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It's a moment that has made me cry, more than once, joyous tears always, and Miracle did it again, dramatically restoking the emotion of a lifetime.
Lips quivered. Heart rushed. Absorbing a new movie about a 1980 effort by beyond-underdog U.S. Olympic hockey kids that was then, and now, heroic times 50.
If our flag stirs you, if our anthem is lifting, if the American way of life is precious, you will watch Miracle and one more time, take it away Al Michaels, you're going to "believe in miracles."
Kurt Russell is superb as Herb Brooks, whose badgering methods might today get a coach drowned in social protest, fired from his job and sued for athlete abuse. In 1980 anything less would've flunked.
Moviemakers are efficient in capturing the world's turbulent, frightening political personality of the late '70s. They get across how the gifted and dominant Soviet Union reigned as seemingly untouchable, a USSR machine that ruled Olympics of 1964, '68, '72, '76 and, in 1979, gave NHL All-Stars a humiliating, embarrassing, 6-0 crushing.
But the patriotic, demanding Brooks was brutally heroic, as impressive with coaching tactics and player psychology as any Vince Lombardi or John Wooden of the generation. Eschewing any all-star mentality, Brooks picked a true "team," then molded, coerced, matured and refined an unknown, unpaid troupe of collegians. There would be global, historic significance far beyond the sweet shine of an Olympic gold medal.
In my 45 years as a sports writer, there was no higher moment than being in that tiny arena, hearing "U-S-A!" chants more soaked with spirit than anything I felt at a Super Bowl, World Series or Final Four.
We aren't apt to ever again have such a volatile combination of factors, sporting and emotionally. We may never again know, or permit, that kind of unharnessed coaching. Today there is, with valid reasons, considerable nonendorsement of measures so relentlessly stern.
But in 1980 it was badly needed. Brooks and his 20 jocks became an American treasure beyond remarkable. Achieving the most astounding upset in sports history - don't even bother to argue that.
It is delivered in Miracle without Hollywood schlock or porked-up script, recreating a time when people who didn't know an Olympic puck from a Wolfgang Puck became deeply, astonishingly turned on by positive, uplifting emotions of what happened at Lake Placid.
Yes, a miracle.
HACKING: E-mail from Libby Curtis of the Villages asks, "Since you are a career sports writer, I wondered what Mizell thinks of Ray Romano's portrayal in Everybody Loves Raymond of a fellow in your profession."
HUBERT'S TAKE: He seems like a nice fellow, but how does Romano's character, Ray Barone, manage to spend so many nights at home with the family? If he really had such a job at Newsday, many of those evenings would be spent at Shea Stadium, Madison Square Garden, Yankee Stadium, Giants Stadium and on the road covering New York's wealth of teams.
Of course, if my parents were like Raymond's, funny if painful, I might tend to be away a lot. There is an interesting newspapering twist to the show's cast. Patricia Heaton, who plays Raymond's wife, is the daughter of my longtime Cleveland pal Chuck Heaton, who wrote terrific columns for the Plain Dealer and began covering the Browns when Paul Brown was a rising young coach in 1947.
Patricia knows the difference between a real sports writer and make believe. Chuck, a 1938 graduate of John Carroll University, also alma mater of Don Shula, raised his kid beautifully, but the TV version of a sports hack is, of course, making her far richer financially. Even if Ray never seems to go to work.
THE LAST WORD: Next season, George Mason High in Falls Church, Va., plays football games in "Moore Cadillac Stadium." It's really the same old GMHS ballpark, but a long-range deal involving promise of a nice annual check from a local car dealer has caused the change.
Such buyouts of marquees are commonplace in professional sports. It's also happening on college campuses, where facilities no longer are just named to honor war heroes, old coaches, former university presidents and alums who are major donors.
Greed is a rising factor, but in many less famous venues around the country it is often more a case of need. Getting an extra $25,000 to $50,000 a year for stadium naming rights can make a huge difference in athletic budgets.
It can be good, or lousy.
This is a tricky deal. It can be dandy if schools and other cash-poor operations manage with good sense and real control. But there are many products, and even names, that do not belong over any stadium gate. This must be intelligently judged.
Plant High in Tampa needs no "Joe Redner Field." Clearwater High must do without signs for a "Happy Tom's Bail Bonds Stadium." You get the idea. But the need for resources does keep escalating. We should encourage creativity in seeking new streams of money, but also absolutely demand that anything with even a whiff of a bad odor be quickly punted.