Touchdown, the officials ruled. The crowd booed, the Colts challenged, the play was reviewed. Referee Ron Winter trotted back onto the field and keyed his microphone.
“The ball did not . . .”
The remainder of his pronouncement was swallowed in thunder. Doss snatched the football, sprinted to the Colts sideline and presented it to Dungy, whose 18-year-old son, James, had died 11 days earlier.
Maybe it was because I’d been in Tampa to cover the funeral service and graveside goodbye. Maybe it was because my younger son was 18 at the time. Maybe it was Dungy’s simple decency.
It was the most poignant sports moment I’ve witnessed.
“This is one I’ll treasure,” Dungy said after the game. “I think they wanted to win it for me and they came up with the effort to do it.”
Doss didn’t always get it right, but he did that Sunday.
“I told the umpire,” he related, ” ‘I’m taking this ball to my coach. If they change this call, I’m taking this ball to my coach.’ “
Wow. What a handoff.
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