Coming Back Stronger (4 page)

Two years later, I was a senior, and we were playing Ohio State. We’d had a frustrating year in 1999, going 7–5 and making it to the Outback Bowl but losing to a talented Georgia team in overtime. Now it was a new season, a new millennium, and there were great hopes that this was going to be our year.

We started out with a disappointing 3–2 record. We had two heartbreaking road losses to Penn State and Notre Dame—both by just two points. The next game was in West Lafayette against Michigan, who was ranked sixth. Then we had to go on the road against Wisconsin and Northwestern, both ranked in the top twenty. After that we’d play at home against Ohio State, another top ten team. And we hadn’t beaten Michigan and Ohio State in forever, it seemed. Looking at this schedule could have been overwhelming, but that’s why the philosophy always needs to be one game at a time. Never look too far ahead, or you will end up tripping over something right in front of you. We could do this. We had to do this. We had no other choice if we wanted to be called champions.

The first victim was Michigan, and it was a wild game—we won with a last-second field goal, 32–31. We then went to Northwestern and won. Next we traveled to Wisconsin and won in overtime. The team was rolling, and we were ready for the showdown: Ohio State at Purdue. We were ranked sixteen, they were twelve, and everybody was saying, “This game is for the Rose Bowl.” Whoever won that game had to win only one more game to clinch the Big Ten title.

It was a late October night—a great night for football. The Purdue fans were into the game, and everyone was pumped to beat Ohio State. But we didn’t start well. Going into the fourth quarter, we were losing 20–10, and I had thrown three interceptions. This was not what I’d envisioned for this game. We had moved the ball well offensively; we just kept turning it over at the worst times. But in spite of all that, in the fourth quarter we were down only two scores.

We started the fourth quarter with the ball and drove down the field. I threw a touchdown pass to wide receiver John Standeford: 20–17, Ohio State. We got the ball back, and I threw another touchdown pass, this time to wide receiver Vinny Sutherland. Now we were winning 24–20 with about six minutes left in the game. The fans were going wild. The defense stepped up, and we got the ball back with a chance to run out the clock.

We ran a few plays and watched the clock. It could not tick down fast enough. The number one priority in this situation was to take care of the football. Whatever we did, we couldn’t give them a short field or any momentum with a turnover. The next play I dropped back to pass and was immediately flushed out of the pocket by a blitzing linebacker running free up the middle. I scrambled to my right and thought, Be smart. Throw the ball away. As I pulled the ball back to throw it away, my foot slipped and the ball fluttered in the air toward the sideline. It didn’t go out-of-bounds like I’d intended—it sailed. I watched in horror as the strong safety, Mike Doss, intercepted it and ran it down the sideline. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Practically on autopilot, I chased him down and knocked him out-of-bounds at the two yard line. In the process, I almost knocked myself out.

Dazed, I tried to get up onto one knee. What did I just do?

Ohio State celebrated around me, and our defense came out. I headed back to the sideline and watched as, a couple of plays later, the Buckeyes scored a touchdown to go up 27–24 with a little over two minutes left in the game. Some players tapped me and said, “It’s okay,” or “Go win the game for us.” But other than that people pretty much left me alone.

As I did between most drives in the game, I got on the phone with my quarterbacks coach, Greg Olson, who was positioned up in the press box. “Shake it off. Focus on the next series. You are going to win this game for us—you watch.”

It was eerie how similar this felt to that Notre Dame game two years earlier, but I had learned from that experience. Finally defensive end Warren “Ike” Moore came up to me. He was a senior, too, and a guy who really didn’t get a lot of playing time. But he was a well-respected, quiet leader on the team. He put his arm around me and said something I’ll never forget.

“You broke it. Now go out and fix it.”

For some reason that made sense. It had been my mistake, but I had time to make up for that mistake. Instead of kicking myself or replaying the interception, I focused on the task at hand. One thing you learn quickly is that great quarterbacks must have short-term memories when it comes to things like this. Good or bad, you have to be able to finish a play, push it aside, and move on to the next one. You can never let a play from the past affect the present. Your job is to play in the moment.

Ohio State kicked off, and I went out onto the field. I was feeling the pressure, but it was that pressure that gave me an edge. I was focused and determined and maintained the philosophy of one play at a time. Trust yourself. Trust your teammates. Trust the progression. I threw the first pass, but it was batted down by the defense. Okay, shake it off. Second and ten. Our offensive coordinator, Jim Chaney, then called a routine play—one of my favorites. In this play there are four receivers to throw the ball to. Ninety percent of the time the ball goes to the first or second receiver. The third receiver gets the ball about 10 percent of the time. And then there’s the guy on the outside who runs a post route to clear out the defense. He never gets the ball, except maybe one play in a thousand.

