We got off to a slow start in the first quarter. We were stopped on our first drive by a DeMarcus Ware sack, and when Dallas got the ball, Julius Jones broke into a huge run for seventy-seven yards and a touchdown: 70. In the second quarter we answered with three consecutive touchdowns, the last of which came at the end of the half to put us up 217 going into the locker room at halftime.

What I remember most is how focused we were as a team. We knew how much this game meant to Sean and also knew that once again on a national stage, we could prove to people that we were for real. We were locked in on every play, every call, thinking about executing it to perfection. We'd talked that week about being as aggressive as we had been all season, and we were. To my surprise, there were thousands of Saints fans there-a tough thing to pull off at Texas Stadium. How our fans got tickets, I don't know, but they did a good job making it seem as much like a home game as possible for us.

Near the end of the game, the fans did something I'll remember forever. As we scored more points and it became clear Dallas couldn't come back, the Cowboys fans started leaving the stadium and the Saints fans filtered down to field level. By this time we had already scored forty-two points and were simply trying to run out the clock. I looked up into the stands once to see the blue and white shirts heading for the exits and a sea of black and gold coming down toward the field. Our fans took up the first ten rows around the entire stadium. And then we heard their voices.

"Who dat! Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?" The Saints fans, decked out with beads and New Orleans jerseys, couldn't hold in their excitement. It was like Mardi Gras had taken over in Texas Stadium. Their chants communicated to us, We love you guys. You're making this season special. You're making this trying time a little easier. You are giving us a home. You are lifting our spirits. And we love you for that!

The final score was 4217. To be honest, it felt really good to win after hearing all week how good the Cowboys were. We knew our team. We knew we could do this. And it felt good that our fans had our backs, even when we were on the road.

Inching toward the Playoffs.

The win at Dallas put us at 94, and we were flying pretty high as we looked back on the pivotal goals we'd accomplished during the season. If we won the next week against the Washington Redskins, chances were good we would have the number two seed locked. What we forgot was that we weren't there yet. We still had three games to play, and it was too early to let up.

We lost sight of that against the Redskins, and we paid for it. We lost 1610 . . . and in front of our fans too. We had a chance to win at the end, but with the clock winding down, we failed to convert a fourth-down play. Game over. Our record fell to 95, and we were all disappointed. I remember walking into the locker room after the game and seeing shirts that read NFC South Champions in everyone's lockers. I started fuming at the thought that the shirts had been put in our lockers after halftime with the a.s.sumption we would win. Now it was just adding insult to injury. It turned out that Carolina and Atlanta also lost, so we clinched the division t.i.tle anyway. I was relieved, but I hated feeling like we'd backed our way into a championship. It was a wake-up call for us though, and we needed it. In order to be considered a great team, you have to be able to handle the success just like you do the defeats. Learn from them and get better because of them.

Some great memories from that year came even after the defeats. Each week after the game I would go into Sean's office in the locker room and talk. We would discuss our verdict on the day's game and what we would have done differently. This really helped build the bond, trust factor, and confidence level between us. I respected him very much and wanted to know how he felt, especially in the early stages of developing the team. Plus, coming off my injury, I needed some affirmation from him at times. And maybe that went both ways. I always tried to be positive, and I made sure Sean knew that no matter what the circ.u.mstances with our team, we would be okay. We had one of those moments after the Washington loss. We discussed the critical mistakes and missed opportunities in the game, and then he stated that we would find out what type of team we had by the way we handled a defeat like this.

The next week we headed to New York to play the Giants. It was a Christmas Eve game, and we were looking for momentum going into the playoffs. The pressure was on because the Giants were in a dogfight with four other teams for the last playoff spot. We needed that game to give us a first-round bye in the playoffs. In my eyes it was simple: we had to win.

On the Giants' first drive, Eli Manning threw a fifty-five-yard touchdown pa.s.s to Plaxico Burress. At that moment we had a choice to make: either we could let that deflate us, or we could use it to motivate us.

As the final score showed, it was the latter. All cylinders were firing on offense, despite a 20 to 40 mph wind that blew throughout the game. We came back after Manning's completion and scored thirty unanswered points. We rushed for more than two hundred yards and controlled the ball well. Our defense didn't let New York cross the fifty yard line the rest of the night. We were at the top of our game, which is exactly how you want to close the season.

