More Than a Game

The lead held through the end of the first quarter. Tight coverage and a persistent pass rush stopped Dallas on its next possession, and the teams headed toward their sidelines with the Angels ahead 7-0.

The DCC turned toward the stands, pom-poms moving in time. Rachel wore her practiced smile. Jerry Jones, not far away, looked as if he had forgotten how.

He started across the field. An official stepped into his path, but Jerry pushed past him and kept going. The stadium employees along the boundary were his own people; none seemed eager to be the one who stopped him. By the time he reached Campo, he was already shouting.

"Lose this game, and tomorrow you go see Stephen, sign whatever he gives you, and clean out your office. All of it. I don't want to find a trace of you left in there."

Campo swallowed and nodded. He did not answer the anger with any of his own.

"They're playing tight man coverage and bringing pressure. That takes legs. The longer we make them do it, the more openings we'll get. And not every quarterback can leave the pocket like Nolan. He knows us. He knows how to get around Allen."

"Enough. I don't want excuses. I want this game."

Photographers caught the exchange. The television cameras were not the only lenses working an NFL sideline. Stephen came around the field soon afterward and drew his father away.

Campo watched them leave with a tired, humorless smile. Jerry had treated him well before this. The man wanted to beat Nolan badly enough to lose control, and Campo did have a job to do.

He turned back to the players.

"You heard him. Apparently, I need a new office if we don't win. Let's make the second quarter a little better."

Across the field, Reid and the coordinators were asking for more of the same.

"Good first quarter," Reid told the Angels. "Stay with it. We can win this."

"And keep moving when you don't have the ball," Holmgren added. "A route doesn't stop mattering because the quarterback looks somewhere else."

Some of the linemen were beginning to look pleased with themselves. Holmgren saw it.

"You think you held those blocks for three seconds? You have no idea how much Callahan's covered for you."

Nolan, meanwhile, was watching the DCC. Rachel and the others were worth looking at, but he was studying the routine as much as the women performing it.

Judy Trammell's choreography gave them a recognizable style. The movements showed off the dancers without looking crude, and the transitions made a large group look effortless. Kelsey could lead a squad. Building routines at that level was a different skill.

She had already suggested hiring a choreographer. Nolan had declined. An accomplished stage dancer did not necessarily understand a stadium show, and the Angels had no room in the budget for an expensive experiment. For now, he wanted Kelsey to study Dallas's performances closely: formations, timing, the way they faced different parts of the crowd. There was no reason to ignore the best example in front of them.

The second quarter began. Rucker's pressure still troubled Allen, and Dallas had to work for each first down. Galloway helped move the chains, but Campo did not chase a touchdown at any cost. When the drive stalled, he sent out the field-goal unit.

"He's keeping something in reserve," Nolan said to Reid and Rhodes. "He doesn't want the offense emptying the tank yet."

He knew Campo well enough to recognize the approach. Reid looked at Rhodes.

"We stay tight," Rhodes said. "I don't have a better answer right now."

The Angels had invested heavily in defense and still had only enough to compete with Dallas, not control it. Their younger players were spending their energy to buy time. If they eased off and gave up a touchdown, the pressure would shift to an offense that was weaker still. Nolan could not carry every possession for an entire season.

Reid agreed with Rhodes. Nolan did not argue. Defense was their work, and they understood it better than he did.

Dallas made the field goal, cutting the lead to 7-3. After the kickoff return, Nolan brought the offense back out.

The first snap showed him what had changed. Dallas had committed more men to the rush. Three defenders came from different directions, and the Angels' line broke apart almost immediately.

Nolan retreated, turned, and tried to get outside. In front of him, an end drove James to the ground. The back's falling body clipped Nolan as he moved across the pocket.

His balance went. He was still behind the line, still holding the ball, and a sack was a fraction of a second away.

Instead of trying to set his feet, he pushed the ball forward with a short, almost dartlike motion. Clark was already turning to look for it. He caught the pass and was dragged down at once by the linebacker dropping into coverage.

Two yards. It had looked like a loss all the way until the ball left Nolan's hand.

"How did he get that out? Callahan was going down, and he just shoved it to Clark! Two yards won't impress anybody looking at the sheet, but he saved that play."

Nolan remembered a quarterback from years ahead who would make throws like that seem almost routine. Patrick Mahomes would bring the instincts of several sports to the position. Nolan's version relied rather more on being able to force his body to do something it should not have managed.

James helped him up.

"Sorry. Once he knocked me over, I couldn't stop where I was going."

"Strong side next time," Nolan said. "Let Clark get in front of you."

There was no time for a longer conversation. On second down, he handed off immediately. Dallas read the tight end's block and stopped James after a yard.

Third and seven.

Campo called timeout. Nolan watched him gather the defense and wondered what he was setting.

"If nothing's there, run it," Holmgren said. "This is the down we need you."

"We know that," Nolan replied. "So does Dave."

Dallas had watched him save too many possessions with his legs the year before. Giving Campo exactly the play he expected would be a fine way to run into a trap. Nolan would have to see it after the snap.

When play resumed, he took the ball and started forward, keeping his eyes up. The rushers held back instead of attacking the line. They were waiting to close the moment he committed to a run.

Nolan planted and threw over them.

Far downfield, a white jersey had separated from its cornerback. Driver was running free.

The seventh-rounder was still learning the position at this level. His routes needed work, his cuts were rough, and contact could knock him off what he wanted to do. But he could run. On this play, that was what Nolan needed.

He put the pass well ahead of him, with enough room for Driver to use that speed. Even Irvin would have had to work to reach it. Driver got there just before it could fall, leaning so far forward for the catch that he could not immediately recover his stride.