I dropped back and went through my progression. This drill was ingrained in me. You practice it; you visualize it; you go through each receiver methodically and decide yes or no. If any receiver in the progression is open, you pull the trigger. I read the first receiver on a hitch to my left, and he was covered. The second receiver, running a seam route down the left numbers, was covered too. Next I looked at the seam route running right down the middle of the field, and the defense was all over him. All three were a no go.

Then I scanned for the fourth option—the one I never threw to. He was open—and I mean wide open! In a split second, my mind said, Turn it loose. The ball came out of my hand, and Seth Morales caught it for a sixty-four-yard touchdown. We won the game 31–27.

Overcome with emotion, I went down on one knee. “Thank you, Lord.” My offensive linemen came over and picked me up.

The left tackle, Matt Light, who now has a great career with the New England Patriots, including three Super Bowl rings, was one of the first ones there. He grabbed me under my shoulder pads and lifted me off the ground while screaming in my face, “That is what makes you great! That is what makes you great!” What a moment. I loved my offensive line. Most of them were seniors, and we had set out on this journey together. That’s what made the experience so special—being able to share it with people like them.

After four years of hard work, we finally had a chance to win the Big Ten championship and go to the Rose Bowl. We could have given up when Ohio State scored the touchdown. I could have beaten myself up over the mistake. But I was given the opportunity to make it right, to fix it.

We fixed it together.

Not long ago I talked with Coach Jim Tressel, who has coached Ohio State since 2001. He said, “I’ll never forget what you did to Ohio State in that game in 2000. In fact, I might not have this job if it weren’t for that play.” John Cooper was the head coach at Ohio State that year, and he was let go after that season.

“I guess everything happens for a reason, doesn’t it, Coach?” I said.

Girl Meets Idiot Quarterback

In high school and in college, I was the kind of guy who was friends with everybody. I dated a lot of girls, but I never found anyone I wanted to be serious with. My longest relationship up to that point had probably lasted no more than a couple of months. School and athletics consumed me. When I got to Purdue, I was even more lasered in on football and academics. I was an industrial management major with a manufacturing minor. Everyone knows Purdue is one of the top ten engineering schools in the country, but most people don’t realize that the Krannert School of Management at Purdue is in the top ten among business schools at public universities. My course work upheld Purdue’s reputation as the Ivy League of the Midwest.

I started off the first semester of my freshman year with a 3.5 GPA, but that fell off significantly in the spring with a 2.6 GPA, due in large part to my pledgeship responsibilities with Sigma Chi fraternity. But no excuses. I needed to suck it up. I continued on a pretty good pace with my classes until the spring of my sophomore year, when I made a D in one of the most important management courses. This put my GPA right around a 3.2, which wasn’t all bad, except that in order to be considered for Academic All-American, you have to have at least a 3.25 GPA. That was one of my goals, and I was not about to let Management 201 get the best of me.

I very easily could have moved on to the next prerequisite courses for my major, but the D did not sit well with me. That was the first and only D I’d ever made in my life. When summer school rolled around, I enrolled in the course again. It was time to seek my redemption. I needed a B to hit the 3.25 mark for Academic All-American, and when it came time for the final, I was right on the bubble. I had to get a B on the test—there was no other option. I studied and prepared as much as I could, and after the two-hour exam, I had to wait a full day for the results. I was chomping at the bit, but when the score came back, I had aced the final with a 100 percent. My final grade for the course was an A. I was able to keep up the Academic All-American title throughout my time at Purdue.

With all that was on my mind with academics and football, I didn’t let myself dream of getting married and settling down yet. I was too focused on everything else. But I’ll tell you the truth: the minute I saw Brittany, I told myself, I’m going to marry that woman. Of course, she didn’t feel that way about me, because I made a fool of myself the first time I met her.

It was January 15, 1999, my twentieth birthday. I was with a bunch of players who lived at an apartment complex near school, and we were feeling pretty invincible that night, having partaken of a few adult beverages to celebrate my birthday. I’m not proud of it, but that’s what we sometimes did on a night out with the fellas. I remember seeing Brittany from twenty feet away, walking across the parking lot toward the apartment. She was with a friend of hers who knew one of the guys on our team. I just stared at her and wondered, Who is that? She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And look at the way she carries herself. It’s hard to describe the feeling that came over me at that moment. My legs became weak, my mind halted, and my heart just melted. I knew right then that I wanted to marry her.

At one point during the evening I got up enough nerve to talk with her. I was acting stupid because of the alcohol, throwing out every cheesy pickup line in the book. It’s humiliating to even recall it. I remember Brittany looking at me and just shaking her head before she simply walked away.