The next night the Eagles beat the Cowboys, and that sealed the number two seed for us. In our final game against the Panthers, Sean decided to pull the starters after we scored a quick touchdown on our first drive. Although we lost that game, bringing our record to 106, our fans couldn't have been happier.

It's amazing the difference a year makes in the NFL. In 2005 with the Chargers, we could have been 106 and not made the playoffs at all. In 2006 a 106 record gave us the number two seed and a first-round bye.

Play Number 26.

Philadelphia beat the Giants in the wild card game, which brought them to the Superdome for a huge matchup in the divisional round of the playoffs. It was only the second time in the history of the New Orleans Saints franchise that we had been in the divisional round, and it was our first time hosting. We were giving something special to our city-something they'd never experienced before.

The game against the Eagles earlier in the season had been a close one-we'd won an emotional thriller in the final moments of the game by only three points. It's difficult to beat a team twice in the same year, particularly one as talented as Philadelphia, so we knew we would need to bring our best. Philly was rolling, and quarterback Jeff Garcia, who had taken over for Donovan McNabb due to a midseason injury, was playing lights out. Everybody expected an offensive showdown since ours were the two highest scoring offenses in the NFL.

We scored first, but by halftime the Eagles had taken the lead 1413 and had some momentum. In the third quarter Brian Westbrook broke through our defense for a sixty-two-yard touchdown run. That put Philadelphia up 2113. You could feel the tension in the Superdome. But just as they had done all season, the fans knew they needed to lift us up. They started cheering louder and louder, and we fed off their enthusiasm.

The linchpin in that game turned out to be our veteran running back, Deuce McAllister. He was really the heart and soul of our team. Joe Horn was one of the emotional leaders-very vocal and a fan favorite-but Deuce was the stalwart figure who kept us glued together.

Deuce had so much invested in our team. He had worked hard through a lot of tough seasons. He had watched Katrina slam into New Orleans. He had suffered an ACL injury and endured a grueling rehab to get back up to speed for 2006. A lot of people questioned whether he could return as the Saints' number one running back. "He probably won't be as strong," they warned.

But not only did Deuce come back 100 percent that year, he arguably was giving one of the best performances of his career in this playoff game. And it's a good thing, because this is when it counted. He was in front of the fans who loved him, in a city that could identify with his heart and drive and pure will.

Deuce had a five-yard touchdown run, dragging a pile of Eagles with him, to pull us to 2120. To this day, that run is one of the best individual efforts I have ever seen. His will and desire to stay on his feet and get in the end zone were unparalleled. When we got the ball again, it was time to feed the horse one more time. I hit Deuce with a short pa.s.s that he took eleven yards to the end zone, showing great athleticism as he juked defenders in the open field. We had a 2721 lead heading into the fourth quarter, thanks to two big touchdowns from number 26. Our defense held Philadelphia to a field goal on the next drive, and we kept our lead, 2724, the same score from our earlier meeting that year.

When we took possession of the ball with a little more than eight minutes remaining, we had a golden opportunity to wind down the clock and score some points to put the game away for good, and Deuce was the man for the job. I fed him the ball six times, and we marched down the field methodically while the seconds continued to burn off the clock, getting us closer and closer to the NFC Championship Game. But with three minutes to go, we fumbled the ball on a botched pitchout to Reggie Bush, giving Philly another opportunity. They had the ball near midfield, but on fourth down they decided to punt rather than take a chance and go for it. They had enough time-outs that if they could force us to go three and out on offense and get the ball back quickly, they would have a better opportunity to tie the game.

Since we were inside the two-minute warning, all we needed was a first down and we'd be going to the NFC Championship Game-for the first time in Saints history. Once again Sean dialed it up for Number 26. I handed off to Deuce, and he gained four yards. On second down I handed it off to Deuce again. He got five more yards and forced Philly to use their final time-out. That brought us to third down, and we needed just one yard for a first down. Then we could take a knee to run out the clock and win the game. Deuce had carried us the whole way, and we weren't about to abandon the plan now. Sean called Deuce's number again. He crashed through the line and punched our ticket to the NFC Championship Game as the referee signaled a first down. The Superdome erupted.

When the game was over, our team went over to the stands, circling and high-fiving anyone reaching out to us. This victory belonged to them as much as it did to us.

We were one game from the Super Bowl.

Bless You, Boys.

