Published on 08/7/2006

Everyone remembers their first time. Atomic Sports columnist will never forget the day he fell in love with football, a relationship sparked by a certain No. 7 with a flair for the dramatic.

They say you always remember your first time. Mine was when I was 7 years old. Well, seven-and-a-half, if you want to get technical. I sat alone in my folks’ bedroom in Chicago’s suburbs on a blustery January afternoon with little to do. Quickly tiring of He-Man action figures I reached for what would later become my old standby, the remote control.

Quickly spinning the broadcast channels a few times over, I landed on coverage of this football thing all the locals had been raving about all year. Since the talk I was privy to was mostly in regard to Bears and Monsters, I wanted no part of it. This was different.

A couple minutes into the already ongoing gridiron action, I felt it was time to pledge allegiance to one of these teams. Maybe it was fate, something from the broadcast, a play a guy made or perhaps I just fancied the orange and blue a little more than orange and brown, but I decided that day the Denver Broncos would be my team.

Other than watching the old man’s ’85 Bears season-in-review VHS tape, I had zero knowledge of the game. Even then, I realized that Cleveland’s Municipal Stadium was probably not a place you wanted to play if you were not wearing the white-home jersey. “The Dawg Pound” featured a plethora of men dressed in dog masks barking a tune that didn’t catch on until Arsenio. They came armed with a small artillery of dog bones to whip at the opponent to throw them off their game. Coaches and players roamed the home sideline in mundane trench coats that looked more appropriate for an army regime than a football team.

Intimidating. Very intimidating.

You see, I had no choice but to cheer against this Browns team. They had everything going for them; playing at home in front of almost 80,000 crazy fans, uniforms and garb too drab to be considered professional (which always signifies bad assness-when you don’t look good- you must be good) and most of all, a fantastic team.

It didn’t take long to realize that Bernie Kosar had a killer arm and an uncanny knack for making great throws (even if he did throw the ball in the same girly style of my then five-year-old brother).

I spent the better part of three quarters studying and analyzing this complex game. It’s now 20-13 Browns with 5:32 to go and what does a young boy hear? “Jimmy, time for dinner!”

Dinner? Are you kidding me, mom? You don’t stop for dinner when two titans of the gridiron are pummeling each other on a field of green painted dirt for the right to play in sports’ biggest game!

Kickoff… muffed…. downed at the Denver 2-yard line? Oh gosh, talk about the jinxiest of all jinxes -- the Mrs. Ludes spaghetti blunder, if you will. As much as I wanted to utter, “so much for this crap” to fill my face with pasta, I sat idly by and prayed.

Pray to the football Gods I did. It was my introduction to them. “Um, I don’t know if you can hear me. I mean, my God probably has this line blocked off until my communion or something, but if you’re up there could you make this happen?”

On third-and-two Sammy Winder runs a hair over the yard marker for a first down to keep the hopes of all Rocky Mountain dwellers alive, if only for a short time. Two plays later young John Elway scrambles for 11-yards and first down at the Denver 26-yard line. Out of the shadow of the endzone, the Broncos could operate.

The next play Elway hits Steve Sewell for 22-yards out near midfield. All of Ohio is agape, “What? Midfield? We should have had a safety and ended this thing!” Another dozen yards down the Cleveland 40 and the two-minute warning.

NBC camera operators zoom in on No. 7, and I got a feeling; I think it’s the feeling I’m going to get just before I die. I know it’s over -- but I’m nervous as hell.

An incompletion and a sack and now hope fades a little. Third-and-18; might as well been a mile. 80,000 in house know who’s going to the Super Bowl. Millions of home viewers know it too. Half the guys on the field know it. But a few don’t and that’s all that matters.

“Come on Johnny, baby,” Pat Bowlen, the fur coat-clad owner of the Broncos screamed urging his star player to prove that he’s just that. Elway quickly finds Mark Jackson for 20 more yards to get inside the Browns 30. On second down, a flip to Sewell gets the team down to the 14 with under a minute to go.

Another failed first down attempt and with 40 some odds second to go, neither I nor anyone a mile above sea level blinked or took a breath for what seems like days. Second down and Elway’s flushed from the pocket but the mobile quarterback picks up nine down to the 5-yard line of enemy ground.

On third down Elway cocked back and threw the hardest football pass known to man right over outstretched defenders hands and into the lap of a sliding Jackson. The Broncos had tied the game at 20 with 30 some seconds to go in regulation on the most improbable drive in NFL history.

Needless to say, moments later in overtime they made it official and capped a 23-20 victory over the Browns for the right to play in Super Bowl XXI. That night I missed some killer spaghetti but gained something more important; a hero and everlasting hope.

* There has been some talk of adding a retractable roof to Cleveland Browns stadium in order to attract a future Super Bowl. While the economics of it make perfect sense, I cannot think of one good football reason to do it. If you’re a Browns fan, a Broncos fan or a fan of football the way it should be played (outdoors) follow this link to help open the eyes of any involved who would cap a great outdoor stadium.

Jim Ludes is a regular contributor to Atomic Sports Media. He can be reached at jim.ludes@atomicsportsmedia.com.