North County News 11/10/93

FOUR QUARTERS
TO FOUR DOWNS

It was a cold, brisk Saturday night at Somers High School; the field that would play host to the Class B Section One High School Football Championship of New York. The crowd was large, the lights were bright, and the stakes were high. For the winner, a trip to the first-ever state play-offs. For the loser, a trip home.

Ron Santavicca's Yorktown Cornhuskers had seven wins and one loss. Don Dematteo's Gorton Wolves had seven wins and one loss. Two fine coaches of two great teams playing four quarters of the most heart-stopping football either one had ever seen. Two best friends, about as close as could be, on separate sidelines, 50 yards apart. Each one trying keep the other from moving on.

Forty-eight minutes had elapsed and both teams had 28 points. Two close friends, two great teams; dead even on the season, dead even on the scoreboard.

The long summer of drills and practice, the weekly battles on Friday nights and Saturday afternoons, the half-time speeches, the blackboard sketches, the fumbles and touchdowns; the highs and lows of six months of preparation for a right to play in this game. Four quarters played. Nothing had been decided.

Four downs for each team from the ten-yard line. Something called a Kansas City shoot-out. Eight downs to decide a season. Two friends. Two teams. Ten yards.

Gorton won the toss of the coin and DeMatteo elected to let Yorktown go first. If they could make it, Gorton would be able to equal the task. If they didn't, the task would be at hand.

Across the field, DeMatteo looked almost serene, clad in green and clutching his clipboard with both hands; his defense forming a circle around him to listen for final instructions. Gazing down the yard-marker stripe, Santavicca looked coiled and ready -- as if he were going into the contest at that very minute. Wearing his lucky shorts and jacket with a baseball cap pulled tightly to his head, he paced back and forth before addressing his converging troops.

The Yorktown offense jogged back onto the frozen turf, led by Brett Sowka, their capable, left-handed, senior quarterback, with enough skills to already have brought his team back twice in this game. Once in the first half, after trailing by 14, and once in the final quarter down by seven.

The first two plays would not be enough, and with two shots to go and three yards to pay dirt, Sowka scrambled over the left side of the Yorktown line looking for the end zone.

Instead, he met with two hard-charging Gorton defenders. Down went Sowka's right shoulder, forward plowed his legs, and across the goal line all three of them fell. No fourth down was needed. Touchdown.

The Yorktown bench exploded; fists clenched and faces contorted in screams of motivation. Santavicca now looked to his defense. Across the field his friend knew that without a solid kicker, and having opted out of point-after tries all night, his offense would either win or lose. There would be only four more downs, and maybe, one more two point try. Either way, the Cornhuskers offense was done for the evening. Victory would now be in the hands of their league-leading defense; the cornerstone of the season, and the reason they were on the field in the first place.

Gorton QB, Jose Cruz had put together a pretty good night himself; passing and running for TDs. But that was all history now. It was four more downs for the title. Three of those downs had left him and his offense one yard short. Then a motion penalty on the left side of the line pushed it back to the six. It would have to be six yards in one play or the season for Gorton was over.

DeMatteo's sideline was silent and pensive, waiting for a decision one way or the other. Santavicca's sideline was screaming about "one more play" and how they could call themselves champs and squeeze another game out of the 1993 football season. Somebody turned around with a mile-wide grin and said, "It doesn't get any better than this."

Time stood still. The crowd started an uncontrollable cheer. Both sides, no matter whom they rooted for, applauded the effort. The officials bit down hard on their whistles and smiled. Yorktown dug in. Gorton snapped the ball.

Cruz started to run to the right of the line looking into the night--into the endzone--for someone in a green uniform. He saw nothing but silver and white. He continued to run. DeMattteo hugged his clipboard tighter. Santavicca wandered further onto the field, closer to the action.

Cruz kept running. Suddenly, he turned up field to the four, the three, but at the two yard-line the Yorktown defense met him. The game was over. No more plays on this night. No more games for Gorton.

Covered with dirt and jubilation, the Cornhuskers spilled onto the field to jump on top of one another. In the excitement of the moment the two coaches, these two friends who entered the coaching ranks on the same year long ago, embraced with tears streaming down their faces. In the midst of the exploding mayhem, in the middle of the field, they thanked each other for this magnificent game, and mostly for the friendship.

DeMatteo took his clipboard home. Santavicca pushed his lucky hat back on his head and headed for another game against an unknown team on a neutral field somewhere far from the electricity of a night that four quarters was not enough for victory. Two friends. Two teams. Four quarters. Seven plays. One great memory.

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