Coming Back Stronger (17 page)

That night we had a sellout crowd. More than seventy thousand people were there, and it was ESPN’s most-watched broadcast to date.

The Falcons were favored to win. They had won the NFC South in 2004 and had been only one game away from making the Super Bowl after losing to Philadelphia in the NFC Championship Game. They had plenty of talent too: Jim Mora, a former coach for New Orleans, was now head coach for Atlanta, and they also had offensive weapons like quarterback Michael Vick and running back Warrick Dunn.

That night, surrounded by seventy thousand screaming fans, my teammates and I realized that what Sean Payton had said was true. This was much more than just a game.

You have to understand this about the Saints fans: they are some of the most loyal fans in the world. Don’t get me wrong—when I played in San Diego, the fans were great. They were loud and supportive, and there were plenty of Chargers faithful. But a lot of people who live in San Diego are transplants from other parts of the country. What that meant was that many fans would cheer for us most of the season but root for their home team when they came to town. At times in San Diego, it felt like there were more people cheering for the other team than for us.

Not so in New Orleans. On game day, the city shuts down. Everybody who can goes to the game, and those who don’t have tickets close up shop to watch on TV. And everybody is wearing either a Saints jersey or some form of black and gold. After the game, everything opens up again, and it’s a citywide party. So much of the culture around here is centered on the team, and people take a Saints win as a win for themselves. It was time to go out there and make our city proud.

We kicked off to Atlanta and stopped them on their first drive. On every play the crowd got louder. On the fourth play of the game, Michael Koenen of the Falcons went back to punt, but Steve Gleason looped straight up the middle and blocked it. The ball bounced into the end zone, and Curtis Deloatch landed on it for our first touchdown of the game. The crowd went nuts. It was the loudest one-time roar I have ever heard in a stadium. That moment served as a confirmation: this night belonged to New Orleans.

At the end of the first quarter we ran a double reverse, and Devery Henderson took the ball the final eleven yards into the end zone. John Carney added three field goals to the scoreboard. We played lights out that night on defense and managed the game extremely well on offense. Our defense put a ton of pressure on Michael Vick, sacking him five times. We shut down their running game as well.

We won the game 23–3, bringing our record to 3–0. Even better, we had taken control of the NFC South. The fans were wildly appreciative. We had gone from setting our sights on winning just one game to winning three in a row. Now the question was: could the streak continue?

One at a Time

There’s always a danger after the buildup and emotion of a Monday night game that a team can lose momentum and intensity by the time the next Sunday rolls around. That Monday night was no exception. Sean Payton didn’t want that to happen to us, and he warned us of the danger as we got ready to face Carolina, another NFC South opponent. Sean’s message to the team as we prepared for Carolina was this: “The media started out saying you wouldn’t win three games all year. Now they’re going to be telling you how great you are, and they’re going to want you to look ahead and speculate about how far we’ll go. They’ll try to stuff you so full of cheese that you will lose your focus. Let’s not forget what it has taken to get to this point. Remember that we need to continue to improve each day. Don’t eat the cheese.”

Disappointingly, we didn’t heed Sean’s message. We got behind early in the game but managed to start fighting our way back. We were not able to recover a late onside kick that could have given us a chance to tie or win the game, and the Panthers won 21–18. But we learned a lesson that day: your emotions and intensity have to match your preparation. We just did not have it that day.

We couldn’t afford to hang our heads over the loss because Tampa Bay was right around the corner—our second game at the Superdome. There wasn’t as much media blitz this time, but the fans gave us just as much support and volume as they had at the previous game. They were ready for us to return home.

We needed home field advantage that game, especially in the fourth quarter. We were down 21–17. We had just held Tampa Bay on third down, and they were punting to Reggie Bush, our rookie running back. As Reggie got ready to receive the ball, he started motioning to the fans to make more noise. The roar inside the Dome crescendoed until it sounded like a freight train. By the time the ball was snapped, I thought it couldn’t get any louder, but as Reggie took the ball on our thirty-five yard line and began his return, the noise level rose even higher. Reggie passed midfield, and you could have sworn a jet was taking off from the stadium. When he passed the goal line after running sixty-five yards and scoring his first NFL touchdown, the entire place went berserk. That touchdown was the final score of the game—we won 24–21.

At 4–1 we were among the top teams in the NFC. But we couldn’t relax now—with each game of the season, the stakes kept getting higher. We had to get ready for the next challenge: Philadelphia was coming to town. Philly was widely regarded as a strong Super Bowl favorite that season. The team was a perennial contender, and they had been to the Super Bowl two years earlier. Two of the NFC’s best were going head-to-head.

