The Long Snapper Page 8

  His first practice with the Patriots was held in the same indoor facility, the “bubble,” in which his tryout had been conducted the day before. This was not a day for full gear or hard hitting. The players wore sweatpants, shoulder pads, and helmets. With everyone milling about before the group stretching period, one of the many players Brian did not know—he was wearing number fifty-four—approached him and extended a hand.

  “Hey, Brian,” he said. “I’m Tedy Bruschi.” Thirty years old and in his eighth season with the Patriots, Bruschi was a fan favorite in New England. He was an inside linebacker, a captain of the defense, and one of the most respected guys on the team.

  “Nice to meet you,” Brian said.

  Bruschi told him he remembered seeing him play on television. He even recalled a specific play from an old game against the Pittsburgh Steelers. Brian was amazed that Bruschi—that anyone—would actually remember something so ancient. More than anything, though, Brian was impressed that Bruschi had intentionally made a point of being so friendly to a new arrival.

  Soon after that, Brian turned to see Tom Brady moving toward him and reaching out to shake hands. Of course, being unable to identify Brady would have been virtually impossible by this point in his meteoric rise to fame. In 2000, Brady was only a sixth-round draft pick and became the Patriots’ fourth-string quarterback. By early the next season, though, he had worked his way up to the number-two slot, behind longtime franchise quarterback Drew Bledsoe. Then Bledsoe was sidelined with a chest injury. In stepped Brady, and he never looked back, leading the Patriots to the NFL championship and staking permanent claim to the starting job. Now twenty-six years old and every bit a bachelor, Brady was much more than just a football star. With blue eyes, cleft chin, a megawatt smile, and a squeaky-clean image, he had nonchalantly transcended the mere trappings of sport and jetted into the rarefied air of a full-fledged celebrity. He dated models and movie stars. He was featured on the cover of Sports Illustrated, which declared him “The New Prince of the NFL.” But that was not enough. He also joined Jennifer Aniston and Denzel Washington among People magazine’s “50 Most Beautiful People” of 2002. Through it all, Brady stressed that he just wanted to be “one of the guys” on the Patriots, and teammates insisted that his humility and hard work allowed him to fit right in.

  “How you doing?” Brady said to Brian. “Good to have you on board.”

  “Thanks,” Brian said. “Good to be here.”

  They spoke only briefly. But Brian would always remember it. He had been a lot of places in the world of football, had been around a lot of big-time quarterbacks and other star players through the years, and the way Brady handled himself was immediately distinguishable from the airs and attitudes of so many others. Nice guy, Brian thought. Very genuine and down-to-earth.

  Early in practice, when Brian and the other specialists had nothing they had to do on the field, he wandered over to Belichick for a little chitchat. Belichick stood at ease in front of a few tackling dummies. He was dressed in sweats, his pants hanging loosely and open at the ankle zippers, his sweatshirt one of those signature charcoal gray hoodies, “New England Patriots Equipment” across the chest, that anyone who ever watched football was accustomed to seeing Belichick wear. His right hand was tucked in the front pouch of the sweatshirt. His left hand was twirling a whistle on its string around his fingers. It was not just the way he looked, though. Brian sensed that everything about Belichick was much more relaxed than it had been back in the Cleveland days. Is it just that I’m coming in new and have not already had to listen to him all season long, like all the other guys? Brian wondered. Or has he actually found a way to chill out a little?

  “I’ve been thinking about my size,” Brian told Belichick at one point in their conversation. “You think I’m heavy enough?”

  “No,” Belichick said. “But if you get run over, we’ll just bring in somebody else who can get the job done.”

  They both smiled. Belichick was only joking. Or at least Brian took it that way.

  As much thought and energy as Brian had put into the emotional shock and awe of being back in the NFL, the most natural part of his day came when it was finally time to perform the job he was hired to do. First came “live” drills with the punt team. Brian was understandably a bit anxious before unleashing his first snap. How could he not be? Everyone in the building was waiting to see what the new guy could do. Brian threw a strike into the waiting hands of Ken Walter. And all in the world was good. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Had he really been out of the game for three years?

