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Authors: Drew Brees
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as well as I could, and if I was good enough to play, great. If I wasn’t good enough, then I wouldn’t play. I just wanted to play my best, and I think Doug respected that.
Flutie was tough. He’s a small guy—only five-nine. He’ll tell you he’s five-ten, but don’t believe him. He’s five-nine and 180 pounds. But what he lacks in height, he makes up for in heart, athletic ability, and a supercompetitive nature. Mentally he’s as tough as they come, and physically he can’t be kept down. You can knock him around all you want, but he’s going to get back up and fight. A great example of this came during the 2002 training camp. In a freak accident during practice, someone ran into Doug on the sideline and separated his shoulder. He jumped up, brushed himself off, and didn’t tell anyone about the injury until two weeks later. Meanwhile, he kept slinging the ball around as if nothing had happened. That was Doug.
Early in that season Doug revealed something interesting to me that must have come from his experience in Buffalo. He said, “I’ve learned to never take myself out of a game and to never let someone else take you out of a game. Do whatever you can to prevent injury, but if you do get hurt, fight through whatever you can. Never give your backup the opportunity to see the field because you might not get back out there again.”
In Buffalo, Doug had experienced a divided locker room, where half the players wanted Rob Johnson as quarterback and the other half wanted Doug. There were stories of heated rivalries within the team, and when Doug came to San Diego, he wanted to be as far away from that as possible. I had heard about that situation secondhand, and although Doug and I would compete fiercely for the starting job the next year, we could not have been better friends during our four years together.
In the 2000 season, the year before I arrived, San Diego had a 1–15 record—about as bad as you can get. The year I joined the team, Flutie led the team to a 5–2 start before losing the last nine games of the season. It was disappointing to all of us, but it was still an improvement. The next year Mike Riley was let go as head coach, and Marty Schottenheimer was hired. My world was about to change.
Coming Back Stronger
Valentine’s Day Amour
The past several years had been a whirlwind for Brittany and me. Between finishing school, getting drafted, and playing my first season in the NFL, it seemed like we’d barely had time to catch our breath, let alone spend much quality time together. We decided to take our first big trip as a couple, and we settled on Europe: London, Italy, Normandy, and Paris. We started making the plans together, but what Brittany didn’t know was that I was also making plans to propose.
I made sure we were in Paris on Valentine’s Day. I’d practiced my proposal speech over and over—I knew exactly what I was going to say. And I was going to say it in French. I wish I could tell you what I said because I am quite proud of my memorization, but it was for her ears only. Although Brittany had taken six years of French classes in high school and college, I wasn’t sure she’d be able to understand my pronunciation. But I figured once I got down on one knee, she’d catch on pretty quickly.
I had done research and talked to the concierge to find the perfect restaurant. It made me nervous having never been there before. I’m a visual person, and I like to see all the factors so I can anticipate what’s going to happen. I tried to imagine the restaurant’s layout and the setting for the proposal, but there were still some unknowns.
When we arrived at Le Petit Bofinger, we were seated at a table for two. I had the ring in my coat pocket. I took off my coat and placed it on the back of the bench where she was sitting. We relived the highlights from the day—our tour of Notre Dame Cathedral and some of our favorite painters and sculptors from the stroll through the
Flutie was tough. He’s a small guy—only five-nine. He’ll tell you he’s five-ten, but don’t believe him. He’s five-nine and 180 pounds. But what he lacks in height, he makes up for in heart, athletic ability, and a supercompetitive nature. Mentally he’s as tough as they come, and physically he can’t be kept down. You can knock him around all you want, but he’s going to get back up and fight. A great example of this came during the 2002 training camp. In a freak accident during practice, someone ran into Doug on the sideline and separated his shoulder. He jumped up, brushed himself off, and didn’t tell anyone about the injury until two weeks later. Meanwhile, he kept slinging the ball around as if nothing had happened. That was Doug.
Early in that season Doug revealed something interesting to me that must have come from his experience in Buffalo. He said, “I’ve learned to never take myself out of a game and to never let someone else take you out of a game. Do whatever you can to prevent injury, but if you do get hurt, fight through whatever you can. Never give your backup the opportunity to see the field because you might not get back out there again.”
In Buffalo, Doug had experienced a divided locker room, where half the players wanted Rob Johnson as quarterback and the other half wanted Doug. There were stories of heated rivalries within the team, and when Doug came to San Diego, he wanted to be as far away from that as possible. I had heard about that situation secondhand, and although Doug and I would compete fiercely for the starting job the next year, we could not have been better friends during our four years together.
In the 2000 season, the year before I arrived, San Diego had a 1–15 record—about as bad as you can get. The year I joined the team, Flutie led the team to a 5–2 start before losing the last nine games of the season. It was disappointing to all of us, but it was still an improvement. The next year Mike Riley was let go as head coach, and Marty Schottenheimer was hired. My world was about to change.
Coming Back Stronger
Valentine’s Day Amour
The past several years had been a whirlwind for Brittany and me. Between finishing school, getting drafted, and playing my first season in the NFL, it seemed like we’d barely had time to catch our breath, let alone spend much quality time together. We decided to take our first big trip as a couple, and we settled on Europe: London, Italy, Normandy, and Paris. We started making the plans together, but what Brittany didn’t know was that I was also making plans to propose.
I made sure we were in Paris on Valentine’s Day. I’d practiced my proposal speech over and over—I knew exactly what I was going to say. And I was going to say it in French. I wish I could tell you what I said because I am quite proud of my memorization, but it was for her ears only. Although Brittany had taken six years of French classes in high school and college, I wasn’t sure she’d be able to understand my pronunciation. But I figured once I got down on one knee, she’d catch on pretty quickly.
I had done research and talked to the concierge to find the perfect restaurant. It made me nervous having never been there before. I’m a visual person, and I like to see all the factors so I can anticipate what’s going to happen. I tried to imagine the restaurant’s layout and the setting for the proposal, but there were still some unknowns.
When we arrived at Le Petit Bofinger, we were seated at a table for two. I had the ring in my coat pocket. I took off my coat and placed it on the back of the bench where she was sitting. We relived the highlights from the day—our tour of Notre Dame Cathedral and some of our favorite painters and sculptors from the stroll through the
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