SUPER BOWL XXVII : From Miami to Pasadena, Irvin, Johnson Are Magic

Irvin-Johnson magic.

What an act.

What a show.

And what better place than Southern California to perform it?

The player: Michael Irvin; age: 26. The coach: Jimmy Johnson; age: 49. National champions together at the University of Miami. National Football League champions together with the Dallas Cowboys. Let’s see Lombardi and Starr top that . Or Halas and Ditka. Or Noll and Swann. Or Walsh and Montana.

Irvin’s eyes beamed like headlights at the thought of it.

“Even when I’m 50 and Coach Johnson’s, what, 89 or 90 or whatever, him and I can sit around on our rockers and laugh about this,” he said.

It was the only time Irvin aged his coach all day.

With a 19-yard touchdown catch in the second quarter of Super Bowl XXVII Sunday, he brought a rosy glow to Jimmy’s apple-dumpling dimples. With an 18-yard touchdown catch 18 seconds later, Irvin kept the gray from the coach’s plaster-of-Paris hair. That play put the Cowboys on top of the Buffalo Bills at halftime, 28-10, and had them ya-hooin’ all the way to the bunkhouse.

“Then somebody comes in and yells: ‘Remember Houston!’ ” Irvin said.

Houston had blown a big lead to Buffalo.

“And then Coach Jimmy comes in and yells: ‘Damn Houston! We ain’t Houston! We’re the Dallas Cowboys!’ ”

And what did Irvin say to that?

“I said ya-hoo.”

Michael could have been MVP. Six catches for 114 yards. Two touchdowns. Nice hands, the man has. Magician’s hands. Nice numbers, too. They were the kind of numbers Jerry Rice used to multiply when Joe Montana was out there in the Super Bowl flipping the footballs. But if the MVP trophy belonged to Troy Aikman instead, that was OK with Irvin. Irvin wanted something else more.

“Diamonds,” he said.

Diamonds?

“Diamonds bigger than headlights,” Irvin said. “I want diamonds the size of my Mercedes’ headlights. I want to stick my arm out the window to signal a turn and have my diamond shine brighter than my headlights.”

Michael Irvin must not buy jewelry at Tiffany’s. Michael Irvin must buy jewelry at Sears.

He came to the game as the second-most famous Michael on the field. The other one entertained at halftime.

Irvin was the one whose feet were always moving forward.

He was the one who tiptoed along the boundary stripe like a Flying Wallenda until he went tumbling safely into a corner of the end zone for six points. He was the one who stepped nimbly through the defense until he stood in a clearing, stunned nearly into disbelief by Buffalo’s willingness to defend him man-to-man.

“After my first touchdown, Alfredo Roberts came up to me and said, ‘That’s the first time I’ve seen you get ‘man’ coverage in a long time,” Irvin said.

Roberts, an injured tight end, played with Irvin, for Johnson, at Miami.

“And then you know what Alfredo said? He said: ‘And I don’t think you’ll be seeing it again.’ ”

Did he?

“See, that’s what maybe you don’t understand,” Irvin said. “Everybody’s always talking on TV about ‘the primary receiver.’ But the primary receiver is dictated by the coverage. If Michael Irvin lines up and he’s got two guys on him, then Michael Irvin is no longer the primary receiver. Jay Novacek is. Alvin Harper is. You understand?”

This was after the game, and Irvin held his helmet in his hands.

A small helmet. Like one for a shrunken head.

“You like this?” Irvin inquired, squeezing the face guard of an empty drinking mug in the shape of a Dallas helmet. “This here is the only facemask you ever ought to grab.

“By the way, you’ll notice that it’s empty. I couldn’t find any champagne. I had to drink Gatorade from it.”

The end of a perfect day.

His act had played the Coast. Irvin had fantasized about making magic happen ever since being introduced to this man named Johnson. Since his childhood in South Florida, since his school days at St. Thomas Aquinas of Ft. Lauderdale, since Michael Jerome Irvin first shook hands with James William Johnson and realized that he had nothing up his sleeve, every trick they had rehearsed and perfected together had been preparing them for this day.

As showtime approached, somebody asked Irvin: “What would you like the last play of the Super Bowl to be?”

Figuring, you know, a circus catch for the game-winning points.

“My fantasy for the last play of the Super Bowl? My fantasy was Steve Beuerlein handing off to Derrick Gainer or somebody because the Super Bowl is over and we’re winning and I’m on the sideline, dancing,” Irvin said.

Oh, that Michael.

Always entertaining.