  Brian felt just as good, maybe even better, when it came time to work with the field-goal unit. Like riding a bike, he told himself. Doesn’t matter how long it’s been. You don’t forget how. Just hop on and ride. Or in this case: just keep throwing strikes.

  By the time practice was over and Brian was back in the locker room, all kinds of messages were waiting for him on his voicemail, both back at home in Baton Rouge and on the cell phone he had with him. Word of his signing with the Patriots had traveled quickly. Naturally, he had calls from family, friends, and former teammates with whom he had always kept in touch. But he also had messages from a few people with whom he had not spoken in years, long-ago acquaintances who wanted to offer congratulations and encouragement. One of the messages was from a woman Brian and his wife had befriended in Baltimore. She had some sort of a connection at a car dealership in the Boston area and wanted to arrange for Brian to have the use of a vehicle, at no charge, while he was with the Patriots. Funny, Brian thought. Nobody ever called about a free car when I started teaching.

  Brian enjoyed calling everyone back and sharing the improbable story of his return to the NFL. He really had nothing else to do anyway. By early evening he was alone in his new quarters at an extended-stay hotel, room 108 at the Residence Inn in Foxborough, so he just kicked back and yakked away. Brian had never before so mindlessly run up so many minutes on his cell phone; he was not exactly one of the great free-spenders in the world. But roaming charges be damned, he was simply caught up in all the excitement and never once thought about the hundreds of dollars he was spending on air time. Everyone wanted to know what his first day with the Patriots had been like. Brian went on and on about how nice everyone had been and how so many of the players, Brady included, had gone out of their way to welcome him and to make him feel comfortable.

  “Great group of guys,” Brian told his dad. “It’s hard to really explain it, but it almost feels like a college-type environment in terms of the camaraderie and the way people seem to genuinely enjoy being around each other. No real attitudes. No me-me-me types. Just a bunch of guys who work hard and have a good time together. It’s definitely a different feel than anywhere else I’ve ever been.” And it was not only the players. Brian said it was the whole atmosphere of the place, the overall feel of pure professionalism throughout the entire organization, that really impressed him: “Everything from the food in the cafeteria to the way they handle everything in the locker room. I mean, first-class organization from top to bottom. It just seems so obvious that something special is going on here.”

  The last call of the day was to say good night to Lori and the boys. Everyone already missed him. Mostly, though, Lori was just happy to hear how well things had gone with the first day of practice. She also had a school update for Brian. She had given the final exam to his classes, had just finished grading the tests, and his students had done well.

  Lori wanted to share one of the responses to the essay portion of the exam. The instructions were: “Write about one thing that you learned in Bible this year that really made you think, changed your thinking, or made you have questions.”

  Some of the students focused their essays on something specific about Jesus. Some wrote about Christianity in general. Others highlighted the importance of a specific Gospel story or even a particular biblical passage. It was all fairly generic. But one girl turned in a refreshingly unique essay. She discussed something tha
t Brian had talked about many times throughout the fall: the fact that he was done with football and was teaching at Parkview because that was where God wanted him to be. “I’m confused,” the girl wrote, “because now Mr. Kinchen is in New England playing for the Patriots. Does God want him here or does God want him there?”

  Seven

  It did not take Brian long to feel that he was exactly where he was supposed to be. His second day of practice, outside this time, gave him all the confidence he needed. The wind was howling, blowing in all directions, and with no pattern or predictability. Yet when it came time for the special teams to go through their repetitions, Brian could not have been more pleased with the accuracy of his snaps. One of the reasons Belichick and Pioli had signed him was that, thanks to his years in Cleveland, Brian came to them with a lot of experience playing in bad weather. He was very good at blocking out all external factors beyond his control and simply focusing on mechanics, and now he was performing with the ease and comfort of a dependable veteran.

  Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Brian kept firing strikes through the chilly December air. He was not doing anything out of the ordinary. He was just doing his job without being noticed. Wind? What wind? The more snaps he threw, the less he had to wonder whether he really belonged back in the NFL. Brian even went so far as to imagine his coaches thinking: How in the world has this guy been out of the league for so long?

  His confidence soaring, Brian wanted to contribute however he could. He was not foolish enough to think that Belichick or any other coach in his right mind would have any interest in the services, even as a reserve player, of a thirty-eight-year-old tight end who was underweight and had not run a pass route in three years. But what about stepping in with the offensive scout team and helping to give the first-string defense a good look at plays the New York Jets would probably be running against the Patriots that weekend? Brian had never wanted to be one of those single-duty snappers who just sat off to the side with the punter and kicker while everyone else was going at it during practice. He never wanted to be one of those specialists that other guys on the team would tease about their lack of activity. Plus, spending so much time on the sideline, just watching, made him feel worthless. So he went to Belichick and asked if it would be okay for him to run some plays with the scout team.

  “Whatever you want to do, but you better not get hurt,” Belichick replied evenly. “You better make sure you’re able to do the job we hired you to do.”

  It was during the final practice of his first week that Brian, kneeling on the sideline along with punter Ken Walter and kicker Adam Vinatieri, decided to make his move into the offensive huddle.

  “I’m gonna go see about running some routes,” Brian matter-of-factly announced while rising to his feet.

  “What?” said an incredulous Walter.

  “Yeah, just a few,” Brian said.

  Walter and Vinatieri neither encouraged nor discouraged him. They just stayed right where they were, in full relaxation mode, and readied themselves for what figured to be an amusing interlude that would break up the monotony of watching yet another set of practice plays for the umpteenth time.

  Brian walked slowly toward the center of the field, where Ivan Fears, an assistant coach in charge of running backs, was flashing diagrams of Jets plays for the scout team to mimic. Do I really want to do this? Brian asked himself. Am I really being smart here? He contemplated what Belichick had told him about getting hurt. After all, the Patriots had already lost two snappers in the previous two weeks. He also thought about the fact that he had not run a pass route in years, and he reminded himself of the uniquely strenuous demands placed on the legs of a hard-charging receiver, especially when going full speed and coming out of a break, which requires planting a foot and then immediately pushing off in a new direction. Brian stood behind the huddle and thought about all that while the offense ran a few more plays. Then he came to his senses. Ah, forget it, he told himself. Serving the team by staying healthy and being able to snap far outweighed any potential contribution of running a few routes with the offense. Brian turned away from the action, walked back to Walter and Vinatieri, and told them he had changed his mind.

  “Smart move,” Walter said.

  “Don’t know what you were even thinking about,” Vinatieri added.

  Aside from his aborted visit to the offensive huddle, every other facet of Brian’s on-field return to professional football was about as simple and seamless as possible. But that did not mean that the overall experience of returning to the NFL came without its challenges. The biggest was being so abruptly and completely uprooted from the daily rhythms and routines of a life with which Brian had become quite comfortable. Simply put, he missed his wife and children. He missed teaching and visiting with the kids in his classes. He even thought about the LSU football team he had been helping for two years as a volunteer assistant, first breaking down opponents’ game films for head coach Nick Saban, then working with the long snappers, punters, and kickers. What a time to be gone. LSU was preparing to play Oklahoma in the national championship game, the first shot at a national title for LSU since Gus Kinchen and his teammates went undefeated back in 1958.

  In addition to missing all that he had left behind in Louisiana, Brian also had to adjust to the mundane realities of being in a setting that was both new and temporary: living alone in a hotel room; relying on a teammate for rides to and from practice until that friend from Baltimore could get him a car; learning his way around the Boston suburb of Foxborough, home of the Patriots. Although his room had a small kitchen area, he never went shopping for groceries. He just ate at the team facility or picked up something at a restaurant or convenience store. Nobody had promised Brian that the life of a short-term football mercenary would be glamorous. He filled most of his downtime by watching television, reading a book, or sitting on the edge of his bed talking on the telephone to family and friends. He also set aside quiet time for prayer and attended a weekly Bible study that linebacker Don Davis led for anyone on the team who wanted to participate. More than anything else, though, Brian simply waited. He waited for the glitz and glitter of the NFL that truly shines only once a week. He waited for the unparalleled rush of game day.

