Road Game Journal: Ohio State 31, Miami 24 (2OT; 2003 Fiesta Bowl, Tempe)

The Road Game Journal feature will detail our excursions to various Miami Hurricanes road games over the years.  Hide the children, because when you wear orange and green to an opposing team’s stadium, well, they tend to not take to it kindly.   The below article details our fateful trip to Tempe in 2003.  The Canes were taking on Ohio State in the Fiesta Bowl for the national championship.

Ohio State 31, Miami 24 (2OT; 2003 Fiesta Bowl, Tempe): F**k.  I was hoping to not have to write about this.  Even if I see a photo from this game or am flipping through the channels and this is on Classic, I start to get nauseous.  The only similarity I can give for the pain I felt after this game is the loss of a loved one.  Well, that’s kind of extreme…maybe the loss of a pet.

So, I fly back home after my visit to the OB for the Virginia Tech game and Khalil, Franz and I make arrangements to head to Tempe.  Khalil, who lives in South Florida, flew to where I live (Atlanta) and we then flew to LA (where Franz lives).  Who says the Canes don’t represent nationally.  Plus, Khalil is Indian, Franz is Filipino, and I am white.  We’re like a f’n college brochure picture.  So, Khalil – who hates flying worse than I do – takes his seat on our Delta flight.  When he orders an ‘adult’ beverage early, I know the nerves are startin.  I hate flyin too, but am too nervous about the game.  13 point spread or not, Ohio State can play D and it will be a tough win.  All of a sudden the turbulence kicks in.  I look at Khalil and he’s startin to sweat.  I laugh.  Then – D-BOOM! – the plane dips about ten feet.  Khalil, who is sitting two seats away from a 4 yr old, yells “F**k!” out loud.  Awesome.  I half expected the kid to console him…”It’s gonna be alright mister.”  So, we end up getting there in one piece.  A few days later I would probably wish that plane plowed into the Rockies.  Ugh.

So, we land in LA and get our rental car.  The next morning we load up and make the drive to Tempe.  As we roll in, the radio is playin Ludacris’ “Move Bitch,” and the town is alive.  And it’s mostly Ohio State fans.  We had to pick up our tickets from the will call window and when we went there, there was a sea of a few thousand Buckeye fans/vultures.  The demand for tickets was insane.  Ohio State clearly was not used to being in a national title game.  I swear I must have had 50-100 people ask me if I had extra tickets.  I expected a soccer mom from Ohio to walk up and offer me her newborn for a pair of tickets, or possibly some sexual favors.  In retrospect, I should have taken the few thousand dollars being offered (I mean, who wants sexual favors from a pasty Ohio soccer mom?).  Not for the money, but to spare us from the sheer torture that lay ahead.  At this point in my life, I was dating my ex-girlfriend and did not yet have a kid.  I had a job, but my 20s were dominated by Canes football.  The emotional highs and lows of close games caused much more anxiety than any human should put themselves through.  To give you an idea, during the the 2002 season I attended 5 of the Hurricanes’ 12 games.  And I live in Atlanta.

We hit up a f’n Chili’s in Tempe and I can hardly eat cuz of the nerves (either that or because we were eating at a Chili’s).  “What’re you worried about,” said Khalil, “They’re favored to win by two touchdowns.”  I said, “Duuuuude, Ohio State plays tough D.  This ain’t gonna be an easy win.”  Unfortunately, I was right.  We pay up and start makin our way to the stadium.  Nerves are jumpin as we enter the stadium.  Our seats are in the corner upper endzone and we are literally the only three green shirts in the section.

Cal Ripken Jr. is there for the coin toss, joined by his seemingly attractive teenage blonde daughter (I say seemingly cuz she looked good from a few hundred feet out, but it wasn’t until I Googled her later that I learned that she was 13 years old.  Oops.)  And then the game starts.  Roscoe Parish scores early and that lets me breathe a little easier.  The refs are letting everything go.  Then, Ohio State plays tough and gets lucky break after lucky break.  They couldn’t move the ball all game on Miami’s D, yet held a lead?  When Sean Taylor took that interception out of the end zone and got stripped, I got the feeling it just wasn’t our night, like in the ’87 Fiesta.  Then, Willis McGahee gets hurt in the 2nd half.  They didn’t have replay screens and though he was helped off, it didn’t look too bad.  Uh, that opinion changed once I saw the replay on TV.  “Man, I hope Willis ain’t hurt too bad.  He was gonna be a top 5 pick in the draft.”  F**kin Roscoe fumbles when we are driving late for the win.  F’n turnovers, so annoying.  Miami was clearly the better team but you gotta take care of the ball.

