One of the sporting icons of recent times was a nine-days
wonder – a young American Football Quarterback (QB) named Tim Tebow. A champion
at College level a few years ago, idolized by most followers of the College
game, he played only one season in the professional NFL, and was an exciting
addition to the mix. One of the most erratic of players, his competence in the
game was like nothing so much as the little girl with the little curl in the
nursery rhyme – who when she was good, she was very, very good; but when she
was bad she was horrid.
Tim’s problem was that he was often (usually?) horrid for
the first 80-90% of every game, and sometimes superbly good in the closing
minutes. During the latter period, passes that had flown yards above the heads
of receivers or wide of their hands, suddenly began to hit their targets. His fans
called it “Tebow Time”, and spent a lot of nervous energy waiting for it
to arrive. When it did – when it did – they forgave him all the
wretchedness and delighted in his glory.
During his second season as a professional in the NFL, in
2011, he was the erratic and unreliable QB of the Denver Broncos – only in the
team because of his College reputation and the fact that the Broncos’ Number
One QB proved to be even worse. His coaches mixed jubilation with despair, and attributed
his last-minute victories to what they called his “intangibles” – plain luck,
as often as not.
The last three minutes of the Miami game became the stuff of
legend. Denver’s Defensive Unit had kept Miami to two touchdowns and a field
goal (17 points); Miami’s Defense had kept Denver’s Offensive Unit scoreless
for the first fifty-seven minutes of play. A walkover. But… but… wait… The
remaining three minutes were Tebow Time.
Out of nowhere, the Offence scrambled and blocked and fizzed around like a fart in a bottle, and conjured up the necessary 17 points while the Defense – miraculously inspired – harried and hurried the opposition off the field without points. Tebow Time had come, just in time to tie the score; and Denver went on to win in sudden-death overtime.
Out of nowhere, the Offence scrambled and blocked and fizzed around like a fart in a bottle, and conjured up the necessary 17 points while the Defense – miraculously inspired – harried and hurried the opposition off the field without points. Tebow Time had come, just in time to tie the score; and Denver went on to win in sudden-death overtime.
That and similar flukes along the way got Denver into the
post-season Playoffs against the Pittsburgh Steelers, whom the bookies made 13-point
favourites. This time, Denver’s Offence and Defense were both erratic for the
entire game. It was Pittsburgh who fought back like tigers to overcome a two-touchdown
lead and tie the game in the fourth Quarter. Overtime again! High drama! The toss of the
coin gave Tebow one last chance to do his thing.
On this occasion, eleven seconds was all the Tebow Time
he needed. In the very first play, desperately protected by his Offensive Line from
the Pittsburgh rush, he waited a tad over two seconds (one Mississippi, two Mississippi,
three…) and fired a bullet up-field. The plan called for the receiver to run
twenty yards north and cut fifteen yards eastward, and arrive exactly when and
where the ball arrived.
It’s a beautiful piece of action – the crossing route
executed at high speed. Eight or nine Offensive players are running every
which-way, and the defenders don’t know which of them is the designated catcher.
This time, the intersection was perfect. The receiver on the left ran up and across
to the right, caught the ball at full speed, brushed aside a couple of grabs, veered
left again and galloped sixty yards to the goal-line. Game over.
The home crowd went bananas, while Tim did his two-second
kneel-down before joining in the hysteria. After scoring, he always went
down on one knee for a couple of seconds with his head bowed, in the gesture known
as Tebowing. Asked once whether he prayed to his God for a win, he
shrugged and said, “God doesn’t care who wins football games, but it’s only
fair to thank him when things go right.”
The son of missionaries, he was an evangelical Christian.
During his College career, he adopted the common custom of football players of pasting
black strips beneath their eyes to shield them from the glare. He advertised
his faith by having John 3:16 (a famous verse from the Gospel) hand-printed
in white on the black strip. In that Pittsburgh game he passed for 316 yards at
31.6 yards per completion. The TV commentators made a big play of the figures,
and John 3:16 was the top search item on Google next morning. If you
Google “3:16 game” you will have your choice of 56 million entries to read all
about it.