The Best 8-8 Team in Buffalo Bills History

One cut was all it took.  Chad Morton went right to left and had only the kicker to beat.  A footrace with backup running back Shawn Bryson was never really close, and it was over.  Overtime lasted one play—the kickoff.  It took all of 14 seconds.  

After outrushing the Jets by a two-to-one margin and outpassing them by 50 yards, despite an eye-popping 18 minute advantage in time of possession, the Bills lost on opening day.

The entire stadium sat in stunned silence.  

“Okay,” said the TV guy sitting next to me, grunting as he stood.  “Let’s go ask them about it.”  

It was Sept. 8, 2002—the opening game of my first season covering the Bills from the press box.  The team was loaded with All Pro personalities, including Ruben Brown, London Fletcher, and a pre-bust Mike Williams. 

There were also some Canton-worthy grouches such as ticked-off wide-out Peerless Price, head coach Gregg Williams, and moody new quarterback Drew Bledsoe.  

There would be three overtime games in the first four weeks, all of which ended on touchdowns. Stat crews and credibility would be tested by point and yardage totals on both sides of the ball. If you weren’t happy with the score of the game, all you had to do was wait a few plays for it to change.  

The season started with a postgame crowd too shocked to boo and ended with the same fans cheering Bengals linebacker Takeo Spikes in an effort to recruit the free-agent-to-be.  Smack dab in the creamy middle was a showdown known as the Brady (or Bledsoe, depending on your loyalties) Bowl.  

They were the 2002 Bills, the most exciting 8-8 team in league history and my welcome to the NFL.  

Chad Morton’s 96 yard dagger was his second kickoff return touchdown on the day,  and, predictably, it gutted the locker room.  I was surprised (and relieved) at the lack of anger.  No one threw helmets or tipped over the laundry cart. 

Most of them sat in their locker stalls in exhausted disappointment, shrugging off clichés about long seasons while they stared off into the distance.  

“It was surreal,” Bledsoe said, and the quote would have fit any number of situations that season.

Did that Mike Hollis kick really bounce on the crossbar before falling through to force overtime in Week Two?

Were there really so many TV cameras at one training camp practice that Buffalo staffers had to get a crate for the 6’6” Bledsoe to stand on in order to give everyone a clear view, thus giving all of us writers the chance to use our “on a pedestal” leads? 

Was I really the only one to show up for a Drew Bledsoe press conference, at least for the first three questions.  And did Bledsoe really give a completely different answer to “What did you think of the two-minute offense?” when the rest of the press corps showed up than he did when I asked it one-on-one?

Did the Bills and Raiders really exchange four touchdowns in a five minute span in what might have been the wildest second quarter in NFL history?  And more importantly, did Al Davis really step up to the urinal next to me during a time out in the press box? 

Did the Bills and Dolphins combine for touchdowns on a 55-yard run, 73-yard pass, and 57-yard pass in three and a half minutes, in a blizzard, in what must have been the wildest third quarter in NFL history?

Did the Patriots really trounce Buffalo that badly in the Brady vs. Bledsoe  Bowl, essentially starting the end of the Drew Bledsoe era in Buffalo halfway through a record-setting first season?  And were we really supposed to “go ask them about it” in the immediate aftermath?

Did a defensive back really yell “a little help” when an overthrown pass rolled my way?  Did I really offer God a lifetime of service if he’d “just let this one spiral” as I tossed it back?  (It did. I reneged.)

It’s hard to imagine a crazier way to learn the ropes.  I found out where to park when snow is in the forecast.  

Three hours in a post-game parking lot will teach you that.  I learned when to stand my ground, whether it’s a “Cheerless” Price tantrum or a Bledsoe monotoned answer, and, like the time Eric Moulds caught a sideline pass in training camp and had me in his headlights, when to get the heck out of the way. 

I learned that these men cared about their job and each other.  They deserved to be treated with respect.  There’s a way to approach them after their hearts have been broken.  The lesson served me well five years later, when another last-second loss on opening day paled in comparison to a teammate’s catastrophic neck injury.

They won’t go down in history as a memorable team, but they’ll always be enshrined in my personal Canton.