Читать книгу Winning: From Walk-On to Captain, in Football and Life - Gary Brackett - Страница 9

You know how some days you wake up and just feel different? And how the craziest of things can get you going? Well, this was one of those days. The sun seemed to shine a bit brighter through the window. My breakfast tasted a little better. The SportsCenter anchor’s jokes were slightly funnier.

It was almost like Christmas morning, except instead of a football or the toys I anxiously awaited as a child, on this day I awaited something…a bit different. The doorbell rang. A FedEx van pulled away as I reached the front door, where an Astor & Black box sat. This could only be one thing. I knew it was my suit. This was going to be clean, I tell you. Clean! Clean is the only word that works when things are this perfect. I’m gonna be cleaner than the Board of Health. To go with this perfect suit, I found the exact pair of socks I needed. Purple socks for a gray suit with purple pinstripes. What could be cleaner than that?

The buzz of a text message snapped me back to reality.

“What time we leavin’?”

I responded right back: “Same.”

Since everything was going right, change would be foolish—I intended to ride this wave all the way. He wanted later, I wanted earlier. We had met in the middle and agreed on 1:00. I always wanted to be on time, but he liked to cut it close. Other than that, my boy Cato and I were cut from the same cloth. Since we worked together and lived right next to each other, carpooling made a lot of sense—even more sense in the winter. After a three-hour plane ride, nothing would stink more than digging a car out of February snow all alone.

I walked over to Cato’s house, hurdling across the stepping-stones to avoid the snow. The cold invigorated me; the day kept getting better. Cato was decked out in a fine tan suit with an orange liner and orange stripes. He hadn’t stopped there: even his shoes were orange.

“You went all out, huh, Cato?”

He laughed, “A man’s got to coordinate…got to coordinate! Like I say, unison makes you look good, feel good, and play good.”

Normally in the NFL, players order suits to wear as they travel. I usually ordered around six a year and recycled a couple from the previous season. But for the Super Bowl, we took everything up a notch. Just like a businessman who wants to look his best for big deals, football players want to look especially good for big games. So, many players get suits specially tailored for them in preparation for the biggest game. The tailor already has your measurements from throughout the year, so you select the colors or cut, tell them about any extras you want added, put in the rush order, and wait anxiously. Well, that is what Cato and I did, and the results were definitely worth the wait!

As we stood together laughing over our fits, particularly fine suits for this day, Cato asked, “How you feelin’, G Baby?”

He always referred to me as G Baby, one of my many nicknames in many circles.

“Good, man, good,” I replied.

“When’s your fam heading down?”

“Prob next week.”

“Who’s coming with? Mom and dad? Brothers and sisters?”

And just like that, the morning’s good mood dropped a few degrees as Cato realized his misstep.

“No, man, just the brothers and sister.”

“Aw, my bad. That’s what I meant.”

I didn’t blame him. People shouldn’t have to tiptoe around my parents’ passing. After all, no one expects someone this young to be in my situation. Of the many challenges I’ve faced, this one continues to shake me: life’s highs just aren’t the same without my parents. But, every person, even those who might be considered “average” faces extraordinary challenges. We are all forged and fueled by fires. I don’t believe we can ever prevent them, so the crucial question is how well we will handle them? Will we burn away, or will we develop resilience for future fights? Will we shrink or grow? I say grow. Fight or take flight? I guess I was always one to choose fight.

Cato and I came up together in the league. In 2003, he was a sixth-round draft pick out of Michigan and I was an undrafted rookie free agent, which meant that during tryouts—I still remember the anxiety—we had plenty of reasons to worry about whether or not we would make the squad.

We have shared, and still share, many common experiences. As the big money earners in our families, we both feel responsible for others in a way we didn’t experience until making the NFL. We both know what it’s like to have others look to you for help. We also share the common drive to be the most-prepared player each and every day we step on the field. Whereas most players watch game film on DVD players, Cato and I both bring computers, like the coaches, to review and dissect film more thoroughly. These computers allow the player to pause, rewind in slow motion, and edit out sequences to highlight common tendencies or weaknesses. After all this film work, we always compare notes and try to anticipate what our opposition is going to do.

Football players have all sorts of time commitments, many of which are common to the whole team. So, in addition to our shared focus on film, we decided to share a neighborhood. We bought houses together and decided that we would be permanent carpool mates.

Now we were leaving together for the biggest moment of our professional careers. We left for the Colts’ facility, where we would board a team bus that would take us to the airport. After that…Miami!

In our excitement, we talked plays as we drove to our destination. We focused particularly on the Chicago’s NFC Championship game against the New Orleans Saints. We analyzed their tendencies, strengths, and weaknesses. We also talked some of our recent victory in the AFC Championship game over the New England Patriots. We’d won on a great second-half comeback; the W had been sealed by an interception in the final minutes. However, our excitement over that victory paled in comparison to the opportunity granted to us as a result. Beating the Pats put us in the biggest game of our life, the Super Bowl.

