History happened while your humble correspondent and a gazillion others were making ready to chow down just before halftime of the Super Bowl just past—history in the form of the greatest play ever in the history of pigskin’s game of games.

Lynn Swann me no Lynn Swann. Eli me no Tyree. On the final play of the first half, when James Harrison of the Pittsburgh Steelers—the NFL Defensive Player of the Year, no less—picked off a pass at the goal line from Arizona Cardinals quarterback Kurt Warner, the chase was on down the corridors of time.

Many things made this particular touchdown the greatest play in Super Bowl history. (And yes, Gertrude, I have watched every single Super Bowl). If the Cardinals score, they go into halftime leading 14-10 and on the verge of a mammoth upset; instead the Steelers go into the locker room as Boss comes out with a 17-7 lead and all the momentum in the world.

In terms of the situation, in other words, the Harrison pick was humungous. But that’s not what made it the greatest play of all time. The run down the length of the field with the interception—a rumble really—was filled with mayhem and drama because all the Cardinals had to do was stop him from scoring and the damage would be done but not debilitating on the last play of the half: a 10-7 halftime deficit. That meant every attempt to knock Harrison down—including QB Kurt Warner’s wave as he went by—had the potential to change the game.

But what really made the play one for the ages was Cardinals all-world wideout Larry Fitzgerald, who started slow but still ended the game with two touchdowns, including one that look like the winner. Fitzgerald, #11 on your scorecard, was at least six yards back in the end zone and leaning the wrong way when Harrison pilfered the pigskin. My guess is Harrison had about a 10-15 yard headstart on Fitzgerald, who could not catch up with Harrison until the last ten yards.

Coming in from out of bounds, after sprinting 100 yards, Fitzgerald took a mighty swing with his right arm to try to strip Harrison of the ball—with no luck. Because he had to stop Harrison’s momentum, Fitzgerald rode him like a steer, pulling back to keep him out of the end zone, and thereby thrusting his legs forward. But Harrison had just enough momentum to literally land on Fitzgerald’s legs (and not the ground) on the goal line and hence to make it to paydirt by no more than a centimeter or two.

What you had here was the best offensive player on the field, playing defense, trying to stop the best defensive player on the field, playing offense.

Holy cow! I can’t believe what I just saw: the greatest play in Super Bowl history.