Many years ago I lived in a city that revolved around professional sports, which included a personal favorite - football. As a result, I frequently attended home games at the stadium located just a few miles from our apartment. One of these contests found our team struggling late in the second-half. The visiting team had driven the ball inside our ten yard line, and, on a critical third down, they were able to convert. A field goal would have given us a deficit that was manageable to overcome, but a touchdown would put the game out of reach. With four more attempts to defend inside of the 3 yard line, we seemed to have little hope for a comeback.
The stadium, which seated over 70,000 fans, was eerily quiet. For a moment, our play-off hopes seemed to wither in the afternoon heat.
But then something happened.
I'm not sure exactly what sparked the chain of events that followed, but instead of succumbing to the sense of hopelessness, one of our defensive tackles decided to get himself psyched-up for the next play. He pounded his chest and threw his hands in the air, exhorting both his team mates and the deflated home crowd to make some noise.
Here we should pause to underscore the value of crowd-noise in a football game. In regulation play, eleven men from each team are allowed on the field at one time. As such, the home crowd is often called the 12th man on the field. If the fans get fired up, their influence can wreak havoc on the opposing team’s offense. The deafening noise of tens of thousands of people yelling at the top of their lungs causes missed snaps, confusion, and botched plays.
Apparently sensing the value of such a distraction, another defensive linemen caught the spirit of the moment and, with a burst of renewed enthusiasm began to entreat the crowd for the 12th man. Though the two players seemed to be lauding a lost cause, their energy was contagious. Cheers began to flare up in pockets throughout the stadium, inspiring some of the more dedicated fans to rise to their feet. Could the defense hold against the odds? The crowd seemed to believe it was possible. In a few moments, the noise level had reached a fevered pitch, and the visiting team’s offense broke the huddle and made their way to the line of scrimmage
The ball was snapped.
The quarterback handed the ball off to the tailback, who was already low to the ground and poised to plow through any soft spot in the defensive line. As we all strained to see the play unfold, the tailback was swallowed up in the sea of people floundering near the goal line and knocked back for a loss.
The stop was met with the crowd's thunderous approval.
I continued to cheer with the rest of the stadium as the quarterback drew his offensive team mates around him for another huddle. They had two more tries to get three yards before they would have to cut their losses and try for a field goal. As the players broke the huddle and lined up for the second-down play, the defensive linemen implored the crowd for more noise. The crowd responded with roaring loud enough to mute the quarterback's last-minute audibles at the line of scrimmage.
I continued to cheer with the rest of the stadium as the quarterback drew his offensive team mates around him for another huddle. They had two more tries to get three yards before they would have to cut their losses and try for a field goal. As the players broke the huddle and lined up for the second-down play, the defensive linemen implored the crowd for more noise. The crowd responded with roaring loud enough to mute the quarterback's last-minute audibles at the line of scrimmage.
Again the ball was snapped.
The running attack pounded at the battered defensive lineman, and, to the dismay of the offensive players, was shut down a second time for no gain.
The home-crowd's energy continued to mount as the momentum of the visiting offense ground to a halt. If our defense could hold on 3rd down, we would have a real chance to cut our losses and get back in the game.
This time, there was no more need for encouragement from the defensive line.
As the players walked toward the ball for the crucial snap, the game announcer’s voice boomed over the intercom:
“It’s Thirrrrrrrrrdddddd Down!”
The crowd-noise thundered down onto the field like a sonic boom, seeming to devour all in its path. The defense lined up in unison, rising collectively to the task at hand. The energy crackled in the air like a tangible substance as the snap count started for the third time.
Blue 38! Blue 38! Set! Hut! Hut!
The quarterback faked a hand-off and faded back for a short pass.
A receiver broke coverage and cut toward the goal post.
The ball arced perfectly through the air, whistling victory as it spiraled toward its moving target.
Then, out of nowhere, a hand came up.
Reaching up and over the tangled mass of players converging on the goal line, the last line of defense between the ball and the expectant receiver sliced through the air, timed perfectly to deflect the ball before disappearing back down among the ranks of the other earth-bound players
The ball bounced harmlessly onto the turf, and the referees whistled the play dead.
