Silently, the audience waited, rapt with the anticipation of a season teetering in the balance. For one moment, 70,000 pairs of eyes stared, borderline maniacally, on a spot in the ground. The 39-yard line. Giants leading 16-13. The weather conditions screamed like a leviathan, suggesting the sheer implausibility of what was about to take place. 57 yards? The wind. The rain. The mud. All seeming to offer a stern “Thou shalt not pass.” Still, there David Akers stood, a thunderball of intensity and defiance. As he hunched over the holder, his icy breath distributed itself upon the environs of a stoic Lincoln Financial Field. Sav Rocca looked up for one final look, an assurance that the diminutive place kicker was ready. But Akers' eyes said it all: “This is my time.”
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