Coming Back Stronger Part 13

I said to Brittany, "I'm going to have long hair when he's born."

I'm a pretty clean-cut, short hair kind of guy, but by then my hair was almost down to my shoulders. Baylen will always have those pictures to look back on . . . and laugh at.

Commitment.

After experiencing the pain of my parents' divorce, I was determined to break that cycle for my children. It's so easy for people to be hurt by their parents and then wind up doing the same to their own kids. My parents didn't mean to hurt my brother and me, but there's no way around it: divorce is painful. I wanted to make sure I didn't repeat the same dynamic for the next generation.

Some people ask, "How can you be so sure? You can never say never, right?"

Here's what I believe. When I said "I do" to Brittany, I meant it. n.o.body is going to tear us apart. As an added motivation, I know what it was like to deal with the impact of divorce, and I never want my child to have to experience growing up in two separate households. So when I put the ring on Brittany's finger, I said, "For better or for worse, till death do us part." Period. No matter how bad it could possibly get, I am committed. It's not about my happiness. It's not about a feeling. I committed myself to her for the rest of my life, and I promise never to walk away.

Because of that promise, there are certain things my wife and I have promised to each other about the way we interact. For example, when we argue-and we do have disagreements-she knows I will never tell her to shut up. Ever. I will say, "Sweetie, please, could you be quiet for a second? Can I make my point?" That has happened a few times. But I will never tell her to shut up or disrespect her, because we see that as one of the ways people close the lines of communication. Also, I will never call her ugly names or use profanity when we're arguing. I want her to feel safe to come to me and tell me what's on her heart so we can grow closer in our relations.h.i.+p. If I shut her down, nothing gets settled, and whatever we were fighting about will just fester and get bigger.

I feel like G.o.d has given us each other for a purpose, and if G.o.d gives you someone to work with that closely, you need to listen and learn. There's no excuse for acting in ways that lead to broken hearts or a fracturing of the relations.h.i.+p. I don't want to push my wife down; I want to see her reach her full potential. I want to enrich her. I want to love her and give myself up for her, just like the Bible commands husbands to do.

Brittany and I have had some difficult times in our marriage-I think everyone does. The adversity can either pull you together or pull you apart. Some of the most trying circ.u.mstances we've been through together have created a lasting bond that's growing tighter every day. But it takes work, and it takes commitment. It's not about being the perfect husband or the perfect wife, because you're going to fail. I fail all the time. It's about forgiving each other, listening to each other, learning from each other, and allowing G.o.d to cement your relations.h.i.+p through the hard times.

The thing G.o.d requires from us in that equation is commitment. If you give yourself an out, eventually you will take that out. If you say, "I promise to stay as long as we both shall love," then there will come a point where you don't feel love. I guarantee it. What has to happen, instead, is that when you're in, you're all the way in. There's no backing out. Quitting can't be an option. If you allow yourself to say, "Well, if it gets bad enough, I'll leave," how are you going to know when you've reached that point? Brittany and I have vowed to stick it out, no matter what, and will never even consider leaving. My hope is that this kind of commitment will provide Baylen with a strong family and also give him a good role model for his own relations.h.i.+ps down the road.

Whose Son Is He?

Our extended families try to see which of us Baylen takes after most. My family will say, "I can't believe how much he looks like you!" Brittany's side of the family says, "I can't believe how much he looks like Brittany."

There's no question he has my blue eyes and my ears. But he has her nose and mouth. As he grows, there are times when I'll look at him at just the right angle or in a photo and it's scary how much he looks like me. Then the other day we saw a picture of Brittany as a kid, and if you took away her long, blonde hair, they would be identical.

Brittany thinks he has my personality because he is all over the place. He's a ball of nonstop energy who can't sit still, and that's very much the way I am. He loves being outside and being around people. He likes constant stimulation and wants to be part of whatever's going on. It's no wonder he loved it when I held him up after the Super Bowl with all the confetti coming down, the lights glaring, the fireworks flas.h.i.+ng, and the people celebrating. He didn't know what was going on, but he loved being in the middle of the action. When he's older, I'll be able to explain to him exactly what he was part of that night.

