Chapter 29

I only had three classes my first semester in law school — and thank God for that. My time from the moment I woke up, to the moment I went to bed, was accounted for. I was also thankful the Alabama offense was very similar to the Kentucky offense. I had to learn new terminology, but very little else.

The Tide waltzed through our opener and set our sights on the defending national champion Wildcats. It was hard for me to believe it had been only nine months since the city had thrown a parade in our honor, and now I was coming back as the enemy.

I missed one part of the equation. No one in Lexington viewed me as the enemy. When we came into the stadium, the usual sea of blue and white was wearing maroon. A couple of local radio stations had begun urging people to show their displeasure at Hemphill by wearing Alabama jerseys to every home game.

It looked like half the stadium took them up on it. I was surprised to see Mack, Ellie, Beth and Aaron all wearing Alabama maroon with my No. 13 on it. The team decided the six UK transfers would be the captains for the game and it was pretty amazing to walk out to midfield to meet some of my former teammates.

They greeted us warmly and I think most of them wished they'd been able to leave with us.

I looked around the stadium more that afternoon than I had the previous two years combined. A banner hung behind the Alabama bench that said "They may be wearing Crimson, but they're True Blue to us."

Coach Stuart was true to his word and left his starters in for most of the game. We'd put 49 points on the board by halftime and I thought he might shoot for 100.

The game turned ugly in the third quarter. UK was flagged on back-to-back plays for late hits against me, and then picked up an unsportsmanlike conduct flag when a player spat at one of my linemen. Still, Stuart kept calling pass plays and we kept scoring. Almost half of last year's UK team was gone by now. When we hit 77 points with 11 minutes to play, Coach Stuart called off the dogs.

He did the same thing for me that Coach Brown had done for Tom at the end of last season. He sent me out for one play then called timeout to send in my backup. I was ecstatic to receive the same response Tom had.

I spent the last 11 minutes of the game trying to find Bailey in the crowd. But I didn't even know if she'd come back to school. The last I heard she was still an amateur, but that didn't mean she was still at UK.

If she wasn't at the stadium I hoped she was watching on TV. If she saw it, she knew what I meant when I tugged on my ear as I left the Commonwealth Stadium field for the last time. It was our signal that I loved her and I was thinking of her.

Between classes and practices, the fall went by like a blur. It seemed like only yesterday that I was in Tempe, Ariz., with Leslie. Now I found myself back at the Georgia Dome for the SEC title game against Sara's Florida Gators. Alabama was undefeated and ranked No. 1. We probably weren't as good as last year's Kentucky team but we weren't far off.

Our only major flaw was our kicking game. Our kicker had trouble with extra points, let alone long field goals. Our punter was so inconsistent that by the end of the season we'd stopped punting altogether. If we anywhere near midfield we'd go for it. If we were backed up in our own end we'd either go for it or I'd pooch punt.

It usually didn't matter because we were so far ahead. But during the Iron Bowl against Auburn, it almost bit us on the butt. Our kicker missed two extra points and a field goal and we trailed by seven with a minute to play. I took them down the field for the touchdown with six seconds left and Coach Stuart left his offense of the field. We had no timeouts but I called a naked bootleg and sneaked across the goal line for the two-point conversion.

Sara called me that evening and told me what a stupid call that was.

"You make your money with your arm," she scolded me. "Leave the running to the guys with 20s and 30s on their jersey."

The other added bonus of coming to Alabama — aside from getting the chance to play at Kentucky — was the chance to play in Gainesville for a second straight year. Sara and her mom were in attendance again and once again Sara left broken-hearted. But as it was the only regular-season loss for the Gators, Sara and the Fergusons were coming to Atlanta for the rematch.

My last ticket was sent to the University of Georgia doctor I'd met the year before. I sincerely hoped I wouldn't need her skills this year.

Florida was a good team. They were probably better overall than we were. It was close right up to the end when the Florida QB was intercepted at our goal line and we escaped with a three-point victory.

The Heisman ceremony was a week later in New York. I had comprehensive exams starting the following Monday, so I sent my regrets. Tom was unavailable to attend, so I worked with the Alabama athletic department and put together a videotape expressing my regrets and thanking my teammates and coaching staff. It wasn't needed. Although I finished second the year before and was a finalist this time, I wasn't selected as the winner.

I was in the law library with my head buried in a textbook when the announcement was made. I didn't even think about it until Alex, his girlfriend, and her daughter met me at the front door around midnight with a beer and a drawing of the Heisman the little girl had made. I initially thought I'd won the thing but I wasn't very disappointed when they told me it went to a running back from Oklahoma.

I tacked the drawing up on the refrigerator. In truth the drawing probably meant more to me than the statue would have.

The Rose Bowl hosted the national title game this year and I vowed to enjoy it to the fullest. Mack and Ellie begged off the trip, but Beth came. I gave her all six of my ticket allotment so she could bring friends.

I managed to sneak away a couple of times so Beth and I could "blur the lines" of our brother-sister relationship. I wish I'd kept the tickets myself now, because Beth met her future husband on the trip back to Lexington. They've since divorced, but she has great kids and a great career. She's told me since that if I had pursued a relationship after Bailey and I broke up, we'd have gotten back together. At the time though, all I wanted was Bailey back and Beth knew it.

Unlike the year before, I enjoyed the hell out of the Rose Bowl festivities. There is a reason why it's call "The Granddaddy of Them All." The Tournament of Roses Parade on New Year's Day was awesome. And everything the city of Pasadena did was first class. No one had to worry about me smiling this year.

We matched up with Oklahoma, the Big 12 Champion. No one but us was undefeated, and there was major controversy about the Sooners getting the bid over Washington and Michigan State.