We knew the road to the Super Bowl went through Chicago. The Bears had finished the regular season with a 133 record. If Seattle had beaten them in Chicago, they would have played us in the Superdome, but it wasn't meant to be. As we mentally prepared for the next game, watching from the comfort of our couches, the Bears beat the Seahawks 2724 in overtime. We'd be seeing them in the championship game.

All we heard that week was how dome teams can't win on the road in the playoffs in hostile environments. We didn't buy into that, but we did understand the importance of a fast start in those difficult weather conditions. Unfortunately, we started slowly in Chicago by doing all the things we said going into the game we wouldn't do. We turned it over two times and made a few mental errors in the first half. By late in the second quarter we found ourselves down 160. We finally put together a drive during the last two minutes of the half and scored on a thirteen-yard pa.s.s to Marques Colston. That brought the score to 167, and it gave us a little momentum as we headed into the locker room.

On our first drive of the second half, I threw a pa.s.s to Reggie Bush that went for eighty-eight yards and another touchdown. Now we were only trailing by two. When we got the ball back, we really felt like this was going to be it. We finally had the opportunity to take the lead after being behind the whole game. This had been our modus operandi all season. Face the storm, and bounce back.

It was cold in Chicago. The wind was howling at Soldier Field, making the twenty-degree weather feel even more frigid. We drove into Bears territory and set up to kick a forty-seven-yard field goal. We missed. After that I was called for intentional grounding in the end zone, which gave the Bears two more points. In the fourth quarter the snow started coming down, and the harder it fell, the further the game slipped away from us. The Bears scored twenty-one unanswered points in the fourth quarter and ended up winning 3914. They were on their way to the Super Bowl. We were on our way home.

It was tough to lose-especially after how far we'd come that season, after how much adversity we'd fought. As we headed back to the locker room, we all shared the same resolve: Next time we play this game, it's going to be at our place. We had no problem going on the road and beating a team; we'd done it plenty of times. But we also knew what an energy and motivation our fans gave us and the confidence we could play with at home. We knew no one could win a game like that in our dome with our fans.

If you had told us before the season started, "You're going to the NFC championship," I think we all would have been a little shocked-and just happy to have made it that far. By all counts, it was such an unlikely scenario. A new coach. A 313 season. A hurricane. A busted shoulder. And now . . . we were only one game away from the big dance.

As we were walking off the field after the game, a photographer took a shot of a few of us from behind. All you could see was our jerseys and our heads hanging down a little. That photo made it onto the front page of the New Orleans Times-Picayune the next day. In big letters above the article, the headline read, "Thank You, Boys."

To this day I still get people saying that to me. The guys and I will be walking down the street, and we'll hear it from the vendors at the shops and from the people pa.s.sing. They usually have that distinctive New Orleans accent. You can tell they've seen a lot and been through a lot, but they'd never trade this city for any other place in the world. It's a regular chorus from folks like these: "Thank you, baby. We love you. Bless you, boys."

When we returned, the city was still celebrating our season and expressing their appreciation. Because of a snow delay at the Chicago airport, we didn't arrive in New Orleans until around 2 a.m. I didn't know then that thousands of fans would be waiting for us when we arrived, clapping and cheering as we drove down the half-mile-long road to get back to the highway. It was an amazing sight. You could sense how much this season had meant to them.

It had been quite a year-the reopening of the Dome on that first Monday night, the nail-biter against Philadelphia, the Who Dat crowd in Dallas, the playoff win against Philly, and then the first NFC Championship Game appearance. I had desperately needed it. Our team had desperately needed it. And so had the fans.

A great stadium can do only so much. It takes great fans to create a home field advantage. They need pa.s.sion, emotion, and faith . . . and our fans have plenty of that. We would need all three in large measure as our journey continued.

Chapter Twelve.

Who Dat?

There's something you have to understand if you want to appreciate the unique culture of the Saints, and that's the Who Dat phenomenon.

It's difficult to explain Who Dat to people who aren't from New Orleans. It's so wrapped up in the city and the team and the people of this area. I've actually researched the phrase and found out it has its roots in jazz and was used in minstrel and vaudeville shows in the late 1800s and early 1900s. In comedy routines a character would become frightened and then say, "Who dat?" Literally, of course, it's short for "Who is that?" But there's more to it than just a contraction of words.