I do worry sometimes about the expectations he might feel being the son of an NFL quarterback. I saw that pressure in my little brother as we were growing up. Since we're so close in age, he had to follow in my footsteps as we went to high school. People asked why he wasn't a quarterback like I was. I don't want that to happen with my son. I would love to give him every opportunity to do whatever he wants in life. If he wants to play sports, we'll give him that chance. If he wants to be an artist or fly airplanes or build houses-I don't care. Whatever talents he's given by G.o.d, that's what I want him to do because I know that's what will make him most fulfilled and happy-following the path that was set out for him.

Baylen was the best thing that happened to me in 2009. But there was also a tremendous loss that year, a few weeks before the 2009 season began. It's one of those things that's difficult to talk about, but there's no way to truly understand my story without that piece. As I looked into the stands after the Super Bowl win and picked out many of my family, friends, and mentors who have been instrumental over the years, there was one face missing.

My Darkest Valley.

There are some trials in life that you wonder how you'll ever get through. My mother's death was one of those. The news came on August 7, 2009, and I left training camp immediately to be with my family. I can honestly say that was one of the toughest experiences of my life.

My mom was an outstanding athlete from a sports-minded family, as well as a successful attorney in Austin, Texas, and at one time the president of the Austin Bar a.s.sociation. But I didn't know her as an attorney or a political figure in town. I just knew her as my mom, the one who took care of my b.u.mps and bruises. She gave me opportunities to play the sports I loved and get the best education I could. She was the one who sat beside me and helped me decide to continue with football when I was ready to quit in high school. She helped foster a vision of who I could be and encouraged me to go after my dreams. I owe a lot to my mother for these things.

My mother was there for me during a lot of crucial points in my childhood, yet there were also many times I needed her and she wasn't there. She had a pattern of unhealthy relations.h.i.+ps, and as I progressed through high school, I gradually gained the maturity to see that ours was headed in the same direction. She was consumed with getting her own way, even if it wasn't in the best interest of her children. This caused some tense moments between us. But starting in my junior year of college through my first year in the NFL, the relations.h.i.+p with my mom really started to deteriorate. There were a variety of factors that created even more turmoil, and soon the divide between us became so wide that we spent the next eight years barely speaking to one another. It seemed like we could never get on the same page, and whenever we did get together, it resulted in emotionally charged confrontations. These issues took a toll on both of us, and it wasn't until after her death that I found out the reasons for many of these problems.

Brittany and I turned to the church and our faith more than ever during that time. For our premarital counseling, we met with a psychologist who volunteered at the church, and we were able to talk about the issues with my mom. The psychologist recognized immediately that the problems that existed between us were not normal in a parent-child relations.h.i.+p, and there could be something else going on. It was the first time someone had opened my eyes to the fact that my mom could be suffering from mental illness. As a kid, I never thought that my parent would have a problem like that. I was so accustomed to the extreme highs and the depressed lows that her behavior seemed normal to me. Had I only known then what I know now, I could have handled the situation differently. I ask myself the question often: Could I have saved her?

By the time I moved to New Orleans in the spring of 2006, Mom and I weren't communicating for long stretches. I felt like I was losing out on time with the family I used to be so close with. I tried to compartmentalize the situation with my mom so I could focus on all the positive things going on in my life. We were having a great season as a Saints team that year, and it was an unbelievable experience to be part of the resurgence of this city. But I couldn't shut out the effects of the separation from my mom. There was a piece of me that was always hurting for her because of the strain we had experienced. I had no idea what the future of our relations.h.i.+p would be-or even if there was a future for us. The only way I knew how to cope with it was to pray every night for her and for our relations.h.i.+p and to throw myself into every other aspect of my life, hoping that would make up for her absence.