I don't know if either of the other two could have given us a game — they both lost their bowl games, too — but Oklahoma sure didn't. The Sooners were out of sync and out of luck. We ran the opening kickoff back for a touchdown and scored again four minutes later. We were up 14 and we'd only run three plays. Believe it or not, it got worse from there for the Sooners. I didn't take a snap in the second half and still threw four touchdown passes. Of course that only fueled the media to ask me hundreds of questions about losing the Heisman to the Oklahoma running back.

Shoot, in my mind, the best players in college football were the offensive linemen. They might not be the most athletic, but they certainly had more worth to the overall success of the team than a quarterback or running back.

For the second consecutive year — and three years out of four — I was a member of the last team standing at the end of the season.

During the Rose Bowl hype, one of the writers brought up a statistic I was unaware of. I mean I guess I was aware of it, but it didn't sink in.

For the eight seasons from ninth grade until then, the teams I'd played on were 97-7. In games I had started, they were 96-0. I hadn't lost a game as a starting quarterback since peewee league. Along the way I'd picked up three state championships, an NCAA Division II title, NCAA Division I title and now a shot at a second, which eventually was fulfilled.

I was amazed. I knew I'd been a part of some really good teams, but I didn't realize exactly how good until he told me.

"I've been fortunate to play for good coaches and with great teammates," I said truthfully. "I've never won or lost a football game on my own in my life. For every pass I throw, someone has to block, and someone has to catch. Every time we score someone on defense has to keep the other team from scoring."

My relationship with the media had thawed somewhat. I still caught hell for skipping the Heisman ceremony, but I thought it was unavoidable. I also didn't feel the need to justify my decision to anyone — especially not to a writer who probably hadn't taken a snap in a game, and most certainly hadn't taken a law school comprehensive exam.

The media thaw froze over again in the spring when I refused to take part in the NFL combine, and wouldn't travel to perform like a trained monkey in individual workouts for teams. I set aside two Saturdays in February when I was willing to put on the trained monkey act at the stadium, but only a couple of teams showed up the first day and none the second.

I used the same logic in skipping the workouts as I had for skipping the Heisman ceremony — I couldn't fit it into my law school course schedule. I also hadn't hired an agent so I didn't have millions of dollars borrowed from some shyster against my future earnings. Once again I didn't feel the need to justify my decision. I simply explained to teams that if they were willing to pay my expenses to and from and confine their workout to four hours or less, I'd be happy to attend on any Saturday. None took me up on my offer.

The final nail in my media coffin was when I refused to travel to New York for the NFL Draft. It was the last Saturday and Sunday in April and my finals started the following Monday. My stock had dropped like a hot rock. Writers were calling me a prima donna — and maybe I was — and saying I had created controversy anywhere I'd played. I was unaware of any controversy I'd created — in fact I think outside of Ed Hemphill you couldn't find one coach who'd say anything negative about me. Even my freshman coach liked me in the end.

I figured if I didn't like where I was drafted, I didn't have to play. But I was also content to play for whatever team drafted me and signing me wouldn't be an issue. The contract I had in mind would play hell with the slotting method of signing draft picks, but that's something for the NFL Player's Association to worry about. I was already looking into a way to avoid being represented by the NFLPA anyway, so I didn't give a crap if they were mad or not.

Fittingly, I was in the University of Alabama School of Law library when draft day rolled around. I had brought my cell phone with me, but I'd put it on vibrate. Alex and his clan were having a draft day party at the house, but I had bigger things to worry about.

The draft started at noon and I was shocked when my cell phone rang at 12:10. My shock wore off when Alex told me I didn't go No. 1. He was screwing with me and I told him to leave me alone.

He left me alone until after 3 p.m. when he called again.

"Man, things are not going well for you," he said and he was serious. "They're in the 20s already and everybody already has their quarterback. Max Schneider says you're going to be the steal of the draft."

Of course, this was the same Max Schneider who had also called me a pain in the butt the day before, so I wasn't too concerned.

I had no more than put my cell phone down when it buzzed again. I expected another update from Alex but the caller ID was a number I didn't recognize.

I answered quietly and headed for the nearest door.

"Is this R.J.?" a voice asked and I told him it was.

"R.J., this is Jim Mason from the Arizona Cardinals," he said. "We're doing our best to move back into the first round and grab you, but if you're still available when we pick in the second we're going to take you."

I knew the Cardinals had the third overall pick, so that would put them at 34, too.

"Did you take Sean Lombard in the first round?" I asked.

"You mean you're not even watching the draft?" he asked incredulously.

I told him I had comps starting Monday, and I figured I should let him know a little more about me. I explained my rationale for my decisions.

At least I'd given him something to think about.

Five minutes later he called me back and told me they'd traded next year's No. 1, this year's No. 2 and a No. 5 to move up and select me in the first round.

"I might not have done that if you hadn't told me what you did," he said. "Most kids just drop out of school in the spring and jump through whatever hoops we want them to. I guess you might be made of sterner stuff."

I told him my comps were done Thursday and he could expect me in Phoenix as early as Friday.

He told me he didn't have an agent listed for me and he asked who he should contact.

"I don't have an agent and I don't believe in them," I said. "You and I can sit down and figure out a way that neither of us gets raped. I have a financial adviser and a friend who'll study the contract. The terms will be decided by me and whomever you choose."

He signed off with "I'll be damned" and "I'll see you Friday."

In the next hour I received a slew of phone calls from friends, teammates and ex-teammates.

Sara was beside herself.

"Jacksonville was trying to trade up, too," she said sadly. "That would have been cool."