A 5-minute renaissance in Chicago Hubert Mizell, The St.Petersburg Times, published 20 November 1989 For 55 minutes, it was an ugly and forgettable little National Football League game. Tampa Bay led Chicago 20-10 and, heaven knows, the Bucs will take any win, even if it more resembles a kindergarten Crayola painting than a Van Gogh. Especially against the Bears. Then, suddenly and entertainingly, lightning bolts began striking Soldier Field. Zap! Crack! Shazam! A gray, cool, breezy Chicago afternoon would be blessed with five athletically bedazzling, emotionally draining minutes. o the final, climactic second. Like Hydes becoming Jekylls, two struggling offenses flip-flopped into artistic masters. Defenses were battered. In five minutes, 33 points turned the Soldier Field scoreboard into flashing neon. It became a highlight film. Mike Tomczak popped off the Bears' bench and went airborne with efficiency ranging somewhere between Joe Montana and Clark Kent. Machine-gunning the Bucs, and most notably cornerback Rod Jones, for touchdown passes of 58, 26 and 52 yards in a heart-pounding span of 2 minutes 41 seconds. But, in between Tomczak torpedoes, Vinny Testaverde appeared to hoist the Bucs out of hot water, going to Mark Carrier on a 78-yard scoring pass that put the Bears in a 29-17 hole with 3:21 to go. Oh, no! Not on this suddenly bombastic Sunday. It wasn't over yet. Not when Tomczak, in quarterback relief of an inept Jim Harbaugh, still had two grenades on his belt, to loft into “Lightning” Rod Jones' already-smoking neighborhood. Smack! Smack! No. 22 of the Buccos was beaten by Wendell Davis on a 26-yard touchdown heave and, in an all-too-instant replay, Davis went blurring past Jones again on a 52-yarder to put Chicago ahead 31-29 just 106 seconds from the end. Everything went berserk. Chicago doesn't get hit by earthquakes, but there was Richter Scale-shaking going on. The local blackshirts, and especially “Tommy Gun” Tomczak, had pulled off an 11th-hour miracle. Same old stuff for poor Tampa Bay. Wilting in the stretch. Another near-miss. Pass the smelling salts. Wipe the tears. Get ready to hear the same old post-mortems. No cigar, except in the jaws of Bears coach Mike Ditka. Soldier Field had become Hell's Half Acre. Fans screeching. Cheering for their rebounding Bears, and some customers opting to berate the Bucs, spewing obscenities. Aimed mostly at a quarterback's ears. “You're a choking pansy, Testaverde!” screamed a front-row customer behind the Tampa Bay bench. “Go out there and gag. Heisman Trophy, my butt. You stink, Vinny.” Sorry, pal, not this time. Testaverde, with the game on the line, would not be sacked into submission. He'd throw no hope-killing interception, even if there were near-misses that tumbled just beyond Bears defensive fingers. Mike Tomczak wasn't the only Mr. T. showing off his crunch-time muscles. Testaverde completed a pass to Danny Peebles for 8 yards, and another to James Wilder for 8 more. Then, a setback. Offensive guard Mark Cooper was yellow-flagged for holding. Soldier Field noise rose two decibels beyond deafening. But these are not the same Bears, those defensive assassins who've manhandled the NFC Central Division through much of the 80s. And, just maybe, these aren't the same old Buccos, who can almost always find a way to lose. Vinny was no choker. No pansy. No gagger. Down to his last 90 seconds, the frizzy-headed New Yorker spiraled a football through the Chicago tumult, finding Mark “Mail” Carrier for 31 yards, and then rookie Peebles for 13. Forty-four yards in 10 seconds. Now, the Soldier Field racket would subside. The Bear lovers knew about Donald Igwebuike, and how the Bucs placekicker was a career 38-for-38 on field goals from 35 yards or shorter. More reliable than a rooster's crow at daybreak. Iggy was in range. Soldier Field knew. One little three-point bunt and Tomczak's heroics would be overcome. Chicago would suffer a new kind of burning. Never before had the Bears lost twice to the Bucs in a season. Tampa Bay was about to be pardoned for its Sunday sins, including many offensive misfires in the game's first 55 minutes, and even those blisterings of Rod Jones. In startling atonement, the littlest Buccaneer, a 5-foot-9 man they call Iggy, ran his perfection to 39-for-39. At 0:00, a 28-yard field goal went whistling through the heart of the uprights. And of Soldier Field's thousands. For the first time in the 1980s, in their final Chicago chance of the decade, the well-scarred Bucs would not leave the O'Hare Airport runway as losers. “Fans want action,” laughed Bucs linebacker Kevin Murphy, “but we almost overdid it.” Former Alabama defensive lineman Curt Jarvis termed it “the most exciting ending to a game I've ever been involved in.”