When we found out Brittany was pregnant in 2008, a big thought looming in the back of our minds was my mom. When and how were we going to tell her? What kind of relations.h.i.+p would she have with our child? Would she do the same kinds of hurtful things to my child that she had done to me? How would Brittany and I handle it when she hit one of her dark periods like she so often did? As a parent, I knew I would give my life for my child, but I never thought I'd have to protect my child from my own parent. I had long since forgiven my mother and hoped she had forgiven me. But what you can forgive, you sometimes shouldn't forget. You have to remember if you're going to learn from those mistakes.

During her pregnancy, Brittany e-mailed back and forth often with my mom. She kept her up-to-date on her doctor visits, her due date, and the baby's progress. For quite some time my mom had been looking forward to a teaching trip to Ukraine. She would be gone for six months on a Fulbright teaching scholars.h.i.+p, working as an instructor at the University of Kiev. Things seemed to be looking up. She left in January, a few days after Baylen's birth. During that time, Brittany e-mailed pictures of Baylen and corresponded with my mom while she was in Ukraine. Mom and Brittany seemed to be getting closer through the communication. They also found common ground in talking about Ukraine, since Brittany is 50 percent Ukrainian. Mom even sent some small gifts to us from the country, and that meant a lot to Brittany. "I think things are getting better," she said to me once. There was an encouraging sign that spring when Mom e-mailed me from Ukraine: "Oh, I can't wait to meet my little grandson." I read those words and felt a flicker of hope for the future. We weren't there yet, but we were at least moving forward.

Mom was due back in the United States in the summer, and we were trying to figure out a time for her to visit that would work around her schedule and the start of the 2009 season. As I looked forward to the possibility of her visit, I had really mixed feelings. On one hand, after our communications while she was in Ukraine, I felt very eager to reconnect. On the other hand, the last face-to-face meeting between us had not gone well. Plus, Brittany and I were still unsure as to the role my mom would play in Baylen's life. I was hoping to begin a new chapter in the relations.h.i.+p with my mom, but there is no way to candy-coat history. The full truth is that my mom and I had a toxic relations.h.i.+p. When we were together, I felt like I was a different person. The negativity turned me into someone I did not want to be. I prayed about it constantly. I asked G.o.d to help us communicate and have a relations.h.i.+p. I searched for Bible verses that would help. I asked family members and friends for advice. But no matter how much I prayed and searched, I couldn't get past Mom's destructive att.i.tude and how low I felt whenever we talked. After eight years of trying to salvage things, I was discouraged by how little progress had been made.

I loved my mother very much, and I always will. I never intended to hurt her, although I know I did. And now I don't want to hurt anyone who knew her and respected her by telling my side of our story. After all, she was my mother. But our relations.h.i.+p was a consistently difficult one. It was always on my mind, no matter what was happening around me. A lot has been written over the years speculating about what really happened between us. I'm hoping that others with strained relations.h.i.+ps will find a little comfort and direction from my experiences, and maybe even learn from our mistakes. I truly believe people are brought into our lives for many reasons. Whatever those relations.h.i.+ps are like, they teach us lessons. It's what you learn from those situations that makes you who you are. I made many mistakes with my mother and our relations.h.i.+p. There are so many things that now I wish I could change or would do differently. I learned that there are many things she did that I will never do as a parent. I have also learned that a lot of the best of my mom lives in me. At this point I have to forgive myself and learn my lessons.

When the News Came.

On the first Friday in August, in the middle of training camp, Brittany came to the Saints practice facility unexpectedly. We had just finished practice, and Sean Payton came up to me. "Drew, Brittany is here. You need to go talk to her." I looked over at her holding Baylen, and immediately I could feel that something was very wrong. Although Brittany had brought Baylen to practices plenty of times, this was a closed practice, and under normal circ.u.mstances, no one would be allowed in.

I ran to her. She said, "Hold your son, Drew. I am going to tell you something, but I need you to hold your son. I need you to know we are going to get through this."