At that point we weren’t thinking or talking about the playoffs. Our mind-set was still “one game at a time.” We had survived training camp that way. We had won four out of five that way. Each day we tried to concentrate on doing what we were supposed to do, doing it the right way, and not looking too far ahead. The media and the fans were talking about how important it was to clinch the first-round bye as the first or second seed, but for now we were taking things one step at a time.

Prior to being head coach in New Orleans, Sean Payton had coached in the NFC East for nine years, most of that time as an offensive coordinator for the Giants and the Cowboys. On many occasions he had battled wits with Philly’s defensive coordinator Jim Johnson, one of the greatest defensive coaches of all time, and Sean had a pretty stellar record against him. We respected Philly, but we felt like we had an edge with Sean, and that gave us confidence.

We jumped out to an early lead against Philly, and at halftime we were up 17–3. The Eagles came back and scored three straight touchdowns, which gave them a 24–17 lead at the start of the fourth quarter. We knew we needed a spark. We hadn’t done anything well offensively the entire second half, and we needed to score in a big way.

As important as the communication is from coaches about which plays to run, there’s also interaction that takes place between players on the sidelines throughout the course of a game. The offensive line is constantly communicating with me about what they’re seeing and how we will handle protections. I also gather my receivers together and say, “Hey, I like this matchup, so let’s attack this particular corner or safety. Be alert for me to give you a signal that adjusts the route.” The signal might be a nod or a wink—something simple to trigger a change in our offense.

As the fourth quarter began, we saw an opportunity to make a game-changing play. We called a play at the line of scrimmage, and as the defense was hurriedly getting set, we identified the matchup we had been waiting for. I met Joe Horn’s eyes and gave him a nod, and he winked back to acknowledge that he had picked up on my signal. What was supposed to be a fifteen-yard stop route now turned into a stutter and go, right past strong safety Michael Lewis.

The ball was like a hot potato in my hands—I couldn’t get rid of it fast enough. Joe ran down the field so fast the secondary might as well have been standing still. He caught the ball on the run and waltzed into the end zone to tie the game 24–24.

There was still some time left, about thirteen minutes. Philadelphia got the ball and sustained their drive for a few plays, but our defense stopped them. They were forced to punt.

We had about eight and a half minutes to play and were starting on our own fifteen yard line. We began a methodical march down the field that chewed up the clock. It was one third down after another—third and short, third and long, third and five. And then with three seconds left on the clock, John Carney lined up for a thirty-one-yard field goal. We had just run sixteen plays and chewed up the final eight and a half minutes of the game. The clock ran out as the ball sailed through the uprights, and we won, 27–24.

It was a huge win for us, and it also communicated a lot to the fans. It’s one thing to explode and score lots of points and win going away. It’s another to hit some snags and keep plugging away and eventually scrabble out a win. Our fans had been beaten down for so long and had gotten their hearts broken by so many tough losses. They’d also been knocked down by Katrina and its aftermath, and many were still struggling to rebuild their homes and restore their communities. On every side it felt like the system was against them. Then our team came along and started winning. Suddenly it felt like the tune in New Orleans was changing a little. In some ways, the struggles the city faced were akin to the hole in the top of the Dome during the storm. It let the water in, but later, when the skies cleared, it also let in the rays of sunshine.

Life can be like that. I’ve learned over and over that closed doors mean God will open something else. A window, maybe, or a back door. Sometimes you just have to look hard for that opening.

At some point during each season you know you’re going to face a situation where everything seems to be working against you and you have to fight through the adversity with all you’ve got. You don’t play as well as you had wanted to or you get a bad break or have an off day. Those moments are guaranteed to come, so when they happen, you can’t let them shock you or take you by surprise. Always expect the unexpected. When it feels like you’re walking up the down escalator, you’d better be ready with a good solution.

After the Philadelphia game, we sat at 5–1 going into a bye week, and we were feeling pretty good about ourselves. We then proceeded to lose three out of the next four games. We were definitely in a slump. We hadn’t been blown out, but we certainly hadn’t played like we knew we could, and now we were sitting at 6–4. Next up was a trip to Atlanta. This was our time to show we had some solutions.

We had beaten the Falcons at home on opening night, but the vibe from Atlanta was You only beat us because it was the first game back at the Dome, and you were riding the emotions of your fans. There’s no way you’re going to come into our house and beat us again. There was a real sense of urgency for our team. We had just lost two in a row, and we knew we had to get back on track quickly.

The Georgia Dome was rocking when the game began. The first play from scrimmage we ran and got stuffed. The second play from scrimmage we ran and got stuffed. We had moved a total of three yards so far, and now we were stuck at our own twenty-four yard line. The place was going wild.

During that week of game planning, we had noticed a big play opportunity for us against their defense. The Falcons were used to seeing our two receivers run up and run double in. The safety would squat on the inside receiver, and the cornerback would assume it was a double in and try to jump underneath the outside receiver. That’s the play they anticipated now on third down and seven. However, on the first third down and long of the game, our plan was to change it up.

