by Jim Trotter
The injury was gruesome. His arm was broken cleanly just below the midpoint of the forearm, leaving it hanging limp at a near-90-degree angle. He used his left hand to hold the lower half of his arm level with the upper half. His teammates were his first thought when he realized what had happened. He didn’t want them to see the injury, so he curled into a ball on his knees, in obvious pain, and held his arm against his torso until the training staff arrived.
As he walked off the field to cheers, he waved to the crowd with his left hand. He didn’t know if it would be the final game of his career, and he wanted to acknowledge the respect being directed at him. He flew home to San Diego a day or two later and had screws surgically inserted into his arm. Then, typically for Junior, he was back working out a week later, this time going through grueling private workouts with members of the San Diego Padres, among them Trevor Hoffman, Dave Roberts, and Mike Sweeney, who were preparing for spring training.
Liba Placek was the personal trainer for the group. She looked at Junior and his surgically repaired arm and shook her head, as if to say, What are you doing? Junior just smiled in return.
“He’d go through the entire workout and say, ‘What? I can do everything on my elbows instead of my hands’—and he did,” Placek said. “When we went to play volleyball afterward, I told him he couldn’t play because of his arm. He said, ‘What? It has screws in it. It’s much more durable than before.’”
Everyone laughed, but the things Junior put himself through were no joke.
“People always said, ‘Does this guy never get hurt?’” former teammate Orlando Ruff said. “It was just the opposite—he got hurt all the time. But what would make you and I stand down or sit out, that wasn’t an option for him.”
Junior was determined to continue his career. He had shown that he could still play at a high level for a quality opponent, and he wanted another opportunity. Very quickly it appeared as if 2007 would provide him with the fairy-tale ending he so desperately desired.
The Patriots had it all that year: a big, physical defense that played with cohesion and tenacity, and an offense that would break the league record for points scored, thanks in large part to trades for wide receivers Randy Moss and Wes Welker.
Moss, a talented yet temperamental veteran, was the game’s premier deep threat for most of his first eight seasons in the league, but the Patriots acquired him for a cup of coffee from the Oakland Raiders because his production and his attitude had gone south. So far south that the Raiders all but gave Moss away two years after sending starting linebacker Napoleon Harris and first- and seventh-round draft picks to the Minnesota Vikings to acquire his rights. He had had a decent season in 2005 with Oakland, but the man who once said, “I play when I want to play,” set career lows for catches (42), yards (553), and touchdowns (three) the following year. His speed appeared to have gone from 12 cylinders to six, and his petulance was more than owner Al Davis wanted to deal with. So he sent Moss to New England for a paltry seventh-round pick.
In a separate move, the Patriots also acquired Wes Welker from the Miami Dolphins for second- and seventh-round picks. New England envisioned Welker, a slithery slot receiver, beating one-on-one matchups underneath when Moss commanded attention down the field. The strategy proved to be genius: one year after throwing for 3,590 yards and 25 touchdowns, the Patriots’ passing game generated 4,859 yards and 50 touchdowns.
Capitalizing on the brilliance of quarterback Tom Brady and the creativeness of coordinator Josh McDaniels, Moss caught 98 passes for 1,493 yards and 23 touchdowns. The yards ranked second in his career, and the touchdowns broke Jerry Rice’s 20-year-old record. Moss’s ability to stretch defenses created underneath opportunities for Welker, who had 112 receptions for 1,175 yards and eight touchdowns. The Patriots would go on to score an NFL-record 589 points and set the all-time modern-era mark for largest scoring differential in a season, at 19.7 points. They became the first team to go undefeated in the regular season since the schedule expanded to 16 games in 1978, and they entered the playoffs as the unquestioned favorites to win the Vince Lombardi Trophy.
They got an unexpected tussle from the Jacksonville Jaguars in their playoff opener, then prepared to face the Chargers for the right to advance to the Super Bowl. Surely the football gods couldn’t be so cruel as to allow Junior to get this far—healthy, no less—only to fall to his former team, whose quarterback, Philip Rivers, was playing on a knee that had been surgically repaired earlier in the week and whose star running back, Junior’s buddy LaDainian Tomlinson, would go to the sideline early in the first quarter with a knee injury and not return.
For a time the improbable seemed possible. The Chargers refused to blink at their injuries, the cold (with wind chill, nine degrees), or their favored opponent. They led 3–0 after one quarter and trailed just 14–9 at the half. Momentum appeared to swing dramatically in their favor to start the third quarter when cornerback Drayton Florence picked off Brady near midfield and returned the ball to the Patriots’ 49. Seven plays later, the Chargers were at the New England 4-yard line. They needed only a yard for a first down.
A current of concern raced through the sellout crowd, which wondered how this was happening. A touchdown would give the Chargers the lead and confirm that they were destiny’s darlings, having reached the conference final one year after firing a coach (Schottenheimer) at the end of a 14–2 season. Someone needed to make a play.
As he had done for much of his career, Junior correctly deciphered that the right guard was leaning to his left, indicating that he planned to pull in that direction. Junior blitzed from the backside and tackled running back Michael Turner for a loss that forced San Diego to kick a field goal. So, instead of taking the lead, the Chargers trailed 14–12 and never got closer in a 21–12 loss.
