If you’re a high schooler, you’ve never had one of these days, except for maybe last Saturday night. If you’re in your 20s, you’ve had a couple – but with the Buffalo Sabres, not the Buffalo Bills.
If you’re over 40, you’ve had plenty. The problem is remembering them is more challenging.
I’m 49 and can remember the big details as well as the next fan.
The thrills and relief that came with the game known best for its final score, 51-3. The crushing heartbreak of the missed field goal a mere week later. The Buffalo pride felt with beating the Dolphins in Miami to take the 1992 AFC crown. The embarrassment of that first Super Bowl against Dallas. And others.
It’s funny which details stay with you and which don’t.
Recently, I saw a picture of Jim Kelly down on the field in Pasadena, Super Bowl XXVII, clutching his knee in pain. It jarred my memory: Oh yeah, Kelly went out of that game. Many fans would recall that easily.
What I remember most about watching that game – which I did home with my family, back for the occasion from college – is a comment made by NBC’s Will McDonough, father of Sean McDonough, on the pregame show well before kickoff.
The Bills, of course, were in the Super Bowl for the third straight year, having gone 0-2. We were all wondering which way it would fall – was the Bills’ Super Bowl experience going to benefit them and make the difference against Dallas, or was the pressure of a possible third straight loss going to undo them. According to McDonough’s read of the team as it went in-and-out of the locker room for warmups, it was the latter. “I’ve never seen a team look so tight,” or words to that effect, was his comment.
Uh-oh.
After many lost years of second-tier status or lower, the Bills have skyrocketed to the Diamond Club of the NFL, and prepare to face the defending Super Bowl champion Kansas City Chiefs on Sunday for the AFC title. Details from Sunday’s game, win or lose, will stay with fans forever.
Which details? That will vary.
There are the games, and then the friends. You might not remember plays from this game – the more lopsided, the more likely that is – but you may recall the room you’re in, the people you’re with.
I watched Super Bowl XXV at my friend’s house, walking distance from where my family lived. That collection of friends is grouped for me largely because of this day. Todd and his parents, Erik, Mark, Dave, Adam… we were together for, as it happened, the most indelible sports moment of our lives.
I’m sure there were chips, plenty of pop, probably pizza. I have a vague recollection of where I sat – in the back of the room, viewing diagonally across it, where if you looked up and outside the back window you’d be looking at our neighbor’s dock. 30 years later, that view is frozen in my mind.
So is the memory of walking back home afterward, preparing to drive back to Rochester, and having my sister tell me that a “friend” of mine, Sean, just called from college to yell “Go Giants!” into the phone. She took the call. Sorry I missed it. It still bothers her. I think she judges my college by it alone.
Today’s quarantine life renders, at least, some amount of that convivial atmosphere unattainable. Parties like that one in 1991 would be considered “peak spread” – small rooms packed with people. You want to be smart, and you also want to live today in a way that makes sports meaningful. You want it to be meaningful, or else why bother? It’s not nearly as interesting without the others – Erik or Adam or Todd moaning at an incomplete third down pass.
What fun is watching games like this alone? Sure, there’s an argument for it (apart from the COVID-19 factors).
I remember for Game 7 in 2006 between the Sabres and Carolina Hurricanes, I was insistent on being home with my wife for it. I had been at the previous four games, including Game 5 in Carolina, but for this one I just wanted to sit right in front of the TV and give it all of my attention.
After Jochen Hecht scored from the corner late in the second period to give the Sabres the lead, I’m sure I spent the intermission walking all over the house and probably outside as well. Getting my steps in, as it were, before I ever heard of the concept.
The third period was less for pacing than sitting and wallowing. The tying goal, the go-ahead goal, the clincher. All over.
I can feel that pain right now.
The series before, my wife and I, again, watched the final game from home. When Jason Pominville scored in overtime to end the series and eliminate the Ottawa Senators, we hugged and screamed and cried. Then, we went out. Drove to a nearby bar and celebrated with 30-40 others, who had done the same thing.
Whatever happens, for Buffalo fans on Sunday, is one of these days. 1990, 2006, 2020.
For the memories that do exist, the Bills have really never won a game like this. On the road against the champs, a trip to the Super Bowl at stake.
So many things have been different about this team this year, including a pass-happy approach that has brought this “establish the run”-hater to the verge of tears. Maybe Sunday’s result will be different too.
While it’s happening, just be sure to look around. You may never forget the sight.