I took Baylen in my arms and sat down. She started to sob but was able to muster the strength to say, "Baby, your mom just pa.s.sed away." All I could do was hold my son and my wife and cry. My heart sank to the ground, and I couldn't speak. What happened? We'd been planning her visit, and now we were planning her funeral instead.

Brittany said that she had gotten the call from my brother, Reid, and it appeared to be a suicide. I could not believe what I was hearing. This had to be a bad dream. I took some time with Brittany and Baylen and then tried to gather myself before going in to talk with Sean. I thought I was fine when I walked into his office, but the minute he stood up, I could see the sympathy in his eyes. I lost it. It took me a while to rein in my emotions before sitting down and talking about what had happened. Sean and I talked for a long while, and his words were very comforting at a difficult time. He was there to listen, and he also had some words of wisdom and encouragement as I dealt with this loss, both short-term and long-term. He told me to take as much time as I needed. "Allow yourself to grieve," he said. "You don't ever want to look back and realize you didn't let yourself feel what you needed to feel. We all handle the death of a loved one in different ways, but make sure you take enough time to do it properly. Don't worry about getting back here. We will be here for you when you return."

I walked very slowly back to my locker, still in a daze about the news I had heard. I gathered my things and tried to leave as quickly as possible, so as to not draw attention from any of my teammates. I called my brother as soon as I could to make sure he was okay and to find out exactly what had happened. I was waiting for him to tell me this was all a horrible joke or a big misunderstanding. He didn't. I asked him if it was possible that it wasn't a suicide or if there was some kind of confusion. It had to have been an accident. My brother confirmed my worst fear, as he had been the one who talked to the police that day. My mother had been visiting a friend in Colorado. She had packed prescription sleeping pills, pain pills, and antidepressants, some of which dated back to the 1990s.

I flew out to Denver the next day to be with my brother and to see my mother one last time. Being with Reid that day, when we were both in such a vulnerable state, felt right. We had been the two most important people in Mom's life, and it seemed appropriate for us to be able to say good-bye to her together. Having this time with Reid made it all a little easier.

My mom had left handwritten notes for certain people when she pa.s.sed away. One of those notes was for me and Brittany and another was for Baylen. It was very hard to read them, but I hoped there would be some answers in them. As we started getting more information, the reality began to sink in that she had indeed taken her own life. The question that haunted all of us was "Why?"

We were hoping the cause of death would stay private, but unfortunately it became public once the toxicology report and autopsy were final. It took three months to get the official results, and we thought maybe by then the media would just leave it alone. They didn't. It's devastating enough to deal with the death of a parent, but facing her suicide seemed almost unbearable.

In the three weeks after her pa.s.sing, as we all talked and worked through things as a family, I probably learned more about my mom than I had known my whole life. I had no idea about her early days and the secret mental and emotional problems she'd had. Even from childhood, she'd dealt with those demons by disguising them or hiding them. Family members tried to confront her and get her help, but she would become defensive and deny she had a problem. Her struggles only worsened as she got older. She certainly didn't talk about these issues with Reid and me, and she did her best to be there for us and be the best mother she could be in spite of her illness.

Mom's death was a crus.h.i.+ng blow to our entire family. We made it through the memorial services, but they were extremely tough and emotional. I really appreciated all the people who came to the services to support our family. Our team owner, Tom Benson, flew Coach Payton and my closest teammates to the service. I hope they all know how much that meant to me.

Sometimes the best way to heal is by knowing how many people care. There's no way to describe the pain and all the questions that haunt you after something like that happens. I still couldn't accept the fact that my mom would never see her grandson. It was all she had talked about for the last six months-how excited she was to hold that little boy. I was overcome with feelings of regret, sadness, and shame that bubbled up from deep inside.

For the first time I was starting to realize how much her constant, internal pain drove her to do some of the things she did. It didn't excuse her behavior, but things made more sense to me. And when I thought about how she took her own life, I knew she must have been in such a lonely, dark place for her to feel like that was the only option. Instead of being angry at her for the ultimate selfish act, I felt sad for her. I knew she had acted out of her pain.

