It came down to five seconds on a brisk fall afternoon.
In that brief yet decisive timespan, the Harvard football team went from competitors to victors. From Ivy League contenders to champions. From a dominant team to a historic one.
Those five seconds took place on Nov. 22, 2014, at Harvard Stadium in the 131st edition of The Game. With visiting Yale having completed a furious, 17-point fourth-quarter comeback, the two heavyweight squads found themselves tied, 24-24, down the stretch in what was shaping up to be a game for the ages.
The Crimson offense, bearing the weight of an undefeated season on its shoulders, pushed its way into Bulldog territory. The previously stunned crowd began to buzz with anticipation.
With exactly one minute remaining, the two teams lined up for what seemed to be just another play. Junior wide receiver Andrew Fischer jogged to his spot on the outside edge of the line of scrimmage. Senior quarterback Conner Hempel lined up in shotgun formation, his feet just behind the 40-yard line, his arms readied for the snap.
Five seconds later, it was all over. The Crimson had seized the lead over its archrival, sent its sideline and home crowd into a frenzy, and produced a moment the 31,062 in attendance would never forget.
The Game is always the biggest weekend of the year for the gridiron squads in Crimson and Blue. But this time, the stakes could not have been any higher.
For Harvard, a win meant sole possession of the Ivy League championship and an elusive undefeated season. With a 9-0 record, the Crimson stood just one game away from perfection—something only two other Harvard teams had done in the last century.
A loss would shatter the team’s stride into history. Even more urgently, it would mean being labeled as co-champion alongside rival Yale, which entered the contest with an 8-1 record. It would suffice to say that everything was on the line for the Crimson.
“It wasn’t like we were 9-0 and had the championship won,” Hempel said. “If we would have lost to Yale and went 9-1 and split the championship, to us it would have been like losing the championship.”
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That particular Saturday possessed extra electricity, however. Recognizing the importance of the contest, ESPN sent its College GameDay crew to Cambridge to feature the showdown between Harvard and Yale—just the second time the television program had ever traveled to an Ivy League school.
On most Saturdays, GameDay stations itself at SEC or Big 10 campuses. But for one weekend, the big game was at Harvard Stadium.
“We’re used to Harvard-Yale having a lot of publicity,” senior linebacker Connor Sheehan said. “But to have College GameDay come and recognize it, that was something special.... We were doing our best to block out the distractions, but with something that special, it’s very difficult to do.”
All things considered, the 2014 rendition of The Game was one of the most meaningful in recent memory. Both a conference title and an undefeated season hung in the balance for Harvard, and everything was set to occur on the national stage.
Moments before kickoff, to the objection of most of the observing Crimson fans, GameDay analyst Lee Corso produced a live bulldog from under his desk to forecast a Yale victory. A little after half past noon, senior kicker Andrew Flesher booted the ball downfield to begin the championship contest. More than three hours later, Corso’s prediction still hung in the balance, unresolved.
Athletes often know when it is their turn to step up. The Crimson had done it all season long. With injuries at quarterback and running back, along with a host of new faces in the defensive secondary, a number of players had come up big in various moments to keep the undefeated season alive.
So when the play call came in from the Harvard sideline with one minute remaining in the fourth quarter, Fischer knew that it was his turn to perform. Inside the huddle, Hempel relayed the instructions to his squad.
“I know without a doubt that [Hempel and I] definitely made eye contact,” Fischer said. “I kind of just knew that this was it and that we were going to go out there and execute and get it done.”
Like his receiver, the quarterback understood the weight of the moment and that something—delightful or disastrous—was about to take place.
“Once you hear that play call, you know what the deal is,” Hempel said. “You kind of had that feeling in your stomach like, ‘This is going to be it.’”
Over the course of the preceding 59 minutes, Fischer had run a number of slant routes—patterns involving a few steps upfield followed by a quick, roughly 45-degree pivot toward the middle of the field. Many of the junior’s 100-plus receiving yards gained to that point came on those very pass patterns.
The Crimson coaching staff knew that Bulldogs defensive back Dale Harris, who had covered Fischer for much of the afternoon, had the slant imprinted in the back of his mind. So offensive coordinator Joel Lamb decided to take a chance with a slant-and-go route.
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Fischer would begin running what appeared to be a normal slant, but after drawing the cornerback in, the receiver would shift course upfield and blow past his defender.
For Fischer, two quick cuts were all it took to make possible something much greater.
“We knew we had the slant-and-go set up,” Hempel said. “Coach Lamb made a great call.”
The first half of the Harvard-Yale showdown was slow and tight. The Bulldogs, who entered the contest with an offense that averaged over 40 points per game—good for first in the conference, registered just a single touchdown in the first two quarters. Harvard similarly struggled, posting only an early field goal to enter halftime facing a 7-3 deficit.
The Crimson faithful had much more to cheer about in the third quarter. Seemingly rejuvenated coming out of the break, the Harvard offense quickly marched down the field and regained the lead after a one-yard touchdown dash from junior running back Paul Stanton.
Two drives later, Harvard coach Tim Murphy employed some good old-fashioned trickery. After taking the handoff from Hempel, Stanton immediately reversed the ball to senior receiver Seitu Smith, who looked downfield and connected with the wide-open Fischer for a 40-yard touchdown strike.
