02/21/2026
The most famous call in the history of sports broadcasting almost never happened.
February 1980. Al Michaels was a baseball announcer. That was his thing. He'd been at ABC Sports for four years, calling Monday Night Baseball, working his way up.
He wasn't a hockey guy.
But ABC had a Winter Olympics to cover and somebody had to call the hockey games. The network had what Michaels called the "Mount Rushmore of announcers" — Howard Cosell, Jim McKay, Keith Jackson, Frank Gifford, Chris Schenkel, Bill Fleming.
Not one of them had ever called a hockey game.
Al Michaels had called exactly ONE.
USSR vs. Czechoslovakia. Gold medal game. 1972 Winter Olympics. Sapporo, Japan. Soviets won 5-2. Eight years earlier.
That single game made him the most experienced hockey broadcaster on the ABC roster.
So when head of ABC Sports Roone Arledge was handing out assignments for Lake Placid, Michaels got hockey.
He didn't even want it.
Know what he wanted? Speed skating. Eric Heiden was the story of those Olympics — expected to win five gold medals. That was the glamour assignment. Keith Jackson got it.
"When I got hockey, I wasn't disappointed," Michaels said later, "because among other things, if you're doing a Winter Olympic sport, isn't it better to be inside?"
He wanted to stay warm.
As he put it years later: "The way I look at it, I could have been assigned to biathlon. And there were no miracles on the biathlon course in 1980."
Now here's where the story turns.
By February 22, Michaels had called six tournament games. Nobody else at the network had called any. He was locked into the assignment for the Soviet game — not because he was the best man for the job, but because he was the only man for the job.
And then came the final 10 minutes.
If you were alive and watched that game, you remember the feeling. You couldn't breathe. The Soviets were pressing. Wave after wave. Jim Craig making save after save.
The clock moving like it was stuck in cement.
Michaels was calling it pass by pass, shot by shot. No time to think. No time to plan a line. Just survive the moment and describe what you see.
If you were ten years old sitting on your living room carpet that night, you weren't sitting anymore. You were on the edge of the couch, literally holding your breath, leaning into every shot like you could help Jim Craig make a save.
Then with six or seven seconds left, the puck came out to center ice.
And for the first time in ten minutes, Al Michaels had room to breathe.
"The word that popped into my head was miraculous," he said years later. "It got morphed into a question and quick answer, and away we went."
"Do you believe in miracles? YES!"
Not scripted. Not rehearsed. Not planned. A word that popped into the head of a baseball announcer who got a hockey assignment because nobody else wanted it.
When they made the 2004 movie Miracle, the director had Michaels re-record ALL of his play-by-play for the entire tournament. Every game. Every call.
Except the last ten seconds.
The director felt he couldn't ask Michaels to recreate the emotion of that moment. They used the original 1980 broadcast. Because some things can't be manufactured.
And here's the part that gets me.
Michaels was asked once to rank his career highlights. He's called Super Bowls, World Series, NBA Finals, Stanley Cups. Forty-six years of the biggest moments in sports.
His answer: "People say, 'What's your favorite?' and I go, 'Really?' I got a top five, but this is one, two, three, four and then number two is number five. Nothing can beat this."
One. Two. Three. Four. And number two is number five.
A baseball announcer. One hockey game on his resume. An assignment nobody wanted.
And the call that defined a generation.
Tomorrow is February 22nd.
Forty-six years ago, twenty college kids did the impossible. A coach delivered the perfect speech. A goalie stood on his head. A captain scored the biggest goal of his life. And a broadcaster who was never supposed to be there captured it all in six words.
Do you believe in miracles? YES.
Do you believe that the financial vehicle your accountant never mentioned — the one governed by IRS codes 72(e), 7702, and 101(a) — might be the assignment nobody wanted that changes everything?
Tomorrow, I'll tell you.
VOICE