The Quarterback Ch. 02

I played the first year we were married in San Francisco, and believe it or not, I hated being there worse than being in New York. The people on the west coast are crazy, and San Francisco is even dirtier than New York. Still, I should not complain because the 49ers were paying me a million dollars to sit on the bench. I did get to play in seven games, but I never started or finished one.

Staci had a completely different take on the Bay area city. She loved San Francisco, but Staci did not see the city's underbelly as I did. All Staci saw were the "beautiful" people at the parties we attended, and she loved going to the wine country.

On the other hand, I had to visit some of the city's worst areas. It was a 49er policy that all the players had to visit the city's poorer sections to explain how much the ballclub supported them. The visits were on a rotating schedule, and I probably went out three or four times. But in reality, San Francisco was a mess because of the city leaders. They allowed the city to deteriorate into a mess of crime, filth, and homelessness. I was shocked when I started to read the newspapers, and they were reporting how much human feces was being cleaned off the streets each day as though it was something to be proud of. The team meant well by sending the players out to the poorer sections, but it accomplished very little.

The San Francisco franchise was perhaps the most woke football team in the NFL. It was Colin Kaepernick who started kneeling for the National Anthem. According to Kaepernick, he was protesting the police killing of black men. So, I did a little research on the internet. I focused on the FBI statistics as their numbers covered the entire country. About 1000 people were killed by the police on average each year. Of the number, roughly 200 were black. Blacks were ten times more likely to be killed by another black. The protest did not make sense to me, so I ignored it.

After one particularly tough loss, a backup cornerback, Ronnie Lufton, got in my face. He told me I was a racist because I did not support the brothers taking a kneel. The locker room got very quiet and very tense.

Ronnie was only a marginal player but a militant black through and through. Since a majority of the team was black, the last thing I wanted to do was get into an argument about race. But what frosted me the most about the whole situation was that too many players had no clue why they were taking a knee. Many were just doing it because almost everyone else was doing it. I did not want to be an advocate for either side of this controversy, so I tried to defuse the situation.

"Look, Ronnie," I said with my innocent smile, "I understand both sides of what is going on. The black community has a long-standing and justified distrust of the police. Black people, for decades, were profiled and treated like criminals. Most of them had done nothing wrong other than being black and being in the wrong place at the wrong time. However, I also understand the fear and mistrust that police feel when dealing with a black suspect, especially in a black community. Hey, in those areas, most violent crimes are committed by blacks. Tell me, Ronnie, how many black men were killed by police last year?"

"Thousands," Ronnie answered with a snarl.

"You are not even close," I chided him. "According to FBI statistics, police killed two hundred and seventeen black men last year. And of those, according to the Washington Post and New York Times, ninety-five percent of those shootings were justified."

"What the fuck!" Ronnie was angry now. "You defending the police now?"

"I'm not defending anyone here," I said with frustration. "I am just trying to point out the reality of what is happening. Besides, I believe that kneeling for the National Anthem is disrespectful to the people who matter most, our fans. The National Anthem does not represent the President, Congress, police, or any political party. The National Anthem represents the American people. And when you disrespect the American people, you disrespect the very people who pay our salaries. If you want to protest the unfair treatment of black people, go kneel before the White House or Congress. They are the ones who can change things."

Ronnie looked around the locker room but did not see any support, so he turned and stalked away. But he still had to have the last word.

"You still a fucking racist," he shot back over his shoulder.

I just ignored Ronnie, and nothing more was said about the incident. But I always found it amusing that the whole movement collapsed when the television networks stopped showing the players kneeling. If no one was getting any publicity out of the whole sad movement, players quickly got bored with it. And why did the networks stop showing the players on their knees? They did it because it was hurting what was most important to them - their profits.

I was immediately cut when the season ended with San Francisco out of the playoffs. I not only expected it, but I was also relieved. Like New York, if I could help it, I did not want anything to do with San Francisco.

During the offseason, the Philadelphia Eagles starting quarterback, Aaron Wright, ruptured his Achilles tendon. Aaron had bounced around the league for five years before he found a home in Philadelphia. In his first year with the Eagles, he took them to the Super Bowl. They lost, but Aaron was signed to a five-year one hundred- and twenty-million-dollar contract. And they had had a winning record for four of the five years he played for Philadelphia. But they never got back to the Super Bowl. And a year ago, the Eagles drafted Wayne Tolbert out of Stanford. He was supposed to be their quarterback of the future.

The day that Aaron found out that his injury would require surgery, he announced his retirement. That same day, Philadelphia signed me to back up Wayne. After San Francisco, Staci was not thrilled with the idea of going to the "City of Brotherly Love," and she voiced her objections." But as I pointed out to her, I didn't have a choice, San Francisco had cut me, so to Philadelphia we went. But I was troubled by her attitude.

For one of the rare times, I had the whole off-season to learn a playbook. I arrived at camp as prepared mentally and physically as possible. But I knew the coaching staff was committed to using Wayne. That did not surprise me, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed.

As the camp progressed, I realized two things. Wayne had tremendous ability, but he was not ready for primetime. He had an arm like a cannon, and he was accurate. But he had a hitch in his throwing motion and did not know how to read a defense properly. Also, his footwork was sloppy.