We still sent the inside receiver on an in route, but this time the outside receiver ran a deep post over the top. With the safety and corner anticipating the double in like they had seen on film, Devery Henderson ran right past both of them, and seventy-six yards later he was standing in the end zone for a touchdown. Better yet, we had made an immediate statement about our readiness to play this game. And we had taken the crowd out of the game right from the start.

Atlanta hung tight with us all through the first half. At the end of the second quarter, we were up 14–6 and driving with just over a minute left. We were on the Falcons’ forty-eight yard line when I put up a Hail Mary as the clock was running out. Usually those passes get intercepted or batted down in the end zone, and the half is over. Still, it was worth a shot. I bought time, stepped up into the clean pocket, then launched it. The ball slipped past a ring of Falcons defenders and landed in Terrance Copper’s hands for a touchdown. Saints lead, 21–6.

It was an emotional high to walk into that locker room at the half. We were back. We had prepared well for the game, preaching that week about getting back to the fundamentals and understanding the philosophy of what wins and loses football games: striving for ball security on offense, making big plays, having great third-down efficiency, and playing situational football. Besides that, we knew why we were playing. Not just for a win, but for the people of New Orleans. We won 31–13.

The next week we beat the 49ers, and then it was on the road to Texas Stadium to play the Cowboys. All of America was talking about Dallas at the time. Tony Romo had taken over as quarterback. They were on a roll, and the consensus was that they were the strongest team in the NFC. After the tough stretch we’d been through, the early buzz about our team had died down. But both teams were 8–4, and both of us had offenses and defenses in the top five in the league. Also, with Chicago sitting at 10–2 and in position for the number one seed in the NFC, the winner of this game would likely claim the number two seed. This was a huge game.

Coach Payton emphasized to us the importance of a win against Dallas. We needed it to garner a first-round bye and home field advantage for the playoffs. But it was also a big game for Sean personally. He had been with Dallas before going to New Orleans, and this was his chance to go up against his former team, coached by Bill Parcells, one of his mentors. It was obvious that Bill had a big influence on Sean, especially that first year when Sean was establishing his identity as a head coach in the NFL. I continue to hear plenty of Bill Parcells stories and quotes from Sean, and I even possess a copy of the “Bill Parcells Ten Commandments of a Starting Quarterback.” Sean wouldn’t show it, but you could tell how much this game meant to him.

Texas Stadium held some connections for me, too. It was where I had won the 5A state championship my senior year of high school, back in 1996. That place held some good memories, and I was hoping we’d add another. As a team we tried to look at this game just like any other on the schedule and not get distracted by all the story lines, but it was tough. There was a lot of emotion and history on the line.

We were originally scheduled to play at noon. But we were into the flex schedule part of the season, and our game was important enough to move to Sunday night. John Madden and Al Michaels would call it on a national stage. The game kept getting bigger while we fought to keep it in perspective.

We got off to a slow start in the first quarter. We were stopped on our first drive by a DeMarcus Ware sack, and when Dallas got the ball, Julius Jones broke into a huge run for seventy-seven yards and a touchdown: 7–0. In the second quarter we answered with three consecutive touchdowns, the last of which came at the end of the half to put us up 21–7 going into the locker room at halftime.

What I remember most is how focused we were as a team. We knew how much this game meant to Sean and also knew that once again on a national stage, we could prove to people that we were for real. We were locked in on every play, every call, thinking about executing it to perfection. We’d talked that week about being as aggressive as we had been all season, and we were. To my surprise, there were thousands of Saints fans there—a tough thing to pull off at Texas Stadium. How our fans got tickets, I don’t know, but they did a good job making it seem as much like a home game as possible for us.

Near the end of the game, the fans did something I’ll remember forever. As we scored more points and it became clear Dallas couldn’t come back, the Cowboys fans started leaving the stadium and the Saints fans filtered down to field level. By this time we had already scored forty-two points and were simply trying to run out the clock. I looked up into the stands once to see the blue and white shirts heading for the exits and a sea of black and gold coming down toward the field. Our fans took up the first ten rows around the entire stadium. And then we heard their voices.

“Who dat! Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?” The Saints fans, decked out with beads and New Orleans jerseys, couldn’t hold in their excitement. It was like Mardi Gras had taken over in Texas Stadium. Their chants communicated to us, We love you guys. You’re making this season special. You’re making this trying time a little easier. You are giving us a home. You are lifting our spirits. And we love you for that!

The final score was 42–17. To be honest, it felt really good to win after hearing all week how good the Cowboys were. We knew our team. We knew we could do this. And it felt good that our fans had our backs, even when we were on the road.