Free Coming Back Stronger: Unleashing the Hidden Power of Adversity by Drew Brees Page B

And it was up to me to create it.
    After playing poorly the whole game, I saw this as my opportunity to come in and fix things, just like I’d done in college many times before. Cam Cameron, our offensive coordinator, called the play—a pass to wide receiver Tim Dwight—and I hesitated. I was lacking a bit of confidence, so I didn’t turn the ball loose and fire it in there like I should have. The throw was late, and the ball got knocked down. Incomplete.
    On second down, another pass play was called, so I went through my read and threw it out in the flat. LaDainian Tomlinson got pushed out-of-bounds almost immediately for a short three-yard gain. So now we were third and seven, in Chicago territory. We called a pass play, and I felt confident we would get the first down. Tim Dwight ran the route again, and like most routes in an NFL offense, it required trust and timing for it to work—neither of which I had at that moment. Tim ran a nine-yard stop route, a pass I normally could complete in my sleep. He was open, and I threw it, but again my lack of confidence caused me to airmail the ball high and behind him. I was so afraid of making a mistake or making a bad throw that ironically, that’s what inevitably happened. When you think negative thoughts, negative things usually happen. On the flip side, when you think positively and visualize success, that’s usually what you get. It’s amazing how that works. Tim tried to recover to make the catch, but the ball slipped through his fingers. Incomplete again. Fourth down.
    As I jogged off the field, reality set in. That was my opportunity to save my job, and I blew it. I realized I was about to get benched.
    I got to the sideline, and sure enough Marty Schottenheimer came up to me. “I’m pulling you. Doug’s in.” I could see in Marty’s eyes that he was ready for a fight. He was remembering that game in Buffalo and the fire I’d shown him. He was expecting me to get in his face and refuse to come out of the game.
    But by that point I was defeated mentally and emotionally. In my entire professional career, I’d never been this low. So instead of fighting with him, I just took off my helmet. “I understand.”
    As I headed to the bench, I thought about my quarterbacks coach from Purdue, Greg Olson, who was now the quarterbacks coach for the Bears. He was a mentor to me, not only in my growth as a quarterback, but also in my maturity as a person. He’d been key in helping me approach the game professionally and develop a strong work ethic. We’d spent countless hours at Purdue studying film, with Coach Olson guiding me through each play, each mistake, so I could learn from it.
    Knowing my former coach was across the field had been added incentive for me to play well that game. I wanted to impress him and show him that all his hard work was for a purpose. And now, instead of excelling, I’d just been benched.
    We ended up losing to Chicago 20–7. Doug Flutie finished out the game at quarterback and led us on a scoring drive capped off by a LaDainian Tomlinson touchdown, but it was too little, too late. It was a devastating loss, bringing our record to 1–7. After the game, I was more disheartened than I’d ever been. The little confidence I’d had left seemed to have dried up. I walked across the field and found Greg. I saw the hurt in his eyes. He’s hurting for me.
    “Hey, things are going to be okay,” Greg said, putting his arm around me. He continued to try to console me as I nodded to acknowledge his efforts.
    I was fighting back tears. I felt lost. Suddenly something came over me—sort of a courageous feeling. I stepped back and looked him dead in the eyes. With my chin still quivering a bit, I choked out, “I’m going to be a great player in this league someday.”
    It was kind of a funny thing to say at that moment, after such a miserable performance. But my hope was returning. I knew the kind of person I was—I knew I was capable of playing