Unanswered Questions.

Even with my new perspective about Mom's history, the first few weeks after her death were filled with confusion and unanswered questions. I felt anger at her for leaving us, guilt for not reaching out more effectively, and remorse over our strained relations.h.i.+p.

I also struggled with the spiritual implications of her choice. I sought counsel from people who know a lot more about the Bible than I do. Some Christians believe suicide is an unpardonable sin. They think G.o.d can't forgive such a heinous act. But friends and spiritual leaders in my life were able to show me how the Scriptures reveal the depth of G.o.d's love. The way to a relations.h.i.+p with G.o.d isn't by doing good things or keeping rules. My mom made mistakes in her life, but so have I. All of us have. The way to an eternal relations.h.i.+p is by accepting the grace G.o.d offers us. Had my mom asked for G.o.d's forgiveness as she had taken her own life? Did she have G.o.d's grace in her heart when she pa.s.sed? If you have G.o.d's grace in your life, you can't be separated from him by a bad decision. Understanding more of the love of G.o.d gives me the comfort that my mother really is in heaven. And I feel confident she will be smiling down on us forever, because that is what she promised in her letter to me.

I had agonized over the broken relations.h.i.+p with my mother for many years. When she died, the truth about her emotional problems and mental issues spilled onto the deck of my life. That was the most intense time of mourning I've ever experienced. But gradually G.o.d started bringing healing in my life. I came to the realization that Mom was no longer in pain. I didn't have to hurt for her any longer. That relieved me, and in a way it gave me strength and enabled me to use all the concern and worry I once had for her in more constructive ways. I felt that for once in her life, my mother was finally at peace. Mom's death also brought the rest of the family much closer. We needed each other to mourn, and after going through that difficult crucible, we're stronger now than we've ever been. I never would have chosen to go down that path. But somehow G.o.d has brought good out of it anyway.

As the 2009 season got underway, the grief lessened and I began to see all the great times I'd had with my mom and all the good things she had given me. In a way, everything I'd been through gave me an incredible internal strength I never would have had otherwise. Who would have guessed that a season that started out in the midst of such a dark valley would end up on a mountaintop.

Chapter Sixteen.

The Year of Finis.h.i.+ng Strong.

With all that had happened with Mom, my 2009 preseason was off to a really rocky start. In the past I'd always been able to compartmentalize certain things and focus on the task at hand, but I'd never experienced anything like this before. The players and coaches were very supportive and told me to take all the time I needed, but I was honestly glad to be back with the team and get to work. Anything to take my mind off the tragedy of my mother's death.

As a team, we knew we needed to make this our year to change things. We'd been floundering the past two seasons, and it was time for a shake-up. If you want to do something you've never done, you have to prepare by doing something you've never done. We evaluated everything from 2007 and 2008 and found that the common denominator in the games we lost was "finis.h.i.+ng." As we watched game clips and discussed what had gone wrong, that word kept bouncing off the walls. Finish. What would have happened in those seasons if we had finished half the games we'd lost in the closing moments? We would have been playoff bound, if not divisional champs.

As I looked around at my teammates that year, I saw we had a lot of people with G.o.d-given talent. But we needed something more than that-talent will get you only so far. Champions are forged from commitment, preparation, and discipline. I believed we could go a long way if we were willing to buy into everything that was being taught. I'm always looking for ways to motivate myself and others in the off-season. I told the guys that if we finished every game, we could not only win the division-we could get a first-round bye and be the number one seed. Even better, we could win it all. Instead of focusing on a bunch of different things we needed to do, we pinpointed just one. We kept it simple, and that phrase finish strong stuck. We all believed that was exactly what we needed to do.

On a Monday morning in April, we had our first off-season meeting to kick off our program. We went over the basic stuff-welcome; here is a recap of last season; this is what we expect from players; here are some things we need to improve upon as we look ahead. I had gotten the okay from Coach to have ten minutes with the team, both players and coaches, at the end of the meeting.

