Need a hero? You get Moore Gary Shelton, The St.Petersburg Times, published 21 September 1998 For the longest time, the ball hung in the air. The season, too. Any second, it seemed as if they would fall to earth together. Dave Moore was running alone down the left sideline. The problem was, he seemed to be doing about 15 miles an hour, and the ball was doing about 50. From the looks of things, Moore was going to arrive at the 20-yard line, more or less, about the same time the ball arrived at the 10, and everyone was going to spend the next few moments moaning about another good opportunity gone bad. That was when the darnedest thing happened. That was when Moore made The Catch That Saved a Season. He reached up with his right hand, the one closest to the ball, and he jumped, and he blocked, more than caught, the tip of the ball. Then, as he came back toward Earth, he managed to catch the ball, to keep his balance through his stumble. Still alone at the 20, he began to rumble in earnest toward the goal. From his right came Bears' safety Tony Parrish, streaking across the field. But Moore kept plugging toward the end zone, then launched himself toward the goal and across it. Just like that, the Bucs had a pulse once Moore. For an offense with a dead battery, this play was the jumper cables. After Moore's sensational catch, the spark surged through the rest of the team, and Warrick Dunn once again was Warrick Dunn, and Mike Alstott returned to being Mike Alstott, and the Bucs transformed back into something special. This is what it takes, then. A great play by a player who has never been described that way. A work of art by a self-described blue-collar worker. A highlight-film catch by a man who usually spends his Sundays sticking his helmet into the ribs of men who outweigh him by 40 pounds. He is the quintessential plugger, Moore. He is a grinder who has heard his entire career how he isn't fast enough. How he isn't big enough. How he isn't good enough. But there is no job on a football field he is unwilling or, usually, unable to do, and so he sticks around like the last survivor in a horror movie. This time, no one overlooked Dave Moore. He stood in front of his locker, grinning into the lights, listening to his teammates and coaches razz him for all the world to hear. "I thought I was seeing him run those last 20 yards in slow motion," receiver Karl Williams said. "It seemed like it took five or 10 seconds," receiver Reidel Anthony said. "If you would have had some speed, you wouldn't have been overthrown to start with." Moore grinned, and the receivers laughed, and it sounded very much like the sort of humor you hear in locker rooms. Tight ends coach Clyde Christensen approached him, and Moore turned to him for relief from the barbs. No such luck. "The miracle wasn't the catch," Christensen said. "The miracle was you made it the last 20 yards." It was long ago that Moore made his peace with his position. He does not play for receptions or touchdowns or camera lights. He is not a gifted athlete who can afford to take plays or practices off. He is the handyman, the Mr. Fix-It who can long-snap or block or play special teams, because otherwise this league would have spat him out long ago. Even Sunday, he was irked about missing a couple of late blocks. But this was his moment, his game. In 30 years, when Moore talks to his grandchildren about his career in the NFL, he will mention this catch. Except, um, he'll probably talk about how fast he covered the last 20 yards. "I was worried about getting my slow butt into the end zone," he said, "but I made it." At the time, any butt at all would have done just fine. The Bucs were dreadful in the first half, as bad as anything Richard Williamson or Leeman Bennett ever witnessed. They were staring 0-3 in the face, and the talk was going to turn to draft picks any moment. The Bears led 15-6 and the Bucs had the ball on the Bears' 44. Tampa Bay put in its rhino backfield, the set with Lorenzo Neal in front of Mike Alstott, and called the play: Deuce I-side left, Z- short, fake 9-press sail. Trent Dilfer faked the handoff and rolled right. Moore came underneath Brice Hunter, then peeled up the sideline, left open because Bears safety Marty Carter had cheated up for the run. "I took it a little flatter than I was supposed to," Moore said. "It was a blind throw. I never saw Trent, and I'm sure he never saw me. He just threw the ball where I was supposed to be. All I was trying to do was stop the ball to give myself another chance to catch it." A lifetime ago, Moore was a tight end for Pitt who caught enough passes to rank in the school's top 10 all-time. Here, he is a weapon for whenever the rest of the weapons are forgotten. Sunday, he was the biggest blast in the cannon. "To me, he's everything you want in a tight end," Dilfer said. "He's a good blocker, and he's dependable. He does the right thing all the time." Most of the time, no one notices. Most of the time, he digs and pushes and helps his team an inch at a time. Not this time. This time, he made the biggest play on the field. He gave his team a touchdown. Also, life.