Coming Back Stronger (22 page)

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 anticipated another storm and wondered if all their rebuilding work would be washed away. After what we’d learned from Katrina, nobody 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 20–17 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 pass with less than a minute left in the game. It was a dramatic win, 24–20. 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 24–15 in Washington in the fourth quarter, and somehow we managed to lose 29–24. Then we headed to Denver, which is always a difficult place to play. We were down 21–3 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, 34–32.

We beat San Francisco when they came to the Superdome, putting our record at 2–2. 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, 30–27.

That was a tough loss at home, but we bounced back to beat the Raiders the next week. That put us at 3–3. 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 8–8, and we were not an 8–8 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 20–20. 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 23–20. 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.

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 3–4 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 37–32. 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.

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 passing 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 pass away from breaking it.

Going into the last two games of the season, we were 7–7 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 passing 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 passing 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 passing, 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 passing yards and scored to start closing the gap on the lead. That made it 23–10. For the first time all game, it felt like something was stirring in the team.

Even so, nobody 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—nobody 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 30–10 going into the fourth quarter.

On the second play of the final quarter, we scored, making it 30–17. 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 passes on a twelve-play touchdown drive to make it 30–24. 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 31–30. 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, 33–31.

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 pass. Sometimes they play way downfield, and sometimes they bring up defenders to press or bump 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 pass, 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 passing 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 title 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 crushing losses of my life.