Coming Back Stronger Part 12

"Are we ready?"

"Ha-ooh!"

Another pivotal scene in the film shows a Persian messenger wearing the skulls of dead enemies. He basically tells the Spartans they have to surrender or they'll all be killed. King Leonidas has a problem with that, and he pulls out his sword and points it at the messenger, who backs up toward a gaping well. The messenger says, "This is blasphemy!"

King Leonidas screams, "This is Sparta!" and kicks the messenger into the hole.

So to our pregame chant I added, "This is New Orleans!"

And the team responded, "Ha-ooh! Ha-ooh! Ha-ooh!"

That routine got us ready to play each week. It started the adrenaline pumping, and it gave us the mind-set that we were a band of brothers who wouldn't back down from anyone or anything.

To be honest, it felt strange at first, motivating my team that way-it's much more loud and emotional than I tend to be. But then again, in order to accomplish something you've never accomplished before, you have to do something you've never done before. You have to take it to the next level. You have to let go of your security blanket and take a chance.

This was a small thing, but when it comes down to it, it's all the little things added together that lead to victory. The road to a Super Bowl win is a process of bringing a team together and accomplis.h.i.+ng your goals, step-by-step. We were teammates, bound by the blood, sweat, and tears of many years of struggle, and we were ready to fight. We'd go onto the field, stick together no matter what, and do all we could to defeat a worthy opponent. Ha-ooh!

Seesaw Season.

In 2008 we were back and forth, up and down, all season long. The first game was in New Orleans, and Hurricane Gustav was coming through. It brought back some terrible memories for the people of New Orleans as they antic.i.p.ated another storm and wondered if all their rebuilding work would be washed away. After what we'd learned from Katrina, n.o.body wanted to mess around with hurricanes, so all of New Orleans was evacuated. The Saints went to Indianapolis and practiced at Lucas Oil Stadium while our city weathered the storm. The levees had been rebuilt by then, but at the time they were only strong enough to withstand the onslaught of a Category 3 hurricane. Thankfully Gustav wasn't beyond a Category 3 when it hit, and the levees held. New Orleans was safe. We returned to our city at the end of the week once we were in the clear.

On Sunday the Dome was rocking as Tampa Bay came to town. You might think the storm would have kept the fans at home, checking for damage and getting things back in order. It didn't. Their mentality was Our Saints need us. We want to be there to support them. That's just how they are.

We were behind 2017 in the fourth quarter. We got the ball and scored a touchdown, which launched us into the lead with about eight minutes left. Tampa Bay drove into our territory, but we picked off a fourth-down pa.s.s with less than a minute left in the game. It was a dramatic win, 2420. It meant a lot to us, especially with everything that had happened that week: the evacuation, practicing elsewhere, and being away from our families. Coming back and seeing that the fans had found a way to get to the stadium really fired us up.

The season whipped the opposite direction the next game. We were up 2415 in Was.h.i.+ngton in the fourth quarter, and somehow we managed to lose 2924. Then we headed to Denver, which is always a difficult place to play. We were down 213 in the second quarter. We fought back and had a chance to take the lead with a field goal at the two-minute mark, but the kick sailed right and the Broncos held on to win, 3432.

We beat San Francisco when they came to the Superdome, putting our record at 22. The Vikings were on the horizon for Monday night. We felt like we'd put the negatives behind us, and we were ready to make a run. It was an exciting game to watch-Reggie Bush ran two punts back for touchdowns, Minnesota's Antoine Winfield blocked a field goal and returned it for a touchdown, and there were two field goals of more than fifty yards. Unfortunately, we missed a field goal at the end again, and the Vikings made theirs to win, 3027.

That was a tough loss at home, but we bounced back to beat the Raiders the next week. That put us at 33. Then we went to Carolina and lost. It seemed like every game was back and forth-win, loss, win, loss. We knew if we kept it up, we'd wind up 88, and we were not an 88 team. We had no consistency, no winning streak, no momentum. It felt like the minute we got the bus accelerating, somebody would throw on the parking brake.

There was one key moment late in the season against Tampa Bay. We were playing at Raymond James Stadium in one of those late-November Florida monsoons. It was a divisional must-win game for us. With less than four minutes to go, we had the ball with the score tied 2020. This was one of those perfect scenarios where you can calmly lead your team down the field, converting a few critical third-down throws, and then line up to kick the game-winning field goal. Instead, on the third play of the drive, I got impatient and tried to force a completion. It was intercepted, and the Buccaneers kicked a field goal to go ahead 2320. We had one more chance to either tie or win the game, but I threw another interception. They ran out the clock, and we lost.