The phrase was used in songs, routines, and movies during the 1930s. Different sports teams in the South have used it over the years, and there was even a legal battle over who owned the rights to the phrase. According to Louisiana lore, the "Who dat?" cheer originated at Patterson High School football games and then made its way to LSU. Eventually fans brought it to the Saints, where it has stuck ever since. Sportscaster Ron Swoboda was the first to popularize the chant when he set it to music and put it on the radio in 1983. The phenomenon really took off in 2006, when Bobby Hebert, a quarterback with the Saints in the 1980s and early 1990s, talked about "Who Dat Nation" on his WWL radio program. He was referring to the Saints faithful all across the country who believed in our team no matter our record and had created a community-wide sense of ownership and pride in us.

The climate of New Orleans is infused just as strongly with Cajun culture as it is with its connection to the Saints. The French Acadians were driven out of Canada and wound up here in the mid-1700s. Their traditions and customs intermingled with those of Native Americans in the area and eventually those of freed slaves as well. There were a lot of different influences mixing together to make up the Cajun culture and dialect. You can always tell people of Cajun descent because of the unique way they speak. It's part slang, part art, and part shortening words. So instead of saying, "Would you please hand me the water?" you would say, "Han' me dat der wata."

I bought my son, Baylen, a book called Pet.i.te Rouge. It's the Cajun version of Little Red Riding Hood, written as a native from New Orleans would tell it. When I read it out loud to Baylen, it forces me to talk in that style. It's a hilarious bedtime story because it offers a distinct Cajun interpretation of the familiar tale. A duck is sent by her mother to bring some gumbo to her grandmother, but she's warned not to go through the swamp. And it's not a wolf that's after her-it's a gator!

As far as our team goes, it's hard to say exactly how the "Who dat?" chant came to be such a motto and defining mark. All I know is that it fits and it's here to stay. If you're walking down a street in New Orleans and you say "Who dat?" with the right intonation, anyone from Louisiana will give you a nod of approval to let you know you're one of us.

"Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?"

Points of Purpose.

In a way, our team is a microcosm of New Orleans as a whole. As is the case for the city, we all hail from a variety of backgrounds, but we have melded together into a unified and distinct culture. And like New Orleans, most of our players have had their share of adversity along the way.

When you look only on the surface, you have no idea what challenges a guy has faced in his life. When you see the talent on our team, you probably wouldn't guess that some of our best players were late-round draft picks or weren't drafted at all. They had to battle every inch of the way to even get a chance at playing. Many of them were, at one point in their careers, the last roster spot or relegated to the practice squad. Others were released and "out on the street," with no team to call home. They were essentially kicked in the gut and told, You're really not good enough to be in the NFL. Some Saints players had to fight their way back from a really tough injury, like I did, and defy those who said they would never recover. Forget the draft rankings-these are the guys you want on your side. You know what they've been through-and how much stronger they are because of it. And when you go through tough times together, there's nothing that unites you more.

One of our outstanding running backs is Pierre Thomas. He was an undrafted free agent who came to New Orleans in 2007. At the time we had just drafted a running back in the fourth round, and Pierre was really fighting for the fifth spot. There are only three spots guaranteed on the roster for a running back. With four other guys ahead of him, he had to be thinking, There's no way I'm going to make this team. His chances looked pretty bleak. But Pierre had an optimistic att.i.tude that defied his circ.u.mstances. He believed that if he did things the right way and kept his chin up and gave it everything he had, good things were bound to happen. Sure enough, we found a spot for him. You make room for guys like that. He gave us no other choice-he had too big of a heart and he fought too hard for us to let him walk away.

Pierre's att.i.tude toward his work was refreshing because he consistently communicated, I don't care where I play-just put me anywhere. I want to help. He started off playing on every special teams unit and finally got the opportunity to start at running back the last game of the 2007 season when other players were out due to injury. He had over one hundred yards in both rushing and receiving against Chicago, which was something no Saint had ever done. Nothing has ever been given to Pierre-he's had to earn it all. He wasn't born on third base, as our linebackers coach Joe Vitt would say. He's had to fight tooth and nail just to get into the batter's box. Those are the kinds of people you want on your team. Those are the kinds of people you root for.

Marques Colston was a seventh-round pick out of Hofstra in 2006. When he first came to us, I didn't even know his name until midway through training camp, when he was about the only receiver who was healthy. He was playing every position he was asked to play and catching every ball I threw to him. Who is this guy? I thought. Where did he come from? I love stories of guys who played at small schools, weren't highly touted, and were drafted low. Marques was almost drafted as Mr. Irrelevant, which is the nickname given to the last pick in the draft every year. They give an award for it and everything. Not really something you strive for, but if you look at it in the right way, that chip on your shoulder can serve as positive motivation.

