He Knows Agony of the Feet

Dallas kicker Eddie Murray, whose own Super Bowl moment could be coming this Sunday, cuts to the quick when asked about the memory of Scott Norwood and wide right on that fateful evening three years ago in Tampa Stadium.

“I don’t want to use this as an analogy,” Murray says, “but every kicker felt all the emotions he was going through as much as every guy felt the emotions Bobbitt went through.

“It didn’t happen to us, but we had an idea of what might have been going through his head at that time.”

There is one significant difference, however. John Wayne Bobbitt once was lost, then he was found. Norwood never made it back, never all the way, and now he is gone, a cautionary tale for every poor soul who ever had to split the uprights for his daily bread.

“When that ball went sailing to the right, I felt it, too,” Murray says. “I have kicked it to the right when it meant something. But never when it meant a Super Bowl.

“Unfortunately, that made it more magnified.”

For better or worse, Murray could be stepping under that magnifying glass next. If Murray’s lucky, this Dallas-Buffalo Super Bowl will proceed along the same lines as the last one, when his predecessor, Lin Elliott, wore himself out kicking off and tacking on extra points.

If not, Murray insists he will be prepared.

“I’ve been thinking about it for 14 years,” he says. “I’m the kicking version of Chris Farley. You know those basketball commercials? I’ve been going over all these scenarios in practice for years and years and years.

“This is my opportunity. Maybe, I might get a shot at it.”

Thirteen of those years were spent in Detroit, Kansas City and Tampa Bay, where daydreaming is usually the extent of the Super Bowl experience. For Murray to finally get his ticket punched, another comrade had to fall wide of the goal post with another monumental game on the line.

That would have been Dallas’ second game of the 1993 regular season--early September for the rest of the world, but in Dallas, nervous time. When Elliott missed two field goals in a 13-10 loss to Buffalo, the Cowboys dropped to 0-2 and Texas was in a state of hysteria.

“Off with his head!” all of Dallas cried.

Cowboy Coach Jimmy Johnson, in a benevolent mood, settled for Elliott’s job.

Soon, Murray’s phone was ringing and a tryout was arranged. Murray was unemployed at the time, having been cut at the end of Tampa Bay’s training camp. He was instructed to fly down for the day and engage in an eight-man kickoff. To the winner would go a paycheck--and maybe another if he didn’t shank one against Phoenix.

Johnson goes through kickers like cans of hair varnish. In four-plus seasons, Roger Ruzek, Luis Zendejas, Ken Willis and Elliott had come and left. By the time Murray’s plane touched down in Dallas, he had a firm idea of what he was stepping into.

“I’ve seen every press conference (Johnson) has had just after one of his kickers has done poorly,” Murray says. “I remember watching ESPN after the Buffalo game and hearing him make comments that he was going to bring kickers in to replace Lin Elliott.

“I remember his comments after Ken Willis left the Cowboys on Plan B to go to Tampa Bay after he said he wouldn’t leave. You can make up any adjective you want, because Jimmy used all of them.

“So Jimmy’s relationship with kickers is something I was conscious of.”

Was Murray bothered?

“Not at all,” he says, “because he never had me as a kicker. That may sound like an arrogant statement, but that’s how I looked at it. He never knew what it was like to work with me.”

If there’s one thing Johnson can appreciate, it’s arrogance. The man breathes it instead of oxygen.

If there’s another thing he can appreciate, it’s hitting 10 of 10 field-goal attempts into rain and 25-m.p.h wind. Murray walked the walk and kicked the kick. Doubly impressed, Johnson told Murray to get a physical and show up at practice the next day.

Murray and Johnson have hardly spoken since. This means Murray is doing splendid work.

In 14 regular-season games with Dallas, Murray converted 85% of his field goal tries, 100% of his extra points and finished third in the conference with 122 points. He averaged 8.7 points per game with the Cowboys, roughly the same as the Ram offense under T.J. Rubley. He set a club record with 28 field goals and received a game ball after kicking Dallas into the playoffs with three field goals in a 16-13 victory over the New York Giants.

So what’s this business about Emmitt Smith as league MVP?

Weren’t the Cowboys also 0-2 without Murray?

“Some of my family members might think that,” Murray says with a grin.

And don’t try convincing Murray the game is worse off today because men of his ilk--short of stature and strong of quadriceps--have turned the NFL into a weekly procession of 9-6 sleeping pills.

“I think,” Murray says, “it’s just a situation where kickers have adapted to rule changes a lot quicker than the other players . . .

“What really changed it was when the college ranks took the kicking blocks (tees) away. It made college field-goal kickers more proficient by the time they came into the NFL.

“I don’t know if that’s good or bad. You’re splitting hairs, really. The owners and the competition committee say they want to make a change. But talk to me and I’ll tell you that I’m proud of those kickers who come in and do what they’re asked to do--and that’s kick field goals.

“I mean, it is called foot ball.”

Or talk to the Buffalo Bills.

What the game needs now, they will tell you, is more field goals, not less.

One more, properly placed three years ago, would have done just fine.