I walked to the locker room utterly dejected. It was the worst I have ever felt after a game while wearing a Saints uniform. Within a three-minute time frame, I had blown two chances for us to win. I made a commitment right then and there that I never wanted to let down so many people who were counting on me. This was a huge divisional game-a must-win-and I didn't get the job done. I knew the opportunity would come again, and when it did, I would be ready.

Those 2007 and 2008 seasons were tough ones to go through. But they were struggles we had to face and overcome as a team in order to reach new heights and accomplish bigger things. Sometimes you have to take a few steps backward in order to advance to your ultimate goal. Without the lessons we learned during the low points of those seasons-things like perseverance and fight and coming together as a team-I don't know that we would have accomplished what we did in 2009.

An Old Foe.

Despite the disappointments of that season, there were some high points that stood out, like the trip to England to play against my former team, the Chargers. They'd had a rough start to the season just like we had, and both teams were 34 when we arrived in London. This was the first time I'd played against my old team since my injury, since signing on with the Saints. We were staying outside London, practicing on torn-up soccer fields, far from the familiar routines of home. But it didn't matter where we were playing. My teammates knew how much that game meant to me. As much as you try to make it just another game, it was hard to ignore the weight of the matchup.

The game was held at Wembley Stadium. Marty Schottenheimer had been replaced by Norv Turner by then, but Philip Rivers was their quarterback; and I knew a lot of the players and coaches who were still with the team. I wasn't looking for revenge, and although there was a part of me that wanted to make them sorry they hadn't kept me, that wasn't my real motivation. It was more like I wanted to show them their investment in me for those years was paying off. Or maybe I needed that final game to completely sever my emotional ties to the team. Whatever it was, the game was a big deal to me.

Sure enough, the game gave me the closure with San Diego I needed. It was strange to stand on the sideline, looking at my old team from fifty yards away. Those guys used to be my teammates. They were wearing the jersey I used to wear. But as familiar as some of those things were, playing opposite the Chargers gave me the confirmation that I was now where I belonged. There was no doubt in my mind. I'd known it at a gut level ever since I felt the call to New Orleans in 2006. But this matchup sealed it and gave me a sense of peace.

It was a great game, and we won 3732. In the locker room afterward, Sean Payton gave me a game ball, and the guys came up to me to say how happy they were for me. My boy Billy Miller probably had one of the best games of his Saints career that day, and he let me know after the game how important it was to him to win that one for me. In the midst of a rocky season, that was another experience that drew our team a little closer together.

The Record.

In 2008 there were records set-and one that was almost broken. We might not have made an appearance at the playoffs, but the year had some highlights. We walked away with the single-season franchise records for both scoring (461) and yards (6,571). And there was another record that hit me pretty close to home.

Dan Marino holds the single-season pa.s.sing yardage record at 5,084 yards. It's one of those hallowed achievements in football history. In the final play of the season, at the Superdome, I was probably the only person in the stadium and among TV viewers in America who didn't know we were one pa.s.s away from breaking it.

Going into the last two games of the season, we were 77 and out of playoff contention. We figured it out on paper and knew we would have to throw for nearly 760 yards in those final games in order to break Marino's record. That's a pretty far-fetched aspiration for just two games. I put it out of my head and focused on the game at hand. The most important thing was for our team to finish strong-in my eyes the team's record should always be a higher priority than an individual player's stats.

We went to Detroit and put on quite an offensive show. We threw for 350 yards. I say we not to be humble but to show that our offense is a team effort. Your offensive line has to do a great job communicating and blocking to allow you to get the ball off, and your receivers and backs have to make some plays to bail you out from time to time. Dan Marino would say the same thing.

Going into the final game, we needed 402 pa.s.sing yards to break the record. You just don't go into a game saying, "Hey, I think we're going to throw for four hundred yards tonight." It's not that easy. You have to take each play as it comes and fight for each completion. Plus, we were playing the Carolina Panthers, who were trying to win the division and get the number two seed. That would give them a week to rest and then home field advantage in the divisional round of the playoffs. They weren't resting their starters-they came ready to play and weren't about to hand us four hundred pa.s.sing yards.

Sean Payton pulled me into his office before the game against the Panthers. "We're going to get this record," he said. There was a hint of a smile on his face, but I could tell he meant business. There was no question everybody on the team wanted it. But for me as a quarterback, I couldn't go into a game playing only for a record. That would be making the same mistake we'd made at the beginning of 2007, when we'd prematurely set our sights on the Super Bowl. You have to take it one play at a time. You can't lose sight of that step-by-step process. As we started the game, I was thinking, One play at a time. Don't let the record influence your decision making. Play the game to win. If we get the record, that's the way it was meant to happen. Otherwise, don't sweat it.