We had no expectations about a guy who came in as the 252nd pick, but he approached every task a.s.signed to him with such cla.s.s. It was really because of his emergence that we traded Donte Stallworth to Philly at the end of training camp in 2006. We knew Marques could be a special player, and he proved himself by catching a record number of b.a.l.l.s in his first two seasons. And in an era of flamboyant receivers who tend to revel in on-field antics and off-field drama, you'd be lucky to hear Marques say more than a few words. He is humble, but at the same time he remains hungry. If you saw him practice today, you'd be amazed to note that he still works like the rookie who came in fighting for a spot on the team in 2006. There is always something to prove.

One of my best friends from the team is Billy Miller, a tight end from USC who was drafted by the Broncos in 1999. At six foot three and 220 pounds then, Billy started off as a receiver but soon realized that his best chance to make it in the NFL would be to bulk up and play tight end. He played in Denver, Houston, and Cleveland before coming to New Orleans, and with each move he had to fight to claim a place on the team. There were plenty of times throughout his career when he could have easily given up because the pressure was too much or the coach was too hard or the injury he was fighting was too painful. But each time he went through such an ordeal, he looked back at all he'd been through in the past. Experience told him he had what it took to pull through again. Plus, Billy made sure there were a few specific things he had mastered that he could do better than anyone else. Don't get me wrong-he worked to be good at everything, but he made sure that those were his plays and his opportunity to contribute to the team in a big way. Those pa.s.s plays of his became our bread and b.u.t.ter, and I have never had more confidence throwing to a guy.

As I look at the players who make it into the NFL and last more than a couple of years, I notice a consistent thread. It's not always the first-round picks and the most naturally gifted players who rise to the top. It's often the journeymen-the ones who persevere through trials and are able to handle the unexpected challenges that come their way.

When I was a kid, I tended to be the best athlete at school or on the team. I was picked first for dodgeball or kickball or whatever we were playing in the schoolyard. Even in high school, things came fairly easily for me . . . until the ACL injury my junior year, that is. But in a strange way, I am actually thankful for that injury, in that it allowed me to learn how to face adversity at a young age. Would I quit, or would I fight through it? From my perspective, it's when the rug gets pulled out from under you that you really find your calling in life. Those defining moments don't have to be tragedies. When they're viewed through the lens of G.o.d's plans, they can be "points of purpose" in your life.

I really believe adversity is a path to opportunity. But sometimes it's difficult in the moment to see that G.o.d has a bigger vision for the future than you can grasp. It may be years before you can look back and truly appreciate the journey G.o.d has taken you on. And usually, it's one you wouldn't have chosen. I wouldn't have chosen an ACL injury or a dislocated throwing shoulder, but those were the cards that were dealt. The only choice I did have was what I would do with that adversity when it came my direction. I also learned that despite the circ.u.mstances you find yourself in, it's wise to worry only about the things you can control. You can't control if you get injured or if the team decides to draft someone else to take your job, but you can control your att.i.tude and your preparation. Every day you can dedicate yourself to becoming the best you can be. Thinking about it now, I'm grateful for the way those difficult experiences transformed my personal life-and how the same thing can be true for other people.

Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I hadn't had that injury at the end of the 2005 season. If I hadn't had to walk that road of recovery, I certainly wouldn't have wound up in New Orleans and experienced the real life that sprang from that comeback. I wouldn't have met the folks who are now my friends and teammates in New Orleans or had so many incredible opportunities that have come my way. And if I hadn't had the injury in high school, I probably wouldn't have attended Purdue and I wouldn't have met Brittany. G.o.d used all those things to work together for good in my life, and I'm grateful not just for the victories but also for the tough times that guided me and helped me become who I am.

This principle that any situation, no matter how bad, can ultimately make you stronger isn't only true on the football field. It applies to every facet of life, whether you're battling an illness or dealing with a layoff or facing a financial setback. But just like in a game, it's not enough to simply know it in your head; you have to take action. Knowledge alone doesn't change anyone. You have to get to the point where you not only accept it but own it and put it into practice. That's the only way you'll see a change.

