• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

“Jeff scrambled out of there and how in the hell he ever found the guy, to get him the ball, I’ll never know,” said Nehlen, who was in California to coach college’s East-West All-Star Game later that month. “Jeff was absolutely unbelievable in that game.”

Now it was third and one at the 49ers’ twenty-seven-yard line. This was the play of the game, of the season. A conversion here would do much more than shorten the winning attempt for Matt Bahr. A fresh set of downs meant that the Giants could drain the clock and kick a field goal without having to give the ball back to San Francisco.

Hostetler handed the ball off to Ottis Anderson, who plowed toward a path cleared out by Jumbo Elliott and William Roberts.

“We let Ottis take it and hit it up in there, we felt we could always make a yard,” Ron Erhardt recalled. “We had that mentality.”

The Giants put the ball in Anderson’s hands once more, then, on third down, with one time-out and twelve seconds remaining, Hostetler nudged into the line in order to position the ball in the center of the field. Out trotted Matt Bahr. The 49ers called a time-out to “ice” the kicker.

“It could be an eternity for Matt Bahr if he should miss, and he’d never know he got on the airplane if he makes it,” Pat Summerall, ironically once a New York Giants kicker himself, told the CBS audience. “That is a lonely world, believe me.”

Giants receiver Mark Ingram actually wanted to be alone at that moment. Hands locked together and with both knees touching the ground, he prayed silently, then crossed himself.

Bill Parcells and Bill Belichick paced up and down the Giants’ sidelines, passing a large group of Giants all holding hands. Bavaro, Greg Jackson, Roger Brown, and the rest of the prayer circle refused to watch.

“Those last few minutes we were all praying. And I mean praying like we’ve never prayed before,” Jackson remembered a few years later.

Everson Walls disturbed the silent benediction. He wanted to narrate the moment for his teammates.

“He’s setting up for the kick,” Walls informed the group.

“That’s enough. We don’t want to hear it,” Pepper Johnson interrupted.

“He’s ready for the snap,” Walls added.

“Shut up, Walls!” Mark Collins screamed.

Matt Bahr was the calmest man in the stadium.

“I didn’t notice the guys kneeling on the sidelines,” Bahr said. “I guess you could say I was fighting the rush of adrenaline. Sure I knew the score and what this meant to the team. But I had to focus on my job. I try to take the same attitude to kicking an extra point in the first quarter as I do kicking a field goal in the last seconds with the game on the line.”

Through his classic, single-bar helmet, Bahr locked eyes with Hostetler. The two emergency stand-ins—each once a Pennsylvania teenager whom Joe Paterno brought to Happy Valley during the 1970s—were now ready to deliver New York to the Super Bowl. Steve DeOssie crouched over the football and fired it back to Hostetler. A perfect snap and perfect placement allowed Bahr to smoothly swipe at the ball.

Into abnormally calm air along the San Francisco Bay, the ball soared downfield, veering slightly toward the left goalpost. Bahr leaned right as he watched, hoping the ball would follow his command. It did.

“I didn’t want to look, I couldn’t look,” Mark Collins said. “I just closed my eyes and waited for the reaction from the crowd. When I heard that dull sound, I knew he made it.”

In Candlestick Park, 65,750 patrons, minus a few transplanted New York fans, fell silent. The Giants’ sidelines went wild. Belichick hugged Parcells, ruffled his boss’ gray hair, and the two hopped around like Little Leaguers who just won the city championship.

“When I saw it was good, I didn’t jump up and down. I just breathed a sigh of relief,” Bahr said. “I may not have looked excited outside, but on the inside, I was excited.”

Stephen Baker couldn’t quite keep his emotions in check.

“I just remember turning around ’cause their stadium, the fans were right behind us, and I’ll never forget they were berating