“Most of those weren’t called,” Belichick said of the blitzes. “Believe me, Junior and I talked a lot about that. He just took it instinctively, based on the snap count and sometimes the split of the linemen. If he hit it, he hit it. If he didn’t, he would just kind of bounce out of there and go back to his assignment, which was usually the hook zone in the passing game. He was so disruptive with those plays.”
New York Giants Hall of Famer Lawrence Taylor is the only other linebacker Belichick puts in Junior’s class when it comes to having similar instincts, explosiveness, and timing on the blitz.
“Junior and LT both had sort of the same mentality,” he said. “Honestly, I don’t think either of them felt there was a player on the field who could legitimately block them . . . It didn’t matter whether it was a run or pass or play-action, Junior was going to go in there and blow it up before it got started. He could do that three, four, five times a game, and do it very effectively. There’s too much space in there, I’ve got too much momentum, I’ve got too good of a shot at this, they can’t get me.”
And yet, for all the fairy-tale angles following the win over the Chargers, it turned out that the football gods are not fans of happy endings. They allowed the Patriots to get so close to immortality—the first 19–0 finish in league history—only to have them squander a lead in the final minute of Super Bowl XLII and lose 17–14 to the New York Giants.
The Pats were up 14–10 with 2:42 to play after Randy Moss caught a six-yard touchdown pass from Brady to complete a 12-play, 80-yard drive. But the Giants answered with an incredible 83-yard touchdown march, highlighted by a 32-yard pass play that began with quarterback Eli Manning making like David Copperfield to escape the pass rush, then ended with wideout David Tyree pinning the ball against his helmet with one hand while being pulled to the turf by safety Rodney Harrison. Four plays later, Manning beat an all-out blitz to find Plaxico Burros in the corner of the end zone for the decisive 13-yard touchdown.
“I’m still heartbroken about that last play,” said Belichick. “I can still see Junior laying on the field, face-down, after Plaxico caught that pass, kind of like his chance at a title had slipped away. It was a heartbreaking mo
ment in many respects, but especially for him and his career. That’s all we talked about—winning a championship. That’s why he came back and played. It wasn’t about the money. He came back and played because he wanted a championship.”
“It’s still one of the biggest regrets of my career,” Bruschi said. “Not missing out on going 19–0, but remembering seeing Junior on the field, and remembering that we couldn’t get it done for him. That would’ve been so special. That 19–0, that’s what was on everyone’s mind and lips. But the deeper meaning of it would be getting one of the best linebackers in the history of the NFL his championship too.”
Unlike in his previous loss in a Super Bowl, this one stayed with Junior for months. He could accept the 23-point spanking in Super Bowl XXIX because the 49ers were clearly the superior team. Stacked at nearly every position, San Francisco had led 28–10 at the half and 42–18 after three quarters. The loss to the Giants was different, though. One more defensive stop and he would have had his first championship and the immortality associated with a perfect season.
When he ran into a friend in the interview area outside the locker room, he smiled and shrugged, trying to keep his spirits up. He didn’t say anything, but his body language seemed to say: What are you going to do?
The Patriots chose not to immediately re-sign him the following year, but the sides were reunited in mid-October when the team traveled to San Diego to face the Chargers. While there, owner Robert Kraft arranged for a special ceremony at Junior’s restaurant to present him with an AFC championship ring from the previous season. Junior did not know it, but it wouldn’t be the last time he’d see the Patriots.
Two months later, on December 5, Belichick came calling again after a string of injuries at inside linebacker left the Patriots thin at the position. Junior had tremendous respect for Belichick, so he signed what amounted to a one-month contract. The Patriots were still in the hunt for the playoffs, but Junior knew the chances of them winning a title were slim to none. New England had lost Brady, its All-Pro QB, to a season-ending knee injury in week 1; Matt Cassel was a solid backup, but he was no Brady.
Ultimately, it proved to be a moot point because New England failed to qualify for the playoffs despite winning 11 games. Junior found a seat on the first plane out of town, eager to return to the sun and surf of Oceanside—if not to get on with the rest of his life. It was time. But his tranquillity was shattered a month later when he received a phone call telling him that his close friend Mike Whitmarsh had committed suicide.
Like Junior, Whitmarsh grew up in San Diego County and made a national name for himself in college, earning honorable mention All-America honors as a basketball player at the University of San Diego. As a senior in 1984, he led the Toreros to their first West Coast Conference championship—not to mention their first NCAA tournament appearance—by pacing them in scoring (18.8 points), rebounding (7.3), and assists (6.0), something no other player has ever done in school history.
When he failed to make it in professional basketball, Whitmarsh took his six-foot-seven frame, gravity-defying leaping ability, and all-around athleticism to the sand courts of beach volleyball, where he would establish himself as one of the sport’s all-time greats. In fact, he won an Olympic silver medal and 29 tour titles over a 15-year career, becoming a face of the sport along the way.
