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Clark Harris, since leaving the womb of New Jersey through his high school years down the Shore and college days at Rutgers, has played 14 NFL seasons in one of the unlikeliest journeys you’ll ever see.
The Bengals’ 37-year-old long snapper has played the past 13 years in Cincinnati, and Super Bowl 2022 between the Bengals and Rams on Sunday at SoFi Stadium will be his first trip to the biggest game in the sport after all these years.
It would be natural to think his anticipation for the Super Bowl would be about the rush of standing in the tunnel as the team is about to be introduced or the pregame hype or the first time he hits someone in the game.
Not exactly.
This was the revealing and colorful conversation The Post had with Harris this week in advance of the biggest game of his life:
Me: “Playing in your first Super Bowl after all these years in the league, what’s the moment you’re most looking forward to?’’
Harris: “Halftime.’’
Me: “Huh?’’
Harris: “Everybody that’s going to be on that halftime stage are people that I grew up listening to my whole life — Eminem, Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg — so, I’m going to just stay on the field at halftime and watch the halftime show.’’
Me: “Is that allowed?’’
Harris: “I’m not asking anybody. I mean, when I go into the locker room at halftime, I don’t talk to any coaches, I don’t really have any responsibilities. I just do my own little thing for a couple minutes before going back out on the field.’’
Here’s the best part to Harris’ clandestine halftime plan: Like a mischievous kid, he actually has a made-up story in place in case someone questions why he’s the only uniformed player still on the field as the stage and props are being whisked into place for the show.
This is how it goes: “If anyone says something to me, I’m just going to tell them: ‘I’ve been in the league for 15 years and I’ve got a superstition where I don’t go in at halftime. Do you want me to mess up the game and lose the Super Bowl or do you just want to shut up and let me sit out here?’ ’’
Later, in a phone conversation with Jim Hutchinson, Harris’ stepfather, who along with Harris’ mother Bonnie raised him since his early teen years in Manahawkin, N.J., I asked him if he was aware of Clark’s “halftime plan.’’
There was a long pause before Hutchinson finally stammered, “Um, no.’’
When I informed him of the plan, Bonnie, listening in on the conversation, said, “That’s Clark.’’
Clark Harris is living his life and he’s living it with no apologies.
Long snappers may represent the most anonymous position on an NFL roster, but Harris has been in the belly of the beast this postseason. The Bengals wouldn’t be in L.A. for this game if not for his clutch long snapping.
Harris’ perfect snaps led to consecutive Bengals walk-off field goals entering this Super Bowl: rookie kicker Evan McPherson’s 52-yarder as time expired to beat the Titans 19-16 and send Cincinnati to the AFC title game and McPherson’s overtime 31-yarder to beat the Chiefs 27-24 in the AFC Championship Game.
One bad snap and the Bengals probably would be at home watching the Titans or Chiefs play the Rams on Sunday.
“You couldn’t write a better script for a long snapper,’’ Harris said. “It’s an awesome feeling to be part of it.’’
It’s well-deserved considering Harris’ perseverance since he was drafted by the Packers as a tight end in the seventh round in 2007 and watched his dream halted more times than he can count.
By Harris’ estimation, he has been cut nine times. By the estimation of his stepfather, who recounted driving Harris to the airport on Mondays for Tuesday tryouts, his stepson tried out for at least a dozen teams before he finally got a job.
Harris hooked onto Houston’s practice squad in 2008 as a tight end and was thrust into long snapping when the Texans’ long snapper was suspended for a PED test with four games remaining in the season.
“That kind of started my long-snapping career,’’ Harris said. “I’ve always done long snapping since freshman football in high school.’’
Harris recalled that when Chuck Donohue, his coach at Southern Regional High, asked his players who could long-snap, he told the coach, “I can throw a ball between my legs.’’
“He was an outstanding long snapper — even in high school,’’ Donohue said.
Too good, as it turned out. Donohue recalled that Harris “had so much velocity on his center snap that the punter had a hard time catching the ball.’’
So, Harris had to be moved to another spot on the line for punts, because he was too good at what he did.
It took years in the NFL before Harris finally succumbed to the reality that his tight end dream had died.
“It was a slow, slow, slow transition before I realized that I was wasn’t a tight end anymore,’’ he said. “I finally accepted the fact that I’m a long snapper.’’
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
Now that Hutchinson had a moment to digest his stepson’s Super Bowl halftime scheme, he said: “Clark’s a funny guy. I think ‘quirky’ is a good way to describe him. He’s not afraid to dance to a different drummer, but when the task is at hand, he’s all business.’’
Donohue understood exactly what Hutchinson was saying.
“In many ways, he’s still a kid at heart,’’ Donohue said. “But the Bengals have got the right guy in that spot for that situation. He’s able to deal with things in a very calm way. He’s built for these pressure situations.’’
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