I had found a book with vignettes about average people who had done extraordinary things simply because they'd focused on finis.h.i.+ng well. The book was Finish Strong by Dan Green, and I bought a copy for every member of the team. I also gave everyone a wristband that said, "Finish Strong." I read some favorite quotes that struck me about the power of seeing something through to completion. I was pa.s.sionate about this, and I wanted the other guys to catch the same vision for the season ahead.

Finish strong became one of our themes for the year. In the weight room we promised to make the last repet.i.tion the best of the day. As we watched film, we focused even harder during those last fifteen minutes. And we took it out onto the field too. At the end of games when we might have faltered in the past, we hung tough. The offense made big plays, the defense created turnovers, and the special teams came up with game-winning field goals or returns. It was not just a mantra but a way of life. We took that phrase seriously, and it paid off.

That year was the most intense off-season and preseason I've ever seen. Our defense's mentality was We've got something to prove to everybody. Our offense saw their att.i.tude and countered, You're not pus.h.i.+ng us around. It got compet.i.tive fast. And it was truly a case of iron sharpening iron. We made each other better. We were confident we had one of the best offenses in the league. Our defense had heard enough about them being the weak link on the team. Our new defensive coordinator, Gregg Williams, created a new culture among the players: they were going to dial up the pressure, play aggressively, and not apologize. That att.i.tude and talent came together, and I was seeing things I'd never seen before from our defense.

When the season began, we were prepared. No other team could bring more pressure than we'd already seen in practice. We had a fast and brutal defense and a high-powered, light-'em-up offense. And to top it all off, we had a healthy dose of confidence and were gaining that swagger with each workday. We believed there was no team we couldn't stop on defense and no team we couldn't outscore on offense.

Nine, Ten, Win Again.

Before the season, in late June 2009, I took a USO trip to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. Ever since I watched A Few Good Men, I've dreamed about visiting Guantanamo Bay. Gitmo's reputation as a tough and rugged environment for the Marines always made it appealing to me. I thought this might be my last opportunity to visit the troops there since President Obama had announced they were shutting down the operation. I have the utmost respect for our military, and I believe they're protecting us from enemies we can't even imagine. Because they do what they do, you and I can safely do what we do every day. To be there with those guys I look up to so much was the ultimate experience.

One morning the Marines invited me to get up and do physical training with them. I was jacked-I felt like I was going to a playoff game. I got up at 5 a.m. and hustled out. It was still dark when we arrived at the meeting point, a place they called the "mosquito tree." And for good reason. Not only were you fighting the thick, humid air, but you had to keep moving or else the mosquitoes would get you.

We got into formation and started running. I was following along in step, listening to the cadence, and there was a leader off to the side who would yell to help us stay in stride. We were running in three rows, with ten to twelve per row. He called off, "Left, right, left"-nothing complex-but the inflection in his voice and the rhythm of the footsteps washed over us. Somehow the chant kept us locked in and focused on what we were doing. He wasn't just telling us what to do; he was leading us.

This was new to me. I was trying to listen to the words and repeat them back like the Marines did, but I was a little hesitant at first, not wanting to shout out the wrong thing. They were yelling fast, and I was having trouble understanding some of what I was hearing, especially as the run progressed and everyone started breathing a little harder. The others seemed to know every word by heart, and they weren't shy about belting it out. But by the end of the training session, I had both the rhythm and the words, and I began shouting everything back to the leader like I was one of them.

As soon as I got the hang of the running and chanting, something clicked inside. I thought, This is awesome. I knew a part of that experience would stick with me, and there would be something for me to take back to my team. Sure enough, at one point in the run, they started a chant. Here's what the leader called out: "When I say, 'One,' you say, 'Two.' When I say, 'Kill,' you say, 'For you.'

"One."

"Two!"

"Kill."

"For you!"

