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One after another, Bills players and coaches approached Scott Norwood, eager to console their kicker. They knew that his missed kick—no matter how long or how difficult—was destined to become the freeze-frame image of Super Bowl XXV and of Super Bowl defeats.

“His portrayal as some sort of a villain by media outside Buffalo couldn’t be more wrong,” Bill Polian said twenty years later. “It’s not only unfair, it’s disgraceful.”

The other forty-six Bills players in that locker room realized that the best way, the most honorable way, to try and ease Norwood’s pain was to share it. Accept it. Absorb it.

“I said, ‘Scott, keep your head up, that game should have never come down to a field goal,’” Will Wolford said. “You can never hang a loss on one play. Regardless if it’s a field goal attempt in the end or whatever it may be.”

In addition to privately reminding Norwood that this was a team loss, several players did so publicly.

“I remember Darryl Talley sitting up there, and Jim was there up at the podium; we had a bunch of guys that were up there answering questions,” said Mark Kelso. “Everyone has responsibility for the loss. It doesn’t fall on Scott’s shoulders; it doesn’t fall on anybody else’s shoulders. I missed a tackle on third down; I can remember saying that. Had that drive ended up in a field goal. . . . And I wasn’t the only one that missed it on that play, two or three others guys. I remember them all standing up and saying there were plays that we could have made that we didn’t make; and that was the most poignant, how unified we were as a team.”

“I’ll tell you this,” rookie defensive tackle Mike Lodish said. “There was no ‘Bickering Bills.’ No one pointed the finger at anybody. And I thought that was a testament to a lot of classy guys that had learned.”

For Norwood, his teammates’ words were not enough.

During the course of its first quarter century, the Super Bowl had featured several courageous performances by fearless performers.

Joe Namath’s guarantee in front of the Miami Touchdown Club prior to Super Bowl III projected a boldness never seen before (or since) in NFL history.

In Super Bowl XXII, Redskins quarterback Doug Williams’ return to the field—minutes after a hyperextended knee forced him out of the game—flashed extreme grit. Throwing a touchdown pass (his first of four during a 42-10 romp of the Denver Broncos) on his first play back from the injury only made Williams’ comeback that much more storybook.

Even Jeff Hostetler sniffing ammonia capsules, then retaking the field to endure another string of savage Buffalo hits, epitomized toughness.

But no player in NFL history ever displayed more courage and more dignity than Scott Norwood did in the moments following Super Bowl XXV.

Outside the Buffalo locker room, ABC’s Lynn Swann conducted separate live interviews with Levy and Jim Kelly. Both answered Swann’s questions with poise and honesty. After a glimpse into the victorious locker room—Brent Musburger’s interview with a grinning Lawrence Taylor—Swann returned on camera to speak with Norwood.

“I know your teammates do appreciate the effort, they’re not down on you, they want you to come back and play strong,” Swann stated to Norwood. “It’s a tough time to go through. . . . You did a good job.”

“Thanks Lynn. Again, I missed an opportunity for this football team. I feel badly, let a lot of people down,” Norwood said. “But as you said, you realize in this profession that you’ve got to come back off of times like this, and I’m certain I’ll do that.”

The ABC audience saw the heart-wrenching, eighty-second interview, then moved on. Some viewers turned off the television and went ahead with the rest of their lives. Others stayed tuned-in to see more from the victorious Giants’ locker room (after the network inexplicably cut to the series premier of their short-lived sitcom Davis Rules, starring Jonathan Winters and Randy Quaid).

Norwood continued to address the media.

“I asked him a couple times, if he’d had enough,” special teams coach Bruce DeHaven said. “No, he wanted to answer all the