Despite all the turnovers, we hold them to a late three and out and get the ball back with little time.  Roscoe back to return the punt.  I have a feeling he might redeem himself.  Punt’s up….and there he goes.  Man, what I would give for him to score right there.  You KNOW Ohio State couldn’t drive down the field if he did.  Ugh.  His decent return sets Miami up in Ohio State territory and then Larry Coker predictably gets conservative and plays for the field goal.  Tressel takes three mother f’n timeouts in a row before the attempt.  Seemed like an hour.  My heart was racing like a jackrabbit’s.  Todd Sievers lines up…..and nails it.  We’re headin to OT.

Of course, we lose the f’n coin toss.  The biggest coin toss in Miami history.   Miami drives and scores, a TD to Winslow.  Now, all we have to do is hold.  4th and 14.  I see a fellow Canes fan in the next section, we make eye contact and he mouths ‘one more.’  Please just hold.  And then they convert.  F**k!!  Please God, please!  I promise I’ll start going to church.  Now, they’re inside the 5.  A failed 3rd down attempt brings up 4th down.  This is it.  I think, ‘Hey if we had just won the coin toss, we would have won the game already.’  Craig Krenzel drops back and fires a pass to Chris Gamble.  Miami CB Glenn Sharpe is in his face, but it just looks like tight coverage and no foul.  Ball falls to the ground incomplete.  I look around to make sure there’s no flag because it looks like the kind of play that MIGHT warrant a flag, but the ref closest signals incomplete.  Khalil and Franz start cheering.  Fireworks go off.   I’m still looking, just in case.  Finally, after about three or four full seconds, I release the death grip I had on my own sweater and start to relax.  Everyone’s on the field.  Players are throwing their helmets in the air in celebration.  Then, it happens.

Terry.  F**king.  Porter. Listen, I’m not saying they lost the game cuz of him…Miami turned the ball over five times…you can’t do that and expect to win.  But, the refs were letting EVERYTHING go in this game…jersey pulling, arm barring…you name it.  Sharpe jams at the line, which is perfectly legal.  Remember, Porter later said it was a hold while the ball was in the air.  The ball is tipped upwards and Sharpe wraps up Gamble.  Once the ball is tipped, you can wrap up.  You know, that call maaaybe/might have been able to been called in a game where they were actually calling penalties.  But the refs set a tone early.  They were letting all ticky tack offenses go.  I’ve seen tons of pictures from both teams of jersey pulling and other infractions that weren’t called.

As soon as that flag hit, I turned to Franz and said, “That’s it.  We lost.”  Remember we were still ahead 24-17 at the time.  Ohio State scored and then came down to our end of the field and scored again.  Miami got the ball, Ken Dorsey got knocked out and came back in and we were inside the Ohio State ten.  The image of the following play will never escape my memory – Andre Johnson has one-on-one coverage on the outside.  He beats the Ohio State CB like a rented mule on a slant to the inside.  Dorsey’s throw is on the way and a wide open Andre is about to catch the game tying touchdown.  Then, the Ohio State CB, knowing that he’s beat, tackles Andre before the ball arrives.  THAT was a penalty.  Guess it was a smart one as it was within the rules to commit a penalty instead of giving up a touchdown, but it made me think that football needs an intentional foul penalty similar to the NBA.

So, first and goal at the 1.  I’m a fan of play action here, but they instead waited til 2nd down for that.  The run up the middle on 1st was awful.  We were losing the battle at the line of scrimmage all game.  Jarret Payton‘s number was called and I would have liked him to launch himself from the 3 just like his dad used to.  He doesn’t and fails to get in.  So after wasting a down, we go to play action and Eric Winston (remember, he was a tight end at the time) is wide mother f**king open.  I mean, SO open.  Dorsey just effed up.  Overthrew a 6’7″ dude, which is hard to do.  I would have nightmares about this throw for weeks.  Then, it’s 3rd down.   FB up the middle?!  F**k!  You know, if Willis is in the game, we get that f’n yard, you can belee dat (yes, I just said ‘belee dat’).  4th down and they blitz Dorsey and he chucks it and it falls incomplete.  Ugh.  Did that just really happen?  Words cannot describe the sheer torturous pain I felt at that time.

You know, I have a dream…much like Martin Luther King, only this one pertains to Miami Hurriances football and not racial equality…my dream is that my tickets for this game were in the first few rows of the Miami end zone (instead of my corner upper nose bleeds).  In this dream, I pack a taser gun…nothing harmful, just enough volts to render someone unconscious for a minute or so.  And, after Glenn Sharpe legally breaks up that pass intended for Chris Gamble, I take out my taser gun (no rush, as I have a good number of seconds) and aim it at Terry Porter’s cellulite ridden ass.  With pinpoint accuracy, I discreetly pull the trigger, sending a mild jolt throughout the referee’s body.  The fireworks drown out his girl-like scream and he takes a little nap in the back of the end zone with his yellow flag still neatly tucked in his back pocket.  Miami rightfully celebrates its 6th national title and every one is happy.

Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty we’re free at last….