The first quarter was ugly, and we went scoreless. Most of the second quarter wasn't much better, though we did hit a field goal. We weren't clicking offensively. We probably only had about eighty yards pa.s.sing, so at that point I was thinking, There's no way we can break the record now. No way.

But during a two-minute drive before the half, we got a chunk of pa.s.sing yards and scored to start closing the gap on the lead. That made it 2310. For the first time all game, it felt like something was stirring in the team.

Even so, n.o.body told me about our progress toward the record during the game. That was how I preferred it. It's like a pitcher who has a no-hitter going-n.o.body wants to say anything to him and break his concentration.

On the Panthers' first possession of the second half, they went down the field and scored. They were up 3010 going into the fourth quarter.

On the second play of the final quarter, we scored, making it 3017. We stopped Carolina and got the ball back. At this point we had no other choice but to be in our two-minute offense the entire fourth quarter. I threw the ball on almost every play, just trying to get down the field. We scored again, throwing eleven pa.s.ses on a twelve-play touchdown drive to make it 3024. To win the game, we knew our defense had to hold the Panthers and our offense had to score one more touchdown. We got the ball back again and made a quick touchdown to pull ahead 3130. The crowd was going wild. We had been losing by twenty points going into the fourth quarter and now we were winning. It was unbelievable!

We kicked off with 3:11 on the clock. Our defense had held all quarter, but Jake Delhomme marched the Panthers downfield, using almost all of the clock. With the final seconds ticking away, they kicked a forty-two-yard field goal to take the lead, 3331.

I looked up at the clock after the ball sailed through the uprights. It read 0:01.

Carolina still had to kick off to us, and everyone in the stadium knew what they were going to do. They would squib kick it down the middle of the field, and as soon as one of our guys touched it, the clock would run. We could try to pitch it around and head for the end zone, but without a penalty, that would be our last play. The offense really had no chance to get on the field unless the Panthers made a mistake.

The Panthers squibbed the kick as we expected, but it wasn't right down the middle of the field, and the ball went out-of-bounds. Our guys didn't touch it, so no time expired, and we would be getting the ball at our forty yard line. There was still one second left. One more chance for the offense to get back on the field.

I went onto the field knowing there was only one way for us to win the game. We had the ball at our thirty-five yard line because of a penalty. We didn't have time to set up for a field goal, so my only option was to throw a Hail Mary into the end zone. What I hadn't noticed was a fan in the stands counting down the number of yards we needed to break the Marino record. We needed fifteen yards to tie it and sixteen yards to break it. Everybody else knew it but me.

"Hail Mary, right, Coach?" I said to Sean. I didn't even think there was a question about it.

I got about halfway out to the huddle when he called me back to the sideline. The coaches had all been talking and strategizing, but it seemed like a no-brainer to me.

"Drew, tell you what," Sean said. "It's probably a little far out for a Hail Mary. Just tell the receivers as they're lining up to get in the Hail Mary formation, but then run down only about twenty yards and turn around. You throw it to whoever's open, and they can start pitching it and head for the end zone."

I got into the huddle and told the guys about the formation, but I didn't communicate the play clearly. They heard "Hail Mary" but didn't understand the rest of what we were doing. I dropped back to throw, and immediately I could tell there was a sense of confusion. You're never sure how a team will defend that Hail Mary pa.s.s. Sometimes they play way downfield, and sometimes they bring up defenders to press or b.u.mp the receivers. We weren't technically running a Hail Mary play, so the rules on where the receivers would go were a little fuzzy.

I wound up throwing to a receiver who wasn't even looking for the ball, and it fell incomplete. If we had completed that pa.s.s, which was twenty-five yards downfield, maybe we could have flipped it back enough times to score. Worst-case scenario, we would have set a new pa.s.sing record. Instead, we came up sixteen yards short.

Everybody was devastated, but at that point I still had no idea why. I figured they were sharing in my own frustration of coming back from being twenty points down in the fourth quarter, taking the lead, only to give it right back. That was why I was upset. It wasn't until later that I realized how close we'd come. At the end of that season I was named the 2008 offensive player of the year, but I would have traded that t.i.tle for a chance at the playoffs.

I mentioned it before, but I love this phrase I heard a long time ago: "Experience is what you gain when you don't get what you want." I get a kick out of this because it's absolutely true in my life. It seems like that's the only way I learn. Sometimes you get thrown into the fire, and sometimes you get burned. But you gain experience from those losses and the times you get kicked while you're down. When you keep working toward your goal but don't get what you want, remembering this allows you to really appreciate, at the end of the journey, what you've been through to get there. There is nothing like the satisfaction that comes when you finally achieve what you set your hopes on, when the experience you've gained from the ups and downs pays off.