"When I say, 'Three,' you say, 'Four.' When I say, 'Kill,' you say, 'Some more.'

"One."

"Two!"

"Kill."

"For you!"

"Three."

"Four!"

"Kill."

"Some more!"

And then it was "Five, six. Kill, for kicks! Seven, eight. Kill, it's great! Nine, ten! Kill, again!" Each time he would go back to one and start over, so it took forever to get all the way through this chant. And you really had to pay attention closely if you wanted to keep up.

I'll admit, the words of the chant are harsh, but they're appropriate for these proud few. A Marine is not trained to keep the peace or direct traffic. A Marine is trained to kill and break things and mess up the plans of the enemy. The military doesn't kill for kicks, of course-it's just a chant. Of anybody on the planet, they know the seriousness and gravity of the mission. They live with the reality and the consequences of that responsibility every day.

As soon as I heard the chant, I knew it was something that would resonate with my teammates. But I figured the NFL wouldn't approve of me urging players to go out and kill. So I changed kill to win. Here's how our chant went during 2009: "One, two! Win, for you. Three, four! Win, some more! Five, six! Win, for kicks! Seven, eight! Win, it's great! Nine, ten! Win, again!"

The chant is a reminder that as we play, we're striving to win not just for ourselves but for each other. And we're not just winning for the team; we're winning for the city and for our fans too. Every time we step onto the field, we're playing to win. And the next week when we come back, we're going to do it all over again. That was our philosophy for the season. Everybody would get hyped up before each game, and then we'd bring it in, and with every hand in the middle, I'd say, "Win on three. One, two, three. Win!"

There was a feeling of owners.h.i.+p and unity with the chant. We wanted to make other teams say, "What are they doing? Those Saints have something special, a unique bond." The cadence became popular, even though most people didn't understand what we were saying. It gave us an us-against-the-world mentality: if you're part of our team, you're part of a brotherhood that plays together and trusts each other and will fight to the end.

Starting Out Strong.

For our first game, we played at home against a new Detroit Lions team. They had lost all sixteen games the year before, but there were many new faces on the sideline now-and they were hungry for a fresh start. We were prepared to get their best performance and their best game.

We blazed out onto the field with reckless abandon, not caring who we were playing. We scored on the first two possessions and kept adding to the lead, finally winning 4527. That day was a career high in touchdown pa.s.ses for me. It was just one of those games. Everybody was given opportunities and everyone made plays. It also made me the first player in history to throw six touchdown pa.s.ses on opening day.

It felt good for our team to light it up for forty-five points, especially since the first game is always a question mark in regard to the other team's defense. No team shows much in the preseason, so it didn't help to watch film. Plus, the Lions had a new coaching staff, so we couldn't base much on past precedent. It was a good start to come out strong in the face of those unknowns.

But most significantly, we were starting to see what kind of a team we could be. You don't get that in preseason; it comes when you unite and face a common opponent. It comes when you collectively take on the challenges that are thrown your way. In the first game we saw all the weapons we possessed. We felt like we could step onto the field and score anytime we wanted.

The second game of the season was big because Philadelphia had just smoked Carolina, the winner of our division in 2008. Philadelphia had manhandled the Panthers on the road, and now we were headed to their territory. After the way they beat the daylights out of our rival, the Eagles were arguably the favorites in the NFC at that point. Lincoln Financial Field is traditionally a tough venue, and we knew the crowd would be a big factor in the game. It was going to be loud. We had to be ready for a sixteen-round champions.h.i.+p bout.

We had built up a little history with Philly recently, this being the fourth time we had faced them in as many years. There had been some tough battles between the two teams, and every game had been decided in the fourth quarter. We knew we'd have to be at the top of our game offensively, and our key mind-set was to simply take care of the football. That's always the case, but it was especially important in that game since their defense thrives on turnovers. We needed to take it one drive at a time, one series at a time. We had to handle their pa.s.s rush. And most of all, we had to play with confidence and be explosive and take advantage of big plays whenever we could.