To those looking in from the outside, he had it all: a wife and two children, the respect and adulation of fans and opponents, and the love and support of family and friends. But on February 17, 2009, he was found dead in a friend’s Solana Beach garage. The medical examiner listed the death as suicide from inhalation of carbon monoxide, produced by a running car in an enclosed area.
The report stunned everyone. Whitmarsh was known to be a great guy who was personable and kind. He didn’t appear to have a care in the world. It was learned later that he had recently signed divorce papers, but was that enough for him to take his life?
Junior was particularly shaken. He and Whitmarsh had hung out together, drunk together, partied together. They could relate to each other in ways that others could not. Junior agreed to speak at Whitmarsh’s service, then afterward held a “celebration of life” for him at his restaurant.
That afternoon, during a quiet moment with some members of his inner circle, Junior said: “We need to make a pact. If any one of us has a problem, just come and reach out to any of us, and we’ll be here for you. We’re not going to judge you. We’re just going to love you.”
Everyone agreed, and with football in his rearview mirror, Junior sought new ways to fill his time. One involved shooting a TV pilot called Sports Jobs with Junior Seau.
“After 19 years of pro football, I thought I’d done it all,” he said in the promotional trailer. “But I never had to close a three-inch cut with one hand. I never needed to change four tires in under 10 seconds. And I never stopped a 100-mile-per-hour line drive. Until now.”
The show chronicled him doing behind-the-scenes jobs like working as a corner man for a mixed-martial artist, participating on an Indy car pit crew, spending a day as a sportswriter, and working as a rodeo clown. In fact, he returned to Boston, in late September, as the equipment manager for the Washington Capitals, who were taking on the Boston Bruins in both teams’ NHL opener.
His stopover generated obvious questions about whether he would make another return to New England to re-sign. Now 40, Junior sidestepped the matter. Belichick did not, however.
During his weekly radio appearance on WEEI, Belichick said that Junior had undergone a physical with the team and might sign with them. Typical of their close relationship, Belichick couldn’t help but have some fun at the linebacker’s expense, mentioning that Junior’s stint as a rodeo clown on the TV pilot had not gone well.
“I noticed he was doing some bull riding or bull stomping or bulls were stomping him or whatever it was,” said Belichick. “We’ll have to take a look at that workout and see how he was doing that.”
Junior, who had taunted a bull by getting in a three-point stance, was promptly run over during a stop on the Professional Bull Riders Tour. Sure enough, he was back on safer ground that October after signing with the Patriots.
His 20th NFL season would turn out to be unlike any he had experienced. In 2009, for the first time, he was wanted but not needed. He appeared in only seven games—none as a starter—and totaled just 14 tackles, which was less than he’d had in some games during his heyday. In a playoff-opening 33–14 loss to the visiting Baltimore Ravens, he recorded just five tackles, just one coming in the second half.
As he stripped off his uniform in the locker room, he knew he was doing it for the final time. His career had reached the finish line. The team knew it. The fans knew it. Most importantly, he knew it.
“His last year in New England, he didn’t play much the last half-dozen games, and he felt abandoned,” said Demoff, his agent. “I think that his lack of contributions, the lack of being needed, just the way his career ended, made him feel very hollow. I don’t think he ever addressed it or dealt with it. I think he really felt like the NFL abandoned him at the end. You understand that there are fires and that houses burn down, but they’re not your house, so the impact isn’t as great. I think that’s what happened to him; he realized his career was over and he didn’t get to go out on his terms.”
15
“This Is Not Who I Want to Be”
ON MARCH 2, 2012, NFL officials accused the New Orleans Saints of running a program that paid illegal bonuses to their players for injuring or knocking opponents from games. The allegation shook the league to its core. It already was on its heels from being sued for allegedly hiding the long-term dangers of concussions from players, so the notion that Saints coaches and management were directing and sanctioning a “bounty” program that paid out $1,500 for a “knockout” hit and $1,000 for a “cart-off” hit was both a PR nightmare and a potential legal land mine—particularly at a time when Commissioner Roger Goodell was pushing fo
r increased enforcement of player safety rules.
Within locker rooms, players scoffed at the suggestion of a pay-to-injure program. NFL players believe they are part of a brotherhood, and while they willfully and violently attack each other on Sundays, the idea of intentionally jeopardizing a family member’s livelihood for a few extra dollars was revolting to most of them. Players were known to pool monies and reward teammates for big hits and big plays, such as sacks, interceptions, and forced fumbles. But that was a far cry from compensating someone for attempting to—and succeeding at—injuring an opponent.
Junior was two and a half years into retirement when the scandal broke. The suggestion that a player would intentionally seek to injure an opponent caused him to shake his head.
“That’s some underground market they’ve got going on if it’s true,” he said. “I’ve never heard of anything like that. If it’s true, it’s the wrong thing to do. The way I played the game was to inflict pain on my opponent and have him quit. It was never to get paid for getting him out of the game. You should never incentivize anyone’s health in the game of football. That is wrong. But to strike your will on another player in hopes that the player quits on you and allows you to do what you need to do at your pace—that’s the name of the game, to have your guy surrender. And once he surrenders, you don’t stomp on him; you go on to the next guy.”
