TAMPA — Time was, his visor would have been airborne. Time was, his veins would have bulged as if golf club shafts were imbedded in his neck.
Time was, Steve Spurrier would have chewed the face off anyone who dared suggest he kick a field goal.
A field goal? Are you kidding me? With two minutes left? With a 24-point deficit? In a medium cut of a bowl called the Outback?
Yet, there Spurrier stood, calm as a pond without ripples, sending a kicker onto the field to salvage the last three points of the season.