The highs and lows weren't over for me personally. The next year would hold one of the best things that ever happened to me-and one of the most crus.h.i.+ng losses of my life.

Chapter Fifteen.

Gains and Losses.

One of the strange things about life is the way our deepest sorrows can coexist with our greatest joys. Sometimes the good is woven in so tightly with the difficult times that it's almost impossible to separate the two. That's how the year 2009 was for my family and me: full of highs and lows, beginnings and endings, new life and death.

G.o.d's Gift to Our Family.

My son, Baylen, has been one of G.o.d's most incredible gifts to Brittany and me. There's no question he has changed my entire life, my whole way of looking at things. Before he was even able to talk, he was such an inspiration to me and helped me put life in perspective. Being a father has made my preparations each week and everything I do as a football player that much better, because I know that, no matter what happens, when I come home at night, he's going to be there.

Brittany and I had wanted to begin our family in the off-season of 2006, but my injury threw a wrench into those plans. Then the minute we signed with New Orleans, there was so much to do. I was focused on rehab, and I also had to reestablish myself and my career. We had to find a home, and once we did, we needed to fix it up so we could live there. All of that made us rethink the timing and push back having children. After the 2008 season was over, we prayed about it and talked more about the roots we were putting down. We felt good about being in New Orleans, and we were looking forward to raising our children here. We both thought this was the time to start our family.

Brittany was the most unbelievable pregnant woman. Beforehand she warned me that pregnancy can really change a woman's behavior. "Listen, when I get pregnant, I'm going to have these cravings and mood swings," she would say. "You'd just better be ready for all of this."

She was trying to prepare me for the physical, mental, and emotional fluctuations that were bound to come. I knew about the hormonal changes that get stirred up in a woman's body when she becomes pregnant and how much turmoil that can cause. On top of that, we'd heard horror stories of the first trimester and how hard it is because of morning sickness and fatigue and changes in the body. But in Brittany's case, we weren't even positive she was pregnant at first. She had no morning sickness or mood swings or any signs to tell us otherwise. When we went in for what we thought was the eight-week ultrasound, the doctor said the baby was already almost three months along.

One of the tough things about moving to a new city was finding a doctor. We wanted to make sure the person who brought our child into the world was the best. After asking several people for recommendations and going in for a visit, we decided on Dr. Liz Lapeyre. As a first-time parent, you really have no idea how many things you just don't know. I think I asked more questions than Brittany did at the visit. Liz has five children of her own, and she was great. No matter what time we texted her with crazy questions, she always responded. She was the first person to ever see and hold our son, and now she is a big part of our family.

But at that moment I just stared at Dr. Lapeyre. "Are you sure?" I said.

She gave me a look. "Your baby is twelve weeks along."

I didn't need her to break down the math for me. This had obviously happened on the first try.

Before the pregnancy, Brittany had set a goal to be in the best shape of her life going into it and then to do her best to maintain that strength and stamina right up to the due date. She stuck to that and really saw it through. After all we'd learned about the importance of diet and sleep habits from Dr. Heitsch, she believed that being in shape and eating well would help her deal with the changes to come. She cut out most caffeine and continued to exercise hard throughout the entire pregnancy. She was nine months pregnant and still working out. People couldn't believe what great shape she was in. Brittany talks a lot about my discipline in terms of training and getting ready to play each game, but I was in awe of her work ethic and daily regimen.

Throughout the pregnancy it was amazing to watch not just Baylen's growth inside of Brittany but also the way her body naturally responded to the new life. She was meant to be a mom. She did whatever she could to care for the baby growing inside her. And if I can say so myself, she was a s.e.xy pregnant woman! People talk about the "pregnancy glow," but Brittany really did have a glow about her that was remarkable. Plus, I also couldn't get over the amazing fact that what she was carrying inside her was a product of our love. She was the happiest I had ever seen her, and we would sit up for hours at night and watch her belly s.h.i.+ft from side to side. Baylen was nonstop from the get-go.

A lot of people tried to prepare me for the birthing process. I kept hearing, "You haven't seen anything till you see your child born." And they were right. If you don't believe in G.o.d or if you have any kind of reservations about your faith, watch a baby being born. It's hard to witness an event like that as anything other than a miracle from G.o.d, evidence of his handiwork.

Leading up to the delivery, I was really nervous for Brittany. I wanted everything to go well, but there was only so much I could control. I tried to prepare myself mentally in case something went wrong or they needed to do a C-section. You hear stories about thirty-hour labors and the intensity of the pain. I'd experienced my share of pain on the field, but nothing like this.