I can't help but think of the people from New Orleans who were displaced by Katrina. It would have been easier for them to move to Atlanta or Houston long-term. But most people refused to do that. They came back, and they were determined to bring their city back. No matter how hard it was, they committed to making New Orleans better than it was before. I believe each one of us has a calling for our lives, and it's up to us to pursue that with everything we have. In the end, there's a reward for having done the right thing, the thing you were called to. When you do, your children and grandchildren and the generations to follow will be blessed by your actions.

Just about every important stage in my life has begun with a huge negative. Those were truly "why me" moments. Why do I have to go through this? Now I know that I am who I am because of those things. They gave me strength I didn't have before. They helped me establish my ident.i.ty and purpose in life, and they gave me perspective about the struggles that people face every day.

The next time you're up against one of those difficult times, you might not be able to see it as an opportunity to gain power and confidence, but it is-you can bank on it. You have to prepare now to trust and have faith that it's happening for a reason. And when it comes, you can lean into the adversity, put your shoulder down, push through it, and learn from it. Through those experiences, G.o.d will mold you into the person he wants you to be. The person you're meant to be.

Setting an Example.

To my surprise, some of those challenges in my life have been the very things G.o.d has used to make me a better leader. The low points have given me the chance to regroup and refocus on what's most important. And those experiences have also given me empathy for others when they are going through a tough situation.

Every team I've been on has taught me a lot about leadership-some examples I want to emulate and others I make a note to avoid. One principle I've learned is that a leader can't ask anybody to do what he is not willing to do himself. As a quarterback, I know the guys on my team are looking to me to set the tone. For one thing, they want me to produce on the field. I touch the ball on every down and have to make the decision about who else is going to be involved in advancing the ball. My teammates are relying on me, and I have to be ready to play. But it's not just about football. I also have a moral responsibility to model personal integrity, discipline, and the right att.i.tude to the rest of my team. I have to manage my offense and breed confidence in those guys. If they see me getting fl.u.s.tered or pressed, that's going to affect them negatively. They need to see me act cool and poised so they can do the same.

From my vantage point, I can see things throughout a game that others might not, so I can be a teacher to the guys. But it's not a one-way deal. They see things from their perspective that I miss, and I need to be humble enough to listen and learn. Part of a quarterback's job is to both coach and be coached.

Another thing I've learned about leadership is the importance of work ethic. Throughout the week of preparations before a game, I make it my goal to be one of the first ones to the practice facility in the morning and the last to leave. I stay late every day to practice my footwork, throw more routes, and talk through concepts with the receivers and coaches. That's not heroic; it's just part of the job. And it's not for show. I know I always need to keep practicing and getting better and gaining more confidence. You are either getting better or getting worse, but you are never staying the same. When the guys observe that their quarterback is doing everything possible to help the team win and succeed, and when they realize he's going to fight for them, they'll play their hearts out for him. Leading by example is the only way I know how to lead.

In my role as a quarterback I've found it helps to understand each of the guys on my team. Every player is different-and not just physically. Through practice and trial and error, you discover how they're most comfortable catching the ball. You also learn their mental and emotional makeup-how they respond to pressure, what pushes their b.u.t.tons. You find out how they react when they miss an a.s.signment or drop a pa.s.s. I also discovered early on that everyone is motivated in different ways. Some guys are spurred on when you get hyped up and loud and vocal, but others do better with a simple look or a nod. Other guys would rather have you pull them aside and talk with them in private.

One aspect of leadership a lot of people overlook is the importance of showing how much you care. When other people see that you are genuinely concerned about them and truly invested in them, they'll trust you. There's no faking it, and there's no amount of talent that can make up for the lack of it. When your teammates know that you have their best interest at heart, the by-product is that they'll go out there and fight for you. They'll win for you.

Some people look at their home team and think, If only we had that free agent. If only our team could pay for that receiver or running back. I don't waste time thinking about those kinds of acquisitions. If those players come to us, great. But here's the way I look at it: I'll take the less talented guy with the big heart every time. I love the old saying "It's not the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog." Give me someone I can depend on so I know what I am getting every time, and I'll show you a winner.

As history has proven time and time again, the most gifted athletes are not necessarily the ones who win championships. There's a hidden factor that burns deep inside a player that you can't see on a stat sheet or a highlight reel. When a bigger, prototypical quarterback looks at me from the other side of the field or when the crowd looks down as I'm walking into the stadium, I sometimes try to visualize what they're thinking. Maybe they a.s.sume I'm too short for my position or that there's no way I can get the job done. In my heart I know I'm going to show them something. I've got to prove myself every time I step onto the field. I know how hard I've worked, and I know how many people believe in me. I want the guys on my team to know I believe in them too. Whenever we walk out onto the field, we can hold our heads high, silently saying, You all haven't seen anything yet.

