Whether the University of Utah would win its first football game in Provo in 22 years came down to this: Either Chris Yergensen nails a 55-yard field goal or he doesn't. There are 25 seconds left on the clock, the Utes are facing fourth and nowhere, and there's no other option. Either Yergensen kicks the 55-yarder in front of 65,894 fans, most of them hoping he doesn't, or it's back on the bus with tonight's lovely consolation prize - a 31-31 tie - and not much hope of going to a bowl game.
This isn't fair, of course, the game and the season's outcome crushing down on the scaled-down shoulder pads of a field goal kicker. But nobody said football was fair, least of all to Yergensen, the goat of last year's Copper Bowl.It was Yergensen who missed on a short 20-yard attempt with Washington State hanging onto a 31-28 lead late in the game. It was Yergensen who got the blame for that loss, from his coach, from his teammates, from the fans. A Ute defense that gave up 636 yards to Washington State and couldn't get the ball back in the final 3:19 after Yergensen's miss wasn't villified. Neither was a Ute offense that failed to score before Washington State already had a 21-point cushion.
It was Yergensen who spent the summer hearing about how easy it is to make a 20-yard field goal.
Now it's a different year, same scenario, and Yergensen knows what time it is. It's time to either be the hero or the goat, one or the other, not much in between. It comes with the territory. So he takes a deep breath and hustles out to midfield, feeling as vulnerable as you can feel in a madhouse.
He's worried, of course, and he's not about to admit otherwise. He's already missed two field goals in this game, from 35- and 37-yards. Plus an extra point that hit the crossbar and bounced back harder toward him than when it left his foot. Even his kickoffs have been less than stellar, landing 20 to 30 yards short of the endzone. He's having trouble with BYU's uneven, muddy turf. He needs a good leg plant and he's not getting it. He's always been a strong planter. It's the key to his power. But today he's having to back off because if he doesn't he's afraid he'll slip.
Just a minute earlier he was standing on the sideline feeling a twinge of self-pity. Why him? Why today, in what could very well be his last football game ever? He made one field goal, a 41-yarder, and two point-afters, but those misses from 35 and 37, those hurt, and it didn't help after the second miss when the BYU fan stood up just behind the Ute bench and shouted, "Reminds me of the Copper Bowl."
One of Yergensen's teammates wheeled on the fan, told him to "shut up" and followed that with a wrong guess, presumably intentional, as to the fan's name.
Yergensen neither looked around or from side to side, just ahead to the next time, if there was a next time.
He watched as Utah got the ball with just over three minutes to play and 80 yards to cover. He watched as the scoreboard clock and his teammates continued on a collision course that inched slowly northward. He decided that if the drive was going to stall he hoped it would stall sooner rather than later. He'd rather kick a long one than a short one. A long one would mean he could throw out the finesse stuff, just plant hard, hope, and let it fly. Distance was never his nemesis anyway. He once kicked a 71-yarder in practice.
When the call finally came, he was glad it was from a distance most field goal kickers take one look at and feign a hamstring pull.
"I can go at least 60," he thought as he set up. "Just aim it right and let it blow in."
Derek Whiddon's snap, although hurried slightly to beat the 25-second clock, was perfect. So was Justin Jones' hold . . . and now, so too was Yergensen's kick. A good 10 yards beyond the crossbar it came down, wiping out a 22-year drought just like that.
Yergensen was mobbed. Yergensen was hugged. In the locker room Yergensen was even kissed, by teammate Cedric Crawford, who shouted, "I love him when he makes kicks like that."
Yergensen looked around and took it all in. The TV stations wanted him as soon as he was ready. Everybody wanted to touch him. The lows can be low, but the highs can be high.
"One time," he sighed in satisfaction, to himself.
You could see it in Yergensen's face, the bemused realization of the inequity of it all. His kick - The Kick - had become the game's punch line and focal point all in one, overshadowing Jamal Anderson's 146 rushing yards, overshadowing Mike McCoy's 434 passing yards and three touchdown passes, overshadowing Harold Lusk's two interceptions, overshadowing Bryan Rowley's school record 26th touchdown pass.
"After the Copper Bowl I thought about giving it up," he said. "But I didn't."
"Good thing," smiled the man who once kicked the Utes out of a bowl and now, with one swipe of his leg, had not only beaten BYU, but had also kicked them back into one.