My role in the delivery was to be her coach. "Brittany, what do you want me to do? I'll hold your hand. You can squeeze my hand off if you want. You can punch me in the arm. You can do whatever you want. I'm here to support you and help you any way I can."

As it turned out, my biggest job during the delivery was to hold one of her legs. I wound up providing the leverage for the final push. Brittany was a champ. She only had to push for an hour, but that was some hard-core pus.h.i.+ng. To my surprise, the first words out of her mouth after Baylen popped out were "That wasn't so bad. Let's do it again." He was born seven pounds, seven ounces, at 2:22 p.m. on January 15, 2009-which also happened to be my thirtieth birthday. I don't think you can write a better script or story for the birth of your first child.

Some people have asked how I would compare the Super Bowl win to the birth of my son, and I'd say the emotions were similar. I was crying as I watched Baylen come into the world, and it was such a special moment to see Brittany hold her firstborn child. Then there was the incredible feeling of holding this tiny baby in my arms for the first time, looking at Brittany and laughing and crying at the same time, saying, "We created this little guy." It was an amazing experience. The way I saw it, that day in the hospital and that moment on the field in Miami were both dreams come true-all the waiting, all the preparation, and the feeling that G.o.d had done all this and worked it out in his own time.

In some ways I think Baylen was the missing link in our lives. I can't wait to get home at night because I get a chance to read him a story before he goes to sleep and maybe change a diaper or two. It doesn't matter what we're doing; I'm just glad I get to be with him. That prospect helps me focus throughout the day and get everything accomplished so I can make it home as soon as possible. In the past, I might have called Brittany and said, "Hey, babe, I'm going to be thirty or forty-five minutes late." I can't make that excuse anymore because if I don't make it home in time, Baylen is already asleep in his bed. This little guy has been part of the process of my becoming more responsible in areas of my life I hadn't really thought much about before.

I can't wait to be all-time quarterback for my kids. I'm visualizing the backyard matchups already. And the girl, when she comes along, will be right there in the middle of the game. I'm fairly sure we'll have a girl at some point because I don't think Brittany will stop until that happens. She loves having a little boy, but her eyes light up whenever we talk about the possibility of a Brees girl.

The Name.

If you want to know the truth about the name Baylen, we made it up.

Brittany and I kept the baby name book industry in business for the last five months of her pregnancy. We settled on a list of names for boys and a list for girls and then whittled them each down from there, almost like the baby name playoffs. But from the minute we discovered we were having a boy, we nixed all five of those boys' names and started over. They just didn't feel quite right.

Brittany would suggest a name, and I never once said, "Oh, that's nice. I like that." Instead, I would say, "No, there was a kid back home named Buford who used to pick on me in second grade. We can't name him that." Of course we never seriously considered Buford Brees, but you get the picture. Suddenly, instead of having lots of names in the running, there were no names at all in the baby name playoffs.

We turned to the books again. We bought every baby name book we could find, poring through them and going online to look up every name that's ever been given to a child on the planet. But no matter how hard we tried, we couldn't find anything we liked. We were settled on the middle name Robert, after my grandfather Robert Ray Akins, the legendary Texas football coach, but we weren't making any progress on the first name.

It was the fourth quarter in the baby name playoffs, and time was running out. As I recall, two days before Baylen was born, Brittany looked at me, inspired. "What about Baylen?" She didn't find it in any of the books we'd bought or on any of the Web sites. It just came out of her mouth.

My first reaction was "It sounds like it's missing a letter. Maybe an r somewhere in there."

I'd heard of Braylen before and even Daylen, but I'd never met a Baylen. At first all I could think about was a farmer balin' hay.

"I don't know."

"I like it; it's the one," she said.

I should have known right then that the playoffs were over. She called everybody she knew, asking, "What do you think about the name Baylen?"

Everybody loved it. And I have to admit, it grew on me. Now when I look at my son, I can't imagine him as anything but Baylen. As usual, it was a good call on Brittany's part.

The Hair.

In the 2008 off-season, I started growing out my hair during training camp and continued throughout the season. Because of the way 2007 had gone, I decided to be like Samson-to let my hair get long as we built up our strength to win. It grew. And grew.

I have a picture of my dad holding me when I was a baby, and he had that cla.s.sic long hair that was in style in the 1970s. The s.h.a.ggy rock band look. When we discovered Baylen was on his way, I thought, I want my son to be able to look back at old pictures and say the same thing about me that I said about my own dad. Who knows what the trend will be when he's a teenager.