I found out later that when I left, she was thinking, Who is this young idiot who’s so full of himself? Somebody told her I was the quarterback of the football team, to which she responded, “Then who is this young idiot football player who’s so full of himself?” Turns out my cheesy pickup lines had sent her running, and the fact that I played football pretty much solidified I would never get a shot again. Football players don’t have the greatest reputation for being good boyfriends, and she wanted nothing to do with me.

When I woke up the next day, my head was pounding and I was kicking myself. I’m such a jerk. I blew it. I figured I’d probably never see her again. Actually I hoped I wouldn’t run into her because of how embarrassed I felt. I was sure I’d ruined any opportunity to get to know her.

However, for the next six months I saw Brittany everywhere. On the way to class, out to eat somewhere, at a party, in the library—wherever I went, she was there. On a campus with thirty-five thousand students, this was no small feat. I wasn’t sure why this was happening, but to me it seemed like more than chance. To hear Brittany’s version of things, she figured I was a full-blown stalker at that point. She thought I was creepy; I was sure it was destiny.

Every time I saw her, I watched from across the room (okay, so maybe a little creepy), thinking, I really want to talk to her, but she thinks I’m an idiot. I might have been confident on the football field, but I was really shy in these kinds of situations. I started scheming ways to make up for my embarrassing first impression. The truth was, even though I’d been drinking the night I first met her, I didn’t go out a lot. I wasn’t a big partyer. I was grateful to be at a good school, and I was focused on my education and my commitment to the football team. Now I just had to get Brittany to see that.

Six months later I was going to summer school and heading into summer training. Brittany was there for the summer too since she had a job there. On June 25, I was invited to a friend’s apartment, and one of the guys from the team went with me. It was our first night back from break, just before we started our practice schedule in the Midwest heat. I was talking to some guys and having a great time but was about to call it a night because of some early commitments I had the next day. Just then Brittany walked in the door with two of her friends. This was it—my chance at redemption.

For all this time I’d been scared to talk to her. But maybe, just maybe, enough time had passed to make her forget my stupid behavior in January. As the crowd mingled, Brittany’s two friends left her side long enough for me to make my move. I kind of snuck up to her and confidently said hello, pretending we were meeting for the first time.

Sure enough, she hadn’t forgotten. I couldn’t quite place the look on her face. Was she surprised? startled? maybe even a little scared? Regardless, I had her cornered, and she was forced to talk to me. I introduced myself and started over.

With the loud music and conversation, I knew this wasn’t the best place to get to know her. I wanted to find out more about her, and I really wanted her to know I wasn’t a jerk. My strategy was to get to a place where we could be alone and talk.

“Where are you guys going?” I asked Brittany and her friends. I knew they lived in an apartment complex a few miles away. Maybe I could finagle my way into driving her home and having a little more time with her.

“Oh, we’re just going back to our apartment. I need to get some sleep.” Little did she know that I had several friends who lived near her in the same apartment complex. I also knew that everyone was headed back there to go swimming. She was trying to get rid of me, but it wasn’t working.

I looked at my watch. “Yeah, it is getting late. Well, I was going to head over anyway to go swimming with my friends. Can I catch a ride with you?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I probably shouldn’t be driving.”

“Well, at least I could drive you home so you don’t have to come back for your car tomorrow.”

She winced. “No thanks.”

“Really, it’s no problem. I’ll drive your car back.”

“It’s a stick. I’m sure you don’t know how to drive it,” she said, feeling pretty confident that this would end the conversation and she would be rid of me.

“Oh, sure,” I lied. I’d never driven a standard in my life.

She finally relented. “Okay. I guess you can drive my car and just drop us at home.”

“Okay, cool.”

We got to her car, which was a 1990 Toyota Celica twin turbo in two shades of red. It had been in an accident at some point, and the front left fender had been repainted a slightly different shade from the rest of the car since Brittany had to pay for the repairs herself.

We got to the car, and I put the key in. I felt as nervous at that moment as in any game against a Big Ten opponent. I knew enough to push in the clutch, but I wasn’t sure what to do next. I got the car started and tried to figure out how to put it in reverse.

“Are you sure you’ve driven a stick before?” she said.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just not used to how loose this clutch is. It’s different.”

I started sweating. Don’t ruin this. This is your one chance to make up for being such an idiot. I got us out of the parking lot, and we began jerking down the street. I pulled to a stop sign, and we stalled. Brittany just stared at me.

“Don’t worry; we’re fine,” I said.