The stumble cost him. The corner caught up from behind, the safety closed from ahead, and the two brought him down before he could turn the catch into a touchdown.

Nolan could have wanted more. For Driver's first regular-season reception, thirty-five yards on third down would do.

"There's somebody to watch! Donald Driver gets behind the coverage, and Callahan finds him! Thirty-five yards, a fresh set of downs, and the Angels have a chance to add to this lead."

There was no visiting section loud enough to answer. A new club had little following at home and fewer supporters willing to travel to Texas. The crowd's silence would have to serve as applause.

It did not last. Once the Angels moved into Dallas territory, everything became harder.

Nolan knew this defense. The defense knew him too. James and Driver had shown what they could do, and Dallas was adjusting. The Angels' line still could not keep the pocket intact. Familiarity, a limited supporting cast, and poor protection were closing off the options together.

A keeper failed to get what they needed. Nolan looked toward Reid and saw the signal for the field-goal unit.

"This is a hell of a lot harder than last year," he said when he reached the sideline.

It was one thing to know the old Cowboys had given him help. It was another to play against them with a team that could not provide it. Better teammates created options. Here, he was spending much of the game trying to keep the options he had from disappearing.

"Four weeks isn't much time to put a team together," Reid said.

Richie Cunningham, the one player Nolan had brought directly from Dallas, gave them something familiar. A field goal from the thirty-something-yard range was comfortably within his reach. He put it through, and the Angels led 10-3.

Dallas moved the ball again before the half, but ran out of time. The teams went inside with that score unchanged.

In the third quarter, the cost of the Angels' coverage began to show.

Players could not ration every step while chasing a receiver at full speed. The young defenders had burned through their reserves faster than the staff expected. Campo's offense, which had not spent the first half pushing at the same pace, began to find the advantage he had promised Jerry.

Reid and Rhodes had hoped the defense could last into the fourth. By the middle of the third, several men were already struggling to keep up.

"Touchdown, Dallas! The Cowboys get their first one of the afternoon, and the Angels are starting to look tired."

The extra point tied it at 10-10.

Nolan's offense offered no answer. The same protection problems remained, and now Dallas had a better handle on the plays that had worked early. Los Angeles went through the third quarter without scoring, unable even to get Cunningham into range.

"For a new team, we've done a lot right," Reid said as Nolan came off.

He knew what the quarterback was thinking. Dallas was the defending champion. Moving its most important player to another roster did not transfer the whole championship with him. The Angels had led for much of the game. That was an accomplishment, even if it did not feel like one.

For once, Holmgren agreed.

"We know more about the problems now. Give us time to work through them. This can be a playoff team."

The line needed work. The backs and receivers needed to do more after the first option failed. Their routes, blocking, and ability to deal with contact all had to improve. None of that would happen between possessions.

Nolan understood. He could also see Jerry's face across the field. The man looked happier than he had when Dallas clinched a playoff spot the year before.

The dislike was personal, but it was not only personal. Nolan had supporters in Texas who now followed news of the Angels. Every minute they spent thinking about Los Angeles was attention Dallas had once kept to itself. If the Angels flourished while the Cowboys struggled, interest could turn into loyalty. Given enough time, that could matter to ticket sales, merchandise, and the value of both clubs.

For Jerry, this game was also a fight for those fans. He did not want the Angels gaining a foothold among them.

"Yes, we have problems," Nolan told the two coaches. "We still have to win this one."

He explained what a victory in Dallas could mean beyond the standings. Then he reminded them of something rather closer to home.

"And beating the Cowboys is one of the incentives in your contracts."

Armstrong had written pages of provisions defining what would unlock extra pay. The conditions threatened to take up more space than the basic agreement. Reid and Holmgren looked as if they had just remembered signing every page.

"With what?" Holmgren asked, looking toward defenders whose faces had gone pale with fatigue.

"You find the play. I'll run it."

The two coaches looked at each other and opened their books.

Dallas had the ball when play resumed. Rhodes sent in every reserve he thought could help. It was the last fresh group he had, and the Cowboys still moved forward. The front was beginning to give way. One more mistake could turn the drive into the score that broke the game open.

"We might have to take a chance," Reid said.

As head coach, he could make the call. The risk made him want the others to hear it first.

Stop spending their last strength on a rush Leaf could see coming. Have the edges contain the run, keep the underneath defenders with the backs and receivers, and force the quarterback to make the decision himself. Give him time, but make him use it without an easy target.

Against Nolan, it would have been an invitation to run. Against a patient, accurate passer, it could be an invitation to wait for coverage to break. Reid was gambling that Leaf would be neither of those men at the moment Dallas needed him to be.

The former second overall pick had not played to his billing. His first season in San Diego had shown enough inconsistency to make the move possible. Jerry had bet on the pedigree and the physical tools, hoping a change of team would turn them into production. With Dallas picking at the end of the draft, there had been no obvious replacement waiting for them there.

Leaf had the size and arm to look like a reasonable answer to Nolan's departure. Reid wanted to make him supply the rest.

No one had a better idea. He called timeout and brought the defense in to change the assignments.

At the other sideline, Campo was talking to his quarterback.

"We're in their half. They're wearing down. Use it."

Leaf nodded. The early rush had made him pay for every hesitation. Now, at last, the field seemed ready to open.

He remembered Nolan's final quarter in the Super Bowl. He remembered the crowd afterward, the attention, the way a whole city seemed to revolve around one man. This was not the Super Bowl, but it was his chance to give Dallas a reason to talk about somebody else.

He glanced toward Rachel and the DCC, then back to the huddle. Nolan had owned this stage. Now Leaf wanted it.

He rolled his neck and smiled. "I'm ready."