The noise was deafening as the crowd roared its applause for the battered defense, and the celebration started in the stands. High fives were given and received by friends and strangers alike while the triumphant home-team celebrated on the field.
Our defense had held!
Unbelievable!
As we filed out of the stadium that fall afternoon, I knew that I would never forget that moment, or the lesson I had been taught by a couple of tough-minded men who stared doom in the face and smiled.
As I reminisce about the tenacity of the hometown defense from years gone by, I am reminded of another blast from the past that caused me to consider the value of a good attitude. The 1995, the movie Apollo 13, a true story of survival against the odds, was released during the same time-frame with a cast that included Tom Hanks and Kevin Bacon. In this depiction of a real-life space mission, Ed Harris stood in as the voice of optimism in the temporal salvation of three doomed astronauts, who, through a series of random mishaps, found themselves a long way from home in a badly damaged spacecraft. As the Apollo 13 spaceship and crew hurtled back toward earth, many at NASA voiced their opinion that the spaceship would disintegrate during the intense heat of re-entry into the earth’s atmosphere.
Said one despairing official, “It will be the worst disaster in the history of NASA.”
Ed Harris was brilliant in his portrayal of Gene Kranz, NASA's real-life flight director:
”With all due respect, sir," he said, his body rising straight and tall, "I believe this will be NASA’s finest hour.”
As predicted, the high stakes rescue proved to make one of the best stories in NASA's history of space-travel. While NASA blandly referred to the incident as a "successful failure, the world watched in relief as, against the odds, three astronauts were reunited with their families.
Do you think the incident has a truth to teach us?
I think both of these accounts remind us that faith, optimism and believing are more than just attributes bestowed on a fortunate few. Rather, they are are a choice that can be made by any person - at any stage of any game - with the expectation of securing strength to make it through the next set of downs. If you think about it, aren't we all like players on their home field hosting a title match? Some have met with success and are planning an offensive attack with the wind at their backs. Others have lost the ball and are on the 50 yard line, fighting fiercely to turn the momentum back in their favor. Some may even be backed up to their own three yard line waiting to face an invigorated offense who has just secured a fresh set of downs. If you are one of those people, may I commend to you a battered and tired defensive lineman baking in the merciless sun on his own three yard line? He and the rest of the defensive line faced a daunting task in a football game that turned out to be a critical turning point in their season. He made a decision not only to keep going, but to succeed. And more importantly, he asked for help. He called for the 12th man on the field - and got it. Though the 12th man could not be seen, it could be felt as its energy shifted the momentum of the moment and filled the players with hope and inspiration.
For me, the 12th man on the field of my life can be dependably reached through eons of space and time; not with chest pounding and flailing arms, but in kneeling down in silent and fervent prayer. God Himself has said He will fight our battles if we will call on Him, ask in humility, and accept His will. His voice is not usually heard in the thundering roar of a stadium crowd, but in a voice that is still and small - a voice that speaks to the core of our souls. His power to renew, refresh, and re-energize is beyond that of any earthly pool of energy - including our home crowd that day at the football game.
So it’s hot, you’re tired and you’re ready to call it a day.
The ball is on your own three yard line, and the visiting team is relishing a quick and easy score.
Their offense is walking toward the line of scrimmage - the line in the sand that you must defend.
As you get ready to line up for the snap, your mind settles in on the memory of a home crowd in a familiar stadium, and you begin to hear a faint roar.
It’s the Twelfth Man….making His way onto the field.
Then you remember a story you once read in the Old Testament about a group of Israelites who were down, outnumbered and in despair.Their leader prayed to God that they might see their situation as it actually existed.
"Fear not, for they that be with us are more than they that be with them."
And Elisha prayed, and said, Lord, I pray thee, open his eyes, that he may see.
And the Lord opened the eyes of the young man; and he saw: and, behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire around Elisha.
And the Lord opened the eyes of the young man; and he saw: and, behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire around Elisha.
Likewise, may we have eyes to see the Twelfth Man on the field through the haze of our own battles. Especially when the enemy is closing in, the clouds are low and all seems lost.
It may be that third down wasn't meant to be our moment of ruin.
Instead, with the right spark of inspiration, it might just be our finest hour.
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