd from Oxford.
And then we were sent packing by the Deity.
It happened like this:
State blows a 17-0 lead. The Bulldogs trail, 24-23, with 4 minutes 50 seconds remaining.
But wait: State forces a fumble! Recovers on its own 20!
Here comes the offense, a breath of a chance. A running play gets a few yards; another, a few more. First down. State is a terrible team. It has lost six of its last seven. Ole Miss is 6-3. Needs a win for a bowl bid.
State, 70 yards away, showing some guts, closing to 60.
The date is Nov. 19. It is cold and rainy and miserable. Nearly 60,000 people in the poorest state in America are standing, necks craning, bellowing.
The Bulldogs move the chains, surge past midfield, the Rebels 40.
It is getting incoherent. Smuggled bourbon sloshes from cups. State shoves to the Ole Miss 15, just more than a minute left. Two quarterback sneaks. We're at the 10. The stadium sways from reverberating screams, from stamping feet. Twenty-four seconds.
Artie Cosby, State's place kicker, trots onto the field.
