Since he's a former NFL defensive back and kick returner -- and we're not -- we asked The Magazine's Alan Grant to tell us what it feels like to be on the field for a playoff game. In the first part of his column, Alan told us about the morning of the '93 NFC Championship -- the biggest game of his life -- and then he left us waiting for him to field the game's first punt.

"Frozen in time." Of all corny expressions, I hate that one most. That why it's downright painful to use it to describe what happened next.

At the precise moment I caught the ball, a helmet slammed me in the gut and my lungs deflated like a flimsy air mattress. After I hit the ground, it took me less than a second to do the following: 1) realize I no longer had the ball; 2) desperately search for the ball; and 3) discover that the Cowboys' Darryl Johnston had already recovered the ball. As I made my way to the sideline, I had but one thought in my head. It was the same thought I'd had at kickoff: "I can't believe this is happening."

My best friends on the Niners, Merton Hanks and Mike McGruder, consoled me, telling me to "shake it off." I appreciated their support, but their words just confirmed the fact that I had done something truly awful.

What bothered me most about that fumble wasn't that I looked bad, but that I let my guys down. I watched the Rams' Az Hakim after his fumble against the Saints last week. Watched him make that long walk to the sideline, with his head down and shoulders sagging. I felt his pain.

But who knew one could atone for his sins with a 10-yard punt return? Midway through the second quarter, a successful catch and juke lifted my spirits, got some love from my teammates, and temporarily restored my heartbeat.

The final quarter of that game was the most compelling 15 minutes I've ever experienced in a sporting event. And it culminated in one play. Dallas had a third-and-10 on its own 15. Troy Aikman threw to Alvin Harper on a quick slant. As the ball spiraled through the air, Don Griffin went for the pick, but Harper used his body as a shield and Griff was left swatting helplessly. Harper caught it and went 75 yards down our sideline before getting knocked out of bounds. Right up until that moment, I was sure we were going to the Super Bowl -- a feeling that made me (for lack of a cooler word) giddy. But after that play, I was numb.

The rest of the game was a blur. I remember being confused as I watched Jimmy Johnson and his 'Boys hugging and beaming. "Why are they celebrating?" I thought. "Isn't that supposed to be us?" In the lockeroom, Eddie DeBartolo told us we had nothing to be ashamed of, and that he was proud to be associated with us. Nice sentiment, but I was deaf to all words of comfort. My plan was to shower as quickly as possible and then flee the scene. Instead, I sat down in front of my locker and cried. A combination of pain, relief, and tears shook my body for what must have been 10 full minutes. Then all my energy, hope, and raw emotion gave way to simple exhaustion.

There would be no Super Bowl, but the biggest game of my life left me with something even more profound. I'd laughed at the pleasure it gave me, reflected on the spectacle that it was, and cried at the awful conclusion. Jim Valvano was right. That was a full day.

Alan Grant, a former NFL defensive back, is a writer/reporter for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at alan.grant@espnmag.com.