Wayne led the team to a touchdown in the first quarter in the first preseason game. I played the second quarter and led the team to two field goals. The third quarter was a disaster with two other quarterbacks whose names I cannot remember. But throwing three interceptions got them cut. The fourth quarter saw a young black kid named Garrison Williams out of Grambling State University take the field. He only had a mediocre arm and was not terribly accurate, but he could run. He scrambled around and scored the winning touchdown. Garrison was cut after the second preseason game but wound up in, of all places, San Francisco. I hope he likes it better than I did.

We finished the preseason only winning that first game, but the team looked pretty good. But from the first regular-season game, all of Wayne's weaknesses were exposed. We were 0 - 3 after the first three games.

During practice, the quarterback coach and I worked with Wayne, and he was slowly correcting some of his problems. But midweek, before the fourth game, it was announced that I would be starting. I was delighted, but Wayne was devastated. After practice that day, Wayne told me he was thinking about quitting. I sat him down and then ripped into him.

"Wayne, you're thinking like a fucking twelve-year-old whose feelings have been hurt," I lashed out. "The NFL is a fucking business. It is all about dollars and cents. And it is just like any other business. If you cannot make the owners money, you will be gone. You will not be the starting quarterback this Sunday, so Boo Hoo. Get your head out of your ass and learn to be a great quarterback. You have all the ability in the world. Learn to use it."

I left Wayne in the locker room to stew over what I had said. When I got home, I wanted to tell Staci that I would be the starting quarterback this Sunday, but she was not there. There was just a note saying she had been invited out by some of the other player's wives. And as she put it, "these are the wives of starting players." That last sentence bugged the shit out of me. For the moment, I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. I chose to believe that she had rushed the note and had not thought about what she was saying. However, when she came home drunk four hours later, red flags were flapping, and sirens were wailing. And it was not just that she was drunk. She was dressed like a hooker.

I poured her into bed, deciding to have a Sunday come to Jesus talk with her in the morning, but Staci knew she had fucked up royally. Anyway, she came down looking like a little schoolgirl who had been called into the principal's office. We talked, and Staci apologized. Her excuse was that she wanted the other wives to like her, so she drank too much.

We talked again that night after practice, and that went well. Staci finally understood that I was the starting quarterback for the coming Sunday's game. After that, things went back to a new sort of normal.

We won our next three games but lost the fourth on a last-second field goal. The final score was 34 - 31. When you put up 31 points, you should win, but the defense let us down that day, not that I would say that out loud. The following week, the coach announced that Wayne would be the starting quarterback next Sunday. They put out a BS story that I had a bruised calf, and the coaches were resting me as a precaution. I did have a bruised calf, but most of my body was bruised, as was most everyone else on the team. That is just how it is when you play pro football. Of course, they also said I could play if needed. I understood; The team had invested a lot of money in Wayne, and the owners wanted to start getting their return. I was just the placeholder until Wayne came into his own.

I understood my place in the scheme of things, but Staci apparently did not. I realized that my being the starting quarterback gave Stace a new sort of status with the other wives. When I realized that, I found it annoying and unsettling.

"What if Wayne wins the job? What are you going to do?" she snapped at me one day.

"I'll do what I always do," I said as I glared at her, "I'll work as hard as I can to help the team win."

A flicker of understanding flashed across Staci's face. She understood that she had crossed a line with me.

"I'm sorry," she said as she pulled me into a hug. "It's just that you've worked so hard, and it looks like they are just going to toss you aside."

One of the things that you learn to do as an NFL quarterback is to pay attention to the little details. It was subtle, but something had changed in Staci. From now on, I would keep my eyes and ears open. But then I began to question myself as everything seemed to go back to normal, and Staci became my loving wife again.

Wayne did play well that Sunday, but the gods of football decided to fuck with him. Going into the third quarter, we were up 17 - 10 when Wayne hit his throwing hand on the defensive player's helmet. He broke his thumb badly, and it required surgery. He was placed on injured reserve, and his season was over.

As the season rumbled into the last week, we had to beat Cincinnati, while the Giants and the Bears had to lose for us to make the playoffs. Surprisingly, all three things happened, so we squeaked in. Our fans were ecstatic, but no one expected us to go very far. At this point in time, I was a very happy camper. But my life was going to be turned upside down. But it would take almost a year to realize that my life had completely dropped into the crapper.

Despite my uneasiness, things were going along great between Staci and me. But then something happened that started our downward spiral. Before our first playoff game, the local CBS affiliate decided to put together a pregame show featuring some of the wives of Eagles players. Staci was chosen because I was the starting quarterback. The show was a huge hit, with Staci stealing the limelight. She was funny, warm, and could spin endearing stories about our married life. The audience loved her.

After we won our first game against San Francisco 25 -14, the station decided to do another show with the wives. However, they picked different wives this time, except for Staci. The idea behind the show was to give women who did not really follow football a better understanding of the game. But the show also wanted the wives to explain what it was like being married to an NFL player. The show was very popular, especially among women.