It took me half an hour to drive to her apartment—a drive that should have taken only about five minutes. At one point during our whiplashed road trip, I heard Brittany’s head hit the window as I gunned the car forward. I looked over hesitantly, but to my relief Brittany was laughing so hard, there were tears coming down her face. Maybe she was coming around and starting to appreciate my effort, or I had just given her a concussion and she wouldn’t remember this ride home in the morning. Either scenario could work to my advantage.

Somehow, someway, I got us to her place in one piece. I handed her the keys and told her I was going to meet my friends at the pool and I’d love for her to join us. I really didn’t know if she would show up or not. But a few minutes later, there she was, along with her roommate. I felt like I was slowly making progress. After we swam for a while, I asked Brittany if I could use her apartment to change into my dry clothes. She agreed, and I walked her and her roommate back to their apartment. We ended up sitting in her place and talking for hours. We watched the sun come up. And we found we had so many things in common—our love for traveling, our families, the faith and beliefs we shared, how many children we wanted, and on and on. Brittany had been raised in the Episcopal church, and with my faith having really blossomed at St. Andrew’s Episcopal School, we had very similar beliefs. I hoped she was starting to see that I really wasn’t this cheeseball who had hit on her six months earlier. I was a decent guy, not the “typical football player” that people have preconceived notions about.

I didn’t tell her that night because I didn’t want to freak her out, but I was sure of it now: I was going to marry this girl. Brittany drove me home—I guess she’d had enough of my driving—and I called my mom the next day to tell her I had met the woman of my dreams.

Neither one of us had seen this coming. Just six months earlier, Brittany had had a two-year dating relationship end badly. She had been pretty hurt and was still working through some trust issues. She was going into her senior year and had no intention of meeting anyone new, let alone starting a relationship. I was only twenty, and I had a full life with football, school, and hanging out with my friends. It was a shock for both of us to be knocked off our feet over each other. But the more time we spent together, the more we talked and shared, the more we were convinced that we were meant to be together. I remember at one point telling her about my injury in high school and how it had been a turning point in my life. She said, “That which does not kill you makes you stronger.” That quote really struck a chord with me. She was right. Little did we both know it was going to be a theme in our lives.

There are so many similarities between us, but I was also intrigued by our differences. I believe God made us different so we’d be more fully one. He brought us together with our similarities, but the differences helped bond us as well. That might seem counterintuitive, but it’s true.

Brittany has certain weaknesses where I have strengths, and I have weaknesses where she is strong. We complete and complement each other. For example, Brittany would admit she will eat anything with chocolate on it (while I am a pretty healthy eater), has horrible penmanship, has the mouth of a truck driver, hates to do math (even though she worked at a bank and can do it), and can’t spell to save her life. She’ll be texting, and in the middle of the message she’ll ask me how to spell a street name or a difficult word. For me it’s no problem. I was born spelling and computing.

My weak points are putting too much on my calendar (I say yes to everything and then don’t have time for anything), cooking (I believe that surprising Brittany with a meal means bringing home takeout), and communication. I hate hurting people I care about, so I don’t say the things that bother me until they build up and become a much bigger issue than they would have been had I just addressed it at the time. I’m also the kind of person who will spring things on Brittany and assume she knows what’s going on when I haven’t really talked about it until that point. Like “Hey, babe, Sports Illustrated is doing a photo shoot at our house today—can you clean up the house and be ready in forty-five minutes?” She loves when I do that to her. Those are the times flowers are soon to follow.

One of the things I admire about Brittany is the way she’s in touch with her feelings and other people’s too. She has an innate ability to read people and connect with them, and I try to learn from her. She has a knack for meeting someone and really understanding who they are and, a lot of times, what their intentions are.

At Purdue my coaches taught me how important progression is. I had to read the defense, find my receivers, and become the best team player I could be. I did everything I could to win, but I also needed to fight through the losses and learn from them. It was the same with Brittany.

For my final two years at Purdue, my family stayed with Brittany for every home game. She was forced to witness firsthand how divorced parents deal with having to see each other every weekend during the football season. She was thrown into the “custody battle” pretty fast and had to rotate who she sat with at the games. Then on Sundays we would get up and have breakfast with one parent and lunch with the other. It was not an option to all be at the same table together without snide comments or eye rolling. It was pretty stressful for her because it seemed that both parties were trying to get her to pick a side. I remember many nights when we would come home from a dinner with one parent or the other and she would be crying, not knowing how to handle the situation. I was used to this way of life, but it was all foreign to Brittany, who is extremely close to her immediate family as well as her extended family. I would simply ignore the fighting and let the two sides battle it out like they had always done. I was just told where to be and when once the dust settled.