Team flights always leave at 2:00 p.m. Waiting for us when we arrived at the Colts’ facility was a nice surprise. They were letting the players park on the practice turf in the barn. An assistant equipment manager directed us to our spot.

“You guys can pull over there by Dwight Freeney, Mr. Brackett.”

“Man, I can’t believe you’re letting us park inside.”

“Well Gary, you know they are forecasting a big February storm. We didn’t want the Super Bowl champs to come back and have to dig their cars out!”

“Super Bowl champs, huh? That has a nice ring to it. We’ll see what we can do.”

“All right, after you park, check on your tickets, tag your bags, and make sure everything is in order.”

As we climbed out of the car, Cato and I noticed that we weren’t the only guys who were all decked out. The southern guys wore grills that sparkled golden when they smiled. Diamond chains surrounded most players’ necks—the rookies were getting a bit of grief for theirs. Since we knew their salaries, and knew how much we had paid for our own chains, it was pretty simple to do the math on the fly. Any chain a rookie wore that was larger than ours—especially if it was three times larger—had to be fake! As I looked at the fake attempts at style I couldn’t help but ask a young practice squad player (fully expecting a lie), “How much did you pay for that chain?”

“Couple bucks.”

“My leg…”

“What about your leg?”

“You’re pullin’ it.”

The chain probably wasn’t worth more than a few hundred or so. There was no way he could afford a diamond chain like that as a rookie.

Dominic Rhodes, our fearless and personable running back, couldn’t resist greeting the rooks with some jabs, “Hey, hey, where did you get that suit? Burlington Coat Factory? Target?”

“No chance, bro.”

The most cutting insult for a guy dressed in a tailored suit was to ask if he just got it off the rack at some store.

“Yeah, Dominic, well at least I didn’t steal my shoes from Ronald McDonald! Where’d you get those clown boots anyway?”

Even though we were throwing jabs, it was all fun and games. Sometimes in life you have to pat yourself on the back. Sometimes you have to throw a personal party, send flowers to yourself, and go out and buy yourself something nice. We were going to the Super Bowl and were dressed for success. My philosophy has always been: make an investment in yourself. Well, I had invested in myself for so long. I’d spent so many days on the practice field, in the weight room, and choosing the healthier options in the cafeteria over the more enticing ones. We have most certainly invested in ourselves to get here. Why not have a bit of fun along the way?

As we got on the bus, guys followed the unwritten seating assignments: veterans in the front—another tangible reward for their years of service. Seats up front meant being first to board the plane, first to get food, and, of course, respect. Veterans lead the team on the bus and plane, just as they lead on the field.

We all noticed the new plane that our bus pulled up to. It looked like Mr. Irsay, the owner of the team, had pulled out all the stops. Reggie Wayne took a seat up front, and I sat next to him. Mathis was across from Cato in the next row.

When we arrived in Miami, the team would relax for the evening before the next day’s activities—meetings about coverages, schemes, and game planning to brush up on. No one complained about the schedule. This was uncharted territory for us, and we definitely wanted to take advantage of a golden opportunity.

Usually, these kinds of trips weren’t much more than a business trip, but guys wanted to document this particular experience. Despite our awareness of this trip’s serious nature, we felt like a bunch of school kids as we boarded the plane. Fancy cameras and camcorders were out. My dad once said, “The only difference between men and boys is the price of their toys.” Wel, Dad would have felt himself vindicated if he’d seen this plane’s company. Everyone was wearing the latest watches and fresh suits, chains, and fronts. All the excitement was fine, but we had to make sure we didn’t get distracted from our main goal by getting caught up in all the glitz and glamour of South Beach. We had business to accomplish: winning a world championship and bringing home the Vince Lombardi Trophy.

As soon as we took off, some guys started rolling dice and playing booray. Some guys look at the Super Bowl bonuses as play money—unexpected income. Guys had anywhere from $10,000 to $20,000 on hand and were expecting to win or lose big. Card games were always rich on NFL flights, and this one was gonna be richer than others. I don’t usually play. I’m more of a spades player, myself.

Rookies were required to bring food for the veterans. What will it be for my snack today? KFC? Subway? Buffalo Wild Wings? Something else? I settle for some wings from BW3s, courtesy of Freddy Keiaho.

• • • • •

As I finally reached my seat, well-fed and excited about the coming week, I felt the urge to play some music on my computer. When I opened up my Mac Book Pro and turned on some Jay-Z, I noticed that I had forgotten to load my pictures from the AFC Championship game. I had a limited amount of space left on my memory stick, so I began to upload pictures from my camera to my computer. The pictures finished loading, and I began to look though some of them. The way iPhoto works, the oldest photo comes up on the top—some old pictures my sister had sent a while back popped up first on screen. I hesitated for a moment as the picture triggered an old feeling. My family and I are standing in front of our house in Glassboro, New Jersey—must be about 1984, because I look like I’m around four or five years old. Milestones and achievements stir reflection, and I couldn’t help but tie that memory to this new one I was now making. Wow, the picture looks to be so old, and at the same time it feels like just yesterday.…