Editorial
This Titans Thing
In a certain Sunday school class last weekend, at a certain church in Nashville, the group leader was asked this question, and we paraphrase: ”Did the Titans’ victory on Saturday qualify as a miracle?“
The priest chose not to enter the fray. But the point had already been made: The Titans had entered our world, we had entered theirs, and no one was thinking about much of anything else.
Around the family dinner table, on the telephone, or in grocery lines standing next to random strangers, our little city had suddenly been overlaid with a heady dose of commonality: The Titans had won a playoff game.
Befitting a season that saw them eke out victory after victory, often unimpressively and unspectacularly, the Titans last weekend again found a way to win against the Buffalo Bills. The way they did so—with their last-second, not-to-be-repeated, lateral-pass-kickoff-return play—added some razzle-dazzle to a sometimes not-so-flashy team, and earned the players various expressions of disbelief and astonishment from broadcasters across America.
Kevin Dyson, who scored the winning touchdown, now says he didn’t really know what the play was as he stepped onto the field to run it. Frank Wycheck, who threw the pass, now says he’s not sure Dyson was even supposed to catch it.
And that’s football. We pay these guys big dollars so that even if things don’t work out as planned, they can make something happen anyway. Think fast. Then hit somebody.
After the victory, the mood at the stadium, in the streets of downtown, and in sports bars around the city was off the charts. Fans stayed in the stadium, ordering more drinks. Police broke up at least two fights. It was the kind of official disorder that you come to expect in big cities when their major sports teams win.
So what, dear reader, is the point of this editorial?
Nothing but pure, unadulterated, happy, weepy congratulations. To Jeff Fisher, the coach of the Titans, for putting together a complete football team and finding a way to win, repeatedly. To Air McNair, Eddie George, the previously mentioned Wycheck, and the rest of the offensive unit, who came together at the end of the season at the right time. To Jevon Kearse, and the chemistry lab in which his DNA was assembled, and the rest of the defense, which hits hard.
Titans owner Bud Adams brought his team to Nashville because his was a failing enterprise in Houston. Our city made it worthwhile for him to come here, and even with other cities making him offers that exceeded ours, he stuck with us.
Despite a history of public-relations disasters, of which entire books have been written, Adams has done his best to redeem himself by throwing contributions at various nonprofit agencies here, and doing what he says he’ll do. To him, as well, we say thanks.
No one could have scripted a better inaugural season. Unless, of course, we blow Peyton Manning off the map, survive the conference championship game, make it to the Super Bowl, and....
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