This time, defense didn't wilt Gary Shelton, The St.Petersburg Times, published 25 September 1995 In the end, not even the noise could pick them up. They walked from the field as if they were making the return trip from Bataan. The sweat poured freely, and the jaws hung slack. The game had been won, but no one seemed alive enough to enjoy it. Hardy Nickerson, hurting, all but dragged himself from the field. Martin Mayhew, hero, had the football knocked from his arms but lacked the energy to go back after it. Only Chidi Ahanotu had enough left to raise his arms, allowing the roar of approval to pour over him. It came from the top of the stadium, raw and rare, and it cascaded across the Bucs in waves. It was the roar of fans finally rewarded, who had finally watched their team stand tall enough in the final seconds of a game that was about to get away. It was not merely the noise of a 14-6 victory over Washington, it was the relief of finally winning one in the bottom of the ninth. "It was like a rain of energy," Ahanotu said. "It felt tremendous. It's the way it's supposed to feel when you walk off that field." You knew it would come to this. Eventually, you knew the game would be placed firmly in the hands of the Tampa Bay Bucs' defense to be grabbed or given away. All afternoon, it had been their game to win, and the offense, by gum, had better stay out of the way. Washington got a field goal here, a field goal there, but the Redskins never walked across the end zone with a football in tow. And now, the Redskins had a first and goal, inches from the goal line, nine seconds to play. How close was a touchdown and two-point conversion attempt? About the length of this paragraph. How long had the Bucs' defense been on the field during the Redskins' last-gasp drive? Mayhew guessed 20 minutes. Ahanotu guessed "forever." The field felt like an oven - 115 degrees with a wind chill of 113 - and the most audible thing in the Bucs' huddle was the labored sounds of exhausted players breathing. The Redskins had taken 22 snaps to drive from their 20. The Bucs' defense, glorious most of the afternoon, was backing up. Third down suddenly belonged to Washington. Penalty flags (four against the Bucs' secondary in the drive) kept falling. Things were going badly, and it was impossible not to think of two-point conversions and overtimes. This time, the Bucs did not wilt. On first and goal, with 13 seconds to go, tight end Coleman Bell had Mayhew beaten for a touchdown. So Mayhew did the darndest thing. He reached out, intentionally, and grabbed Bell's face mask. "Better to line up again than to let your guy score," he said. Lining up again, the Redskins tried the same thing. And Mayhew cut in front of Bell and intercepted the ball. Ballgame. Bedlam. "Before the play, I kept thinking, `My guy is not going to score the tying touchdown,' " Mayhew said. "It's man to man on the half-inch line. I don't have any other responsibility. I ought to make the play." It had not been a good day for Mayhew. Playing against his old team, he had been called three times for defensive holding, and he admits he got away with holding on other occasions. He felt out of synch, uncomfortable at times. But he made the big play on the big down, which usually has a lot to do with winning or losing. When else have the Bucs done this? When else have they fought off exhaustion, momentum, heat, penalties and their opponent and made a play at home to win a pivotal game on the final play? This is what it looks like. And this is what it sounds like. "I heard the crowd," Hardy Nickerson said. "But I didn't have the energy to respond. If I had flexed (his muscles for the crowd) then, I probably would have locked up that way." In the locker room, Nickerson sat by himself for the longest time. He slumped in his chair, staring at the floor, asking the world to give him a minute. There was no energy left to talk. "I've never felt this hot," he said. "I've never hurt like this." Yet, Nickerson and his teammates managed to find enough life at the end. Washington had six cracks at the end zone inside the Bucs' 10 inside the final minute, and the Redskins did not score. "We were not going to lose," said Nickerson quietly. "If we had to stop a two-point conversion to win, we would have done that. Losing that game never entered my mind." Yet, had the Redskins' scored, then made the conversion, they were a coin flip from getting the ball right back against a drained defense. Could the Bucs have held up to that? Such questions are important only to measure the size of Mayhew's play. For a month of games, this has been the personality of the Bucs' defense. It is not a defense that shuts down opponents, but it scratches and claws and fights on every play. There are times it looks like a punch-drunk fighter, leaning on the ropes. But a lot of the opponents' drives that look like touchdowns end up in field goals. Consider this: In four games, opponents have attempted 12 field goals (making 11) against the Bucs. That's a lot of foiled touchdowns, and it has given Tampa Bay a chance to win if the offense can avoid turnovers. This is the difference. The Bucs' defense plays hard, it plays smart, and it is capable of playing as big as the situation. And when it collapses, it is in the locker room, when the game has been won.