by Drew Brees
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.
An Old Foe
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 Marty Schottenheimer had been replaced by Norv Turner by then, but Philip Rivers was their quarterback; and I knew a lot of the players and coaches who were still with the team.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.
The Record
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.
Chapter Fifteen
Gains and Losses
One of the strange things about life is the way our deepest sorrows can coexist with our greatest joys. Sometimes the good is woven in so tightly with the difficult times that it’s almost impossible to separate the two. That’s how the year 2009 was for my family and me: full of highs and lows, beginnings and endings, new life and death.
God’s Gift to Our Family
My son, Baylen, has been one of God’s most incredible gifts to Brittany and me. There’s no question he has changed my entire life, my whole way of looking at things. Before he was even able to talk, he was such an inspiration to me and helped me put life in perspective. Being a father has made my preparations each week and everything I do as a football player that much better, because I know that, no matter what happens, when I come home at night, he’s going to be there.
Brittany and I had wanted to begin our family in the off-season of 2006, but my injury threw a wrench into those plans. Then the minute we signed with New Orleans, there was so much to do. I was focused on rehab, and I also had to reestablish myself and my career. We had to find a home, and once we did, we needed to fix it up so we could live there. All of that made us rethink the timing and push back having children. After the 2008 season was over, we prayed about it and talked more about the roots we were putting down. We felt good about being in New Orleans, and we were looking forward to raising our children here. We both thought this was the time to start our family.
Brittany was the most unbelievable pregnant woman. Beforehand she warned me that pregnancy can really change a woman’s behavior. “Listen, when I get pregnant, I’m going to have these cravings and mood swings,” she would say. “You’d just better be ready for all of this.”
She was trying to prepare me for the physical, mental, and emotional fluctuations that were bound to come. I knew about the hormonal changes that get stirred up in a woman’s body when she becomes pregnant and how much turmoil that can cause. On top of that, we’d heard horror stories of the first trimester and how hard it is because of morning sickness and fatigue and changes in the body. But in Brittany’s case, we weren’t even positive she was pregnant at first. She had no morning sickness or mood swings or any signs to tell us otherwise. When we went in for what we thought was the eight-week ultrasound, the doctor said the baby was already almost three months along.
One of the tough things about moving to a new city was finding a doctor. We wanted to make sure the person who brought our child into the world was the best. After asking several people for recommendations and going in for a visit, we decided on Dr. Liz Lapeyre. As a first-time parent, you really have no idea how many things you just don’t know. I think I asked more questions than Brittany did at the visit. Liz has five children of her own, and she was great. No matter what time we texted her with crazy questions, she always responded. She was the first person to ever see and hold our son, and now she is a big part of our family.
But at that moment I just stared at Dr. Lapeyre. “Are you sure?” I said.
She gave me a look. “Your baby is twelve weeks along.”
I didn’t need her to break down the math for me. This had obviously happened on the first try.
Before the pregnancy, Brittany had set a goal to be in the best shape of her life going into it and then to do her best to maintain that strength and stamina right up to the due date. She stuck to that and really saw it through. After all we’d learned about the importance of diet and sleep habits from Dr. Heitsch, she believed that being in shape and eating well would help her deal with the changes to come. She cut out most caffeine and continued to exercise hard throughout the entire pregnancy. She was nine months pregnant and still working out. People couldn’t believe what great shape she was in. Brittany talks a lot about my discipline in terms of training and getting ready to play each game, but I was in awe of her work ethic and daily regimen.
Throughout the pregnancy it was amazing to watch not just Baylen’s growth inside of Brittany but also the way her body naturally responded to the new life. She was meant to be a mom. She did whatever she could to care for the baby growing inside her. And if I can say so myself, she was a sexy pregnant woman! People talk about the “pregnancy glow,” but Brittany really did have a glow about her that was remarkable. Plus, I also couldn’t get over the amazing fact that what she was carrying inside her was a product of our love. She was the happiest I had ever seen her, and we would sit up for hours at night and watch her belly shift from side to side. Baylen was nonstop from the get-go.
&n
bsp; A lot of people tried to prepare me for the birthing process. I kept hearing, “You haven’t seen anything till you see your child born.” And they were right. If you don’t believe in God or if you have any kind of reservations about your faith, watch a baby being born. It’s hard to witness an event like that as anything other than a miracle from God, evidence of his handiwork.
Leading up to the delivery, I was really nervous for Brittany. I wanted everything to go well, but there was only so much I could control. I tried to prepare myself mentally in case something went wrong or they needed to do a C-section. You hear stories about thirty-hour labors and the intensity of the pain. I’d experienced my share of pain on the field, but nothing like this.
My role in the delivery was to be her coach. “Brittany, what do you want me to do? I’ll hold your hand. You can squeeze my hand off if you want. You can punch me in the arm. You can do whatever you want. I’m here to support you and help you any way I can.”
As it turned out, my biggest job during the delivery was to hold one of her legs. I wound up providing the leverage for the final push. Brittany was a champ. She only had to push for an hour, but that was some hard-core pushing. To my surprise, the first words out of her mouth after Baylen popped out were “That wasn’t so bad. Let’s do it again.” He was born seven pounds, seven ounces, at 2:22 p.m. on January 15, 2009—which also happened to be my thirtieth birthday. I don’t think you can write a better script or story for the birth of your first child.