A Call to Christian Athletes.

I am very proud of my faith. Being a Christian is who I am. I read the Word of G.o.d in the Bible every day, and I do my best to live out the teachings found inside. On a daily basis I ask G.o.d to show me his will and allow me to see the purposes he has for my life. Then I try to carry out those purposes in all I do. I also strive to live with a healthy fear of G.o.d. But don't take this the wrong way. In my view, fearing G.o.d means you have so much love and respect for him that you don't want to let him down and you would do anything to serve him. I believe that when you fear G.o.d, you don't need to fear anything else-no man, no task, no obstacle or challenge. Because when G.o.d is with you, you can accomplish anything and overcome any obstacles.

G.o.d has made every person unique, and although we are all different, he created each of us with the ability to achieve greatness. Of course, there are b.u.mps along the way, and we will all face our share of adversity. This is what shapes us as people and as Christians and allows us to move forward stronger than we were before, ready to reach heights we never thought possible. Our faith is a constant work in progress, and the journey of a Christian is never finished on this earth. We always need to be working toward strengthening our bond with the Lord and improving our relationships with others.

The challenge of a Christian athlete is to live the life that we preach and understand that we have been given a platform to make a positive impact in the lives of many people, especially kids. What bugs me more than anything else is seeing guys profess their faith on game day with a point to the sky while the cameras are rolling and then walk out of the locker room into a life of sin. I'm not saying we never make mistakes. We are all human, and therefore we are all sinners. n.o.body is perfect. The Lord knows I have committed my fair share of sins and made some stupid decisions. But the key is to learn from those mistakes and commit to ourselves and to G.o.d that we will clean up our lives where necessary. As athletes, we live in an age of media where our every move is doc.u.mented and scrutinized, and sometimes we feel like certain things we say or do are misconstrued or taken out of context. The national media usually focuses on athletes who make poor decisions, and therefore that becomes the general perception about athletes. Unfortunately the status quo does not sell papers, but drama and controversy do. As athletes, we must continue to fight that perception and show fans that the reality is different-that most of us take great responsibility in representing our communities and organizations the best we can. Football is one of those sports that has the ability to transcend just being a game or a form of entertainment to become a source of hope and pride for so many fans. We recognize this and constantly find ways to connect with those who make this game great-the fans.

I believe that everybody deserves to have his or her own relationship with G.o.d. Yes, there are fundamental beliefs and values that are consistent for all Christians. But when it comes to our own individual walks with G.o.d, they are specific to each person. While I am not afraid to talk about my faith, I tend to be less outspoken than others might be. I think it's great for other people to be more vocal-I love to see enthusiastic Christians who have the power of the Lord running through them. But that's just not my personality.

I want people to take Christ seriously, so I try not to treat him flippantly by throwing around some catchphrase or code words that only Christians will understand. I want people to see that my faith is authentic-not only in my words but also in the way I live my life. There are a lot of skeptics out there who get disillusioned when they see people who talk about G.o.d but don't have the actions to back it up. My desire is that people will see me as a man of G.o.d who is genuinely trying to live out my faith with my wife, my son, my team, and the community I live and serve in. I also hope those who don't know Christ will be able to look at the way Christian athletes carry themselves and see that they are making their lives define the game, rather than letting the game define their lives.

Chapter Thirteen.

To Whom Much Is Given . . .

One of the guiding principles in my life is from a parable of Jesus: "To whom much is given . . . much will be required." In other words, if you have been blessed, it's your responsibility to bless others with what you've been given. G.o.d hasn't given those gifts just for your own good but for the good of others as well. Early in my football career I recognized the need to give back to the community. I see it as my responsibility, but also my privilege, to be generous with what G.o.d has entrusted to me.

Over the years I've seen players become as pa.s.sionate about their charity work as they are about football, and the common denominator seems to be that they have suffered through something difficult or experienced some loss in their own lives. One of my mentors and friends, Doug Flutie, is that type of guy. His son, Doug Jr., has autism, and Doug has made it his mission to raise awareness about the disorder and fund research to help those affected by it.