  Saturday, December 20, 2003. East Rutherford, New Jersey. New England Patriots against the New York Jets in a nationally televised night game at the Meadowlands. The 12–2 Patriots would be trying to lock down home-field advantage throughout the upcoming playoffs. The 6–8 Jets had already been eliminated from any chance of post-season play but were nonetheless eager for a prime-time upset of their much-publicized division rival. As Jets quarterback Chad Pennington told reporters, “We might as well take somebody down with us.” The excitable New York fans would be all for that. They were already certain to be fired up by a heavily promoted halftime event honoring the best players from all four decades of franchise history, which would mean a rare appearance by the most revered of all New York Jets, Hall of Fame quarterback Joe Namath. ESPN was also hyping the game—and itself—because the Patriots–Jets matchup was the cable network’s two hundredth telecast of an NFL game. None of that mattered to Brian. All he wanted to do was get on and off the field without being noticed.

  Players had different ways of greeting the tension of game day. Some got louder and more animated than usual. Others became withdrawn as their faces tightened with anticipation and purpose. Brian’s way was to quietly rely on order and routine. Just as he had gone right back into his old ritualistic preparation prior to his first practice with the Patriots, Brian automatically returned to his standard procedures for the final hours leading up to a game.

  After taking the last bus from the team hotel to the Meadowlands, he spent his first few minutes in the locker room organizing his uniform, equipment, and tape just the way he would want them when it came time to ready himself for action. Then he took off all his clothes, wrapped a towel around his midsection, and walked across the room to claim a bathroom stall—and not only
for standard activity. He also used the privacy of a stall to pray before a game. Brian did not pray for victory. He prayed for the ability to put forth his best efforts; for protection against the many ills that could so easily visit themselves upon anyone playing such a violent sport; and for the strength to be prepared for whatever might happen out on the field, no matter what the circumstances of a given play or the eventual outcome of the game. When he was done praying, Brian took a hot shower, steaming hot. Physically, it helped him get loose. Mentally, it also helped to relax him. Then he hunkered down on a stool in front of his locker and casually flipped through the pages of a game program (the same souvenir magazine sold throughout the stadium). Brian was always curious to see if there were any familiar faces on the other team. In this case, he already knew that he would be playing against two longtime friends. Vinny Testaverde, a former teammate with the Cleveland Browns and Baltimore Ravens, was now the second-string quarterback for the Jets. Mike Westhoff, his first special-teams coach with the Miami Dolphins, was now in the same role with the Jets. Brian looked forward to seeing them both. For now, though, with a clock on the wall showing 7:10, it was time to get dressed for the game. Brian and his fellow specialists were due on the field to begin warm-ups in twenty minutes. The game would start at 8:30.

  How many times through the years had Brian made a similar walk from the sheltered cocoon of a locker room out to a field of play on which dreams would both flourish and flop in full view of sports fans across the nation? Yet this time was different than ever before. Brian would have denied that with the nonchalance of a seasoned professional: “Only doing what I’ve always done.” But this was no longer the same as it had always been for him. Never before had three years passed between games. Never before had he taken one giant step from a seventh-grade classroom to a top-tier NFL team. Brian wondered what it would feel like to run onto the field the first time he was needed in the game: What’s it going to be—a punt, a field goal, an extra point? And then there was this: How will it go? How will I do? Warm-ups went perfectly well. But as the Patriots and Jets lined up for Adam Vinatieri’s opening kickoff, Brian was not his usual self on the sideline. He was uncharacteristically anxious. All he could think about was getting on the field and getting his first snap out of the way.