Thanks man, I am usually hesitant to share such fortune, but if there is anyone who can appreciate it...
My Dad and myself at eight or nine years of age were Hurricanes fans, went to most games in the OB, even one in Gainesville against Spurrier's Gators, so I was already well on my way to a healthy love of our Gridiron Football.
In 1969, Pops got season tickets for the Phins, we went 3-10-1 that year, it was fun, my Dad seemed into it.
Then I'll never forget him excitedly showing me fairly successive Herald sports front pages announcing the league merger, the hiring of Shula, and then later, Warfield.
At that point, it was all over but the glory. The Orange Bowl ended up being stuffed with over 70,000, everyone waving white handkerchiefs, and this 12-13 year old boy sitting with his Dad just under the upper deck in the southwest corner, looking right down the west goalline as wave after wave of bruising marches, having started on the distant 20 yard-line over by Flipper, inevitably ended up 1st and goal right under our noses, Csonka on the dive, Morris around end, Kiick on a swing pass...
Then there was the game, maybe in 73, against the Colts, our offense was on the march again, now around midfield, where Griese must have gotten bored with Csonka right and Morris left. I, also perhaps a little bored, set my binocs solely on Warfield, decided on watching only him throughout the entire play. Of course, I didn't notice Griese's play action fake, but I did follow Paul as he streaked down 15 yards, cut in as if for a post, and then deftly, instantly cut back out: when he looked up over his shoulder, the ball was already on its descent, both he and I just then seeing it come into view. A perfect pass, Warfield cradled the ball into his soft basket of hands, and, with two Colts DBs already easily 10 yards behind, glided another 20 yards to cross the goalline -- MY goalline -- into the closed side of the southwest endzone, everybody wild, a huge, roaring sea of aqua and orange and white. Warfield, as always, merely flipped the ball to ref and headed back. Pandemonium, beauty, collective joy.
Thanks. Thanks for listening. Thanks, Dad.
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