“The last game of the season, Harvard-Yale, Ivy League championship on the line, that’s the game where you kind of bring out all the trick plays you’ve been working on the whole season,” Fischer said. “Leading up to that play, I think the coaches decided that it was time.”
Over the first nine games of the season, the Harvard defense had been flat-out dominant, ranking first in the FCS with just under 11 points allowed per game. The unit demonstrated its explosiveness to the national audience in the waning moments of the third frame.
Anticipating a short pass on the left side of the field from Yale quarterback Morgan Roberts, Sheehan jumped the route, ripped the ball from the intended receiver’s hands, and then raced untouched 90 yards to return the interception for a touchdown.
“It was pretty surreal,” Sheehan said. “To begin, it was a third-down play, and it was crazy loud, especially being in the horseshoe…. I was anticipating [the throw] because of the instructions I got from [junior defensive back Chris Evans], and I was able to make a play on the ball.”
The pick-six gave Harvard a 24-7 lead. With 15 minutes to go, the Crimson appeared to be in the driver’s seat.
However, that seat would quickly be vacated. The next several drives were all about the Blue and White. In a span of less than 10 minutes, the Bulldogs produced 17 points to even the score, leaving Crimson fans with their hands on their heads in disbelief.
Following Yale’s latest score, the Harvard offense took over with 3:44 remaining in the game. It was now or never for the Crimson. And on first down with the ball on the Yale 35, it finally happened.
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Racing down the field after making those two cuts, Fischer had only open field between himself and the end zone. But the ball was still in Hempel’s hands. The senior quarterback had been sidelined for most of the season due to injuries to his back and throwing shoulder. His status was unknown until just before game time, when it became clear that he would start the final game of his career behind center.
“[Coming back for Harvard-Yale] meant the world,” Hempel said. “I put so much into that season and to be able to play only four of the 10 games was pretty tough. It was an unfortunate year with injuries, but it just made it that much more special.”
Despite Hempel’s toughness, he was clearly coping with the lingering effects of his injury. In the first half, several of the quarterback’s passes fell short of his intended target. In between snaps, Hempel made visible efforts to loosen up his stiff throwing arm.
“Hempel was still having trouble with his shoulder,” Stanton said. “It was hurting, and you could tell with a lot of his throws that he wasn’t at 100 percent.”
Yet the quarterback never hesitated once Fischer pulled off his slant-and-go. After looking off the safety, Hempel released a strike.
Fischer only had a step between him and his trailing defender. Hempel’s pass could not afford to fall short. As it spiraled through the air, the ball appeared to be on target.
“From my standpoint, Conner’s performance was inspirational,” Murphy said after the game. “He was not 100 percent—he was nowhere near 100 percent…. Conner’s just one of those guys that when he makes up his mind to do something, he’s gonna do it.”
The throw could not have been more perfect. Fischer reeled it in without breaking stride at the five-yard line, avoided a diving defender, and sped into the end zone a step later. Touchdown, Harvard.
“It just shows what kind of player [Hempel] is and how dedicated he is to this team,” Stanton said. “[It shows in] how he fought through the injury and how he made a perfect throw.”
After crossing the plane, Fischer pointed to the stands, ran around the back of the end zone, and leapt into the outstretched arms of senior offensive lineman Mike Mancinelli. A host of other Crimson-clad bodies joined him, seemingly running on air.
“[Fischer] had already had an outstanding game, and that was my go-to receiver,” Hempel said. “I put it up there, he made a great catch, and the rest is history.”
“I actually didn’t see it,” captain Norman Hayes added. “I was on the sideline talking to the coaches about something, and I just heard the stadium go crazy, everybody on the sideline is going crazy. I look up at the scoreboard, and all of a sudden we’re in the lead.”
“It still doesn’t feel quite real,” Fischer recalled. “The actual moment, the presence, the atmosphere at that time was just invigorating.”
As the players celebrated in the end zone, the Harvard sideline rejoiced, leapt into the air, and exchanged joyful embraces. While the Crimson fan section buzzed and jumped in a fluid mass, the Yale section of the stadium was a fixed, unmoving, shocked clump of blue and white.
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“If there’s a single image, it was how loud and raucous the stadium was when [Fischer] scored on the slant-and-go,” Murphy said. “Probably the loudest I’ve ever heard an Ivy League stadium, the loudest I’ve ever heard Harvard Stadium. You could’ve been at Ohio State, you could’ve been anywhere. It was just electric.”
That ear-shattering blast, which peaked with Fischer’s go-ahead score, persisted over the final minute as the Harvard crowd attempted to deny Yale’s attempt at a game-tying drive.
The Bulldogs hastened their way to the Harvard 32-yard line but advanced no further; the leash was at its end. As it had done all season, the Crimson defense set its foot down, and junior defensive back Scott Peters picked an errant Roberts pass out of the air for a game-sealing interception.
As Peters lay flat on his back and held the ball up in his outstretched arms, the crowd erupted in one more deafening roar. The Game had been won, a championship had been captured, an undefeated season had been notched.
History had been made.
Ten hard-fought games, weeks of practices, and an offseason of preparation all culminated in five short seconds. As those ticks ran off the clock, the Harvard football team produced a defining, iconic moment that will long persevere in collective memory.
—Staff writer David Steinbach can be reached at david.steinbach@thecrimson.com.