We faced Dallas in our next game; they were the odds-on favorite to win the Super Bowl. They had finished the regular season with a record of 15 - 2. When we crushed them 44 -17, it sent shock waves through the league and Eagles fans into orbit. They were all talking about the Super Bowl, but I knew that was still a pipe dream. We had to face New Orleans, and they had already beaten us decisively during the season.

Staci's next show scored even higher ratings than the first two combined. She was flying high, and I was happy for her. But then our season crashed back to Earth. We lost a heartbreaker in overtime, 24 - 21. What happened after the game surprised and upset me. I was hurting after the loss, but Staci treated me like it was my fault. She kept throwing in little digs about my mistakes. I finally had enough, and we had a raging row. When I refused to sleep in the guest room, Staci left and went to her parents.

A few days later, I got a call from Staci's mother, Linda. She wanted to know why Staci was in her old bedroom crying her eyes out. I explained as best I could about the fight we had. In truth, I could not understand why my wife had turned on me after the NFL Championship game.

I should have paid closer attention to Linda. She was concerned by her daughter's current attitude and thought I should take a firm hand. Linda admitted that when Staci was younger, she had been self-centered and was easily bored with her friends. Now that she was married, Linda was disappointed that her daughter seemed to be exhibiting that old self-centeredness. But I was reeling from the only major argument in our marriage. I missed Staci so much that it felt like physical pain. I desperately wanted her to come home.

To my great relief, Staci returned home the next day full of apologies. She explained that she had been so bitchy because she wanted to do one more TV show, and when we lost, that possibility was lost. According to Staci, she had enjoyed her fifteen minutes of fame, or more like three hours of fame, and wanted the fourth hour. Staci apologized with tears in her eyes, and life went back to normal. Or at least, life was normal for about three and a half months. I was so happy to have her back that I totally missed that our relationship had fundamentally changed. Then the nails began to be driven into our marriage's coffin.

The programming people at CBS had really liked Staci's three shows. And the demographics showed that large numbers of women tuned in and stayed to watch the game. They were interested in talking to Staci about taking the show national with the wives of different teams participating each week. The show would air an hour before the pregame show as a lead-in. They wanted Staci to come to New York to discuss the idea in detail.

I had a previous commitment so I couldn't go with Staci, and I felt she was happy about that. Anyway, the following week, an announcement was made that Staci would be hosting the show for the upcoming year. That would have been all well and good. However, the picture in the paper had not only Staci and the programming people but also Jimmy Washington and several other New York Giants players. I was not happy about that, but Staci's explanation made sense.

Apparently, the New York Giants had just picked up Jimmy in free agency and signed him to a five-year seventy-five-million-dollar contract with fifteen million dollars of that contract guaranteed. According to Stacy, since Jimmy was just in the news, they invited him to the announcement event with three other players the Giants had just signed.

The interesting thing about Jimmy was that he had been converted to a cornerback during the last season and had made it to the Pro Bowl. His lack of finesse in catching a football was not much of a liability on defense.

Staci had been signed to a contract for five hundred thousand dollars to do the show for all twenty games - three preseason and the seventeen regular-season games. She had to travel to New York monthly for meetings about the upcoming season. At first, Staci traveled by train to New York in the morning and was back by early afternoon. Then she wanted to spend the night and enjoy the nightlife. I told her that it would be fine if I traveled with her. But as training camp began to kick into high gear, Staci still wanted to stay overnight. We had a big fight over that. Staci was not happy when I said no.

The Eagles had decided to keep me another season even though there was no way that they were not going to start Wayne. I did not care because I hopefully had a job for another year. They signed me to a one-year contract for a million dollars. However, there were incentives in the contract that made it possible for me to earn up to five million. This was dependent on my production as a quarterback. I did not figure to earn any of the incentive money because Wayne was ready to start.

So, I mostly stood on the sidelines and watched for the rest of the season. Occasionally, I would get in to mop up when a game was out of reach. I suppose I should have been upset, but I was not. I had long since come to accept my role in the NFL. However, I was unwilling to accept my wife's newly acquired arrogance or the disrespect she was showing me.

As Staci's show became more and more popular, our marriage began to disintegrate. At that point, the only good thing in my life was that the Eagles were in the playoffs. Of course, I had very little to do with the team's success. In fact, I could sum up my contribution to one play. Wayne had been hit hard and sat out a play. I completed a forty-two-yard pass that put us on Seattle's twenty-three-yard line. Wayne came back in and could not get us any closer, so we kicked a field goal. That put us up by two, and we won the game by two points.

By the time the last game of the regular season rolled around, Staci was barely ever home. And when Staci was home, we hardly talked, and she slept in the guest room. I was extremely upset that my marriage was collapsing, but I was unprepared for how the final blow would fall.

That blow came the Friday before the final regular-season game. I was tired when I arrived home to find Staci gone. There was a note on the kitchen table saying she had left for New York, but she was expecting a package to be delivered. She wanted me to sign for it. To me, this was just more of the same shit from her. I had been tempted to pull the plug months ago, but I still loved her. And I am an optimist; I was convinced that we could work out our differences once the season was over.

When the doorbell rang, I answered it. I figured it was Staci's package.