With 35 seconds remaining in the game, it was tied at 20. BYU had the ball and all the team needed to do was get into field goal range, which quarterback Jaren Hall led the team to with a long pass to one of the wide receivers.

It was now Jake Oldroyd’s time to shine. This would be a 35-yard field goal—a cake-walk for Oldroyd. He makes these in his sleep. I was there in Glendale, AZ when, in 2016 he saved the day as a freshman (before his mission) with a game-winning field goal to beat the University of Arizona; Oldroyd is no stranger to game winning pressure. 

I turned to my boys who were anxious about the outcome of the Baylor match-up. “He can totally make this,” I said.  “He has about a 78% success rate on field goal attempts and he’s made them from a lot farther.”  He came onto the field. There were 8 seconds left.  Here was the redemptive moment the team had waited for since last year. Here was their chance to beat their first Top 10 team at home since 1990. 

He missed wide left.

I couldn’t believe it. The crowd couldn’t believe it. It looked like Oldroyd, his teammates, and his coaches couldn’t believe it either.

The game went to overtime. Baylor had the ball first and failed to score. 

BYU’s turn again. Same plan: get into field goal range and go for the field goal. After all, we have Oldroyd. We trust him. He’s saved us so many times before. 

This time, Hall led the team close enough for a 37-yard field goal. Oldroyd came out on fourth down. I stood up. My boys watched in anticipation. “We are going to win this.”

He missed wide left again! 

Unbelievable. 

The game was going into a second overtime.

BYU had the ball first and this time scored a touchdown, probably a little hesitant to risk anything less.  However, they missed the required two-point conversion during a second overtime.

26-20. BYU.

Baylor ball. They had a pretty good shot at the win. I paced the room. I was receiving texts from friends about their heart issues. One of my boys said, “This is so stressful.” The other said, “What if the defense doesn’t stop them?”

“The defense has to hold them, because if Baylor makes a touchdown, I guarantee they’ll make the 2-pt conversion,” I told him.

The defense was pulling through. There were some lucky breaks with penalties. It was fourth down. BYU was one stop away from beating Baylor.

On the sideline, before Baylor attempted their fourth down, the broadcast showed the team captain kneeling with his kicker.

How did Oldroyd feel? Probably that he messed up. He probably felt horrible; he blew his big moment in front of 60,000 fans and a national audience. Worse, he probably felt the weight of letting his team down. Twice.

And yet, in this fragile moment, his leader didn’t shun him or blame him. Instead, Hall kept his focus, got the team in good position again, and then went and found his teammate and knelt with him as they watched the game’s conclusion.

As they watched their defensive teammates from the sidelines, the Baylor quarterback threw the ball. The defense was powered up. The ball was thrown too high and deep. The game was over. The Cougars won!

The crowd stormed the field.

And then the camera showed this:

And that is when I cried.

Hall understood that a leader is a leader through the good and the bad. The leader owns it all.

This is leadership.

^{Lead photo by Dave Adamson on Unsplash}