Chapter 31

So the first week in March I was greeting players and planning my pro-am debut. I'd been offered spots in the pro-ams during a couple of events when I toured with Bailey, but I'd always declined. After the event Tuesday I wished I hadn't.

I was paired up with Amelie Robinson. She epitomized the "dykes in spikes" stereotype of women's golf, and had a reputation of being such a pain in the ass that no one would willingly donate money to charity for a shot to be her partner.

Jenny Phipps and I were planning to pair together, but I told her I'd team up with Amelie.

"I put up with you for the last two weeks," I joked. "I can put up with her for a couple of hours."

Amelie was cute as a button, but I found quickly her reputation was well earned. It didn't help that the other amateur in our foursome was a jackass, and that the pro barely spoke a word of English.

I spent the first four holes listening to some jerk-off tell me what he'd have done if he were the Cardinals coach, getting glares from Amelie and shrugs from Anora Akimoto.

On the fifth hole I shanked my tee shot into the woods. Amelie was not far away, but still in the fairway, so I yelled across.

"Any idea how I should get out of this mess?" I asked.

"You mean you don't know," she said sarcastically. "And you're willing to ask a mere woman for advice?"

I told her I was pretty good at getting into these situations, but not good at getting out of them, and that any good advice I'd received in my life had come from a woman. She came over to take a look.

"I realize you spend most of your time on the good stuff," I said. "But I figured you'd have a better idea about this than I would."

She told me she thought my best bet was to go right through the trees.

"I don't think I'm strong enough to get it lifted out of the crap it's buried under," I said.

She said I should just take a 3-iron and knock the shit out of it.

"Keep your head down, but make sure it doesn't bounce back and brain you," she said with a laugh in her cute French accent.

A laugh was better than nothing.

I hit it as hard as I could but I only managed to move the ball about 50 yards. It wasn't the shot I envisioned when I swung but at least I was on the fairway.

Amelie was laughing at me again.

"You should have to drop your pants and walk to the ball to prove you're a man," she said between snorts.

I playfully started to unbutton my shorts and she laughed harder.

The rest of the day was much better. Amelie and I talked so I was able to avoid Mr. Know-It-All and I found out from Amelie that Anora knew a lot more English than she let on.

It was fun and I managed to meet a lot of interesting people. One of the people I tried to meet but didn't succeed was a young Hispanic player. She seemed engaging and friendly to everyone, but I couldn't manage to get within 100 yards of her. She missed the cut and was gone to the next event by Friday evening.

Still, I had no hesitation when Jenny asked me if I'd be willing to help out next year.

In April I bought a house. Who am I kidding? I bought a mansion.

I didn't spend much money when I signed my contract. My biggest purchases were a vintage Fiat convertible for Ellie and a donor's pass to all UK sporting events for Mack. For Beth, I paid for the second month of her honeymoon to Europe as a wedding gift. Mack and Ellie paid for one month and I paid for a second.

Beth's wedding was a bittersweet moment for me. She was happy and I was happy for her. But it also brought an official end to any more "blurring of the lines." We'd stopped when she met her future husband coming home from Pasadena. The first thing I did when I signed with the Cardinals was to hire Beth as my financial adviser/personal assistant. She and her new husband lived in Columbus, Ohio. She was probably the best-paid MBA student at Ohio State.

Her employment actually hastened her wedding. She and Greg Hubbard had planned to wait another year, but since she had money coming in they got married earlier. They wed during the Cardinals' bye week in September so I was able to attend.

I would like to say that Greg and I hit it off immediately and became friends. I'd be lying. He was a faux country club snob — his family had less money than mine had growing up — and I doubted the marriage would last long. By the time I bought the house, Beth was five months pregnant but she certainly didn't seem as excited about it as Sean and Krista Lombard had been.

To each her own, I guess.

Days after I bought the house — six bedrooms, four full baths, a hot tub and a pool — the Cardinals traded the guy who started last season at quarterback for a fourth-round draft pick.

Jim Mason told the media the organization had decided I was the man to lead them into "the Golden Era of Cardinals football."

The Cardinals had never been to a Super Bowl and hadn't sniffed the playoffs in 10 seasons. Mr. Mason probably should settle for the Wood Era.

I had played pretty well in the latter part of the season, and given the fact that offensive lineman and defensive players comprised most of the top 20 draft picks, I was awarded the Offensive Rookie of the Year award almost by default.

The trophy joined my two Maxwells and my two Davey O'Briens in a box in my garage. At least I didn't use them as doorstops. God knows I had enough doors now. I still had Alex's stepdaughter's picture though.

The Cardinals were pushing for a publicly funded stadium and I irked some of the ownership when I responded candidly to a question about the matter.

"I certainly agree the Cardinals need a new stadium," I said. "But as resident and a taxpayer, I expect ownership to provide a concrete plan to put forth a quality product before even I could support it."

I gave my pat response when I was called on the carpet: You knew what you were getting when you drafted me.

Jim Mason spent his cap money wisely and we were a much better team my second year. There was a different attitude in the locker room because Mr. Mason had focused on bringing in good players from winning teams, instead of signing the best player from bad ones, as the organization had done in the past.

We paid a little above market value for a couple of players that fit a particular need and rewarded long-time Cardinal veterans who had taken pay cuts in the past with better contracts to keep them longer.

By the end of preseason, I had no problem telling anyone who'd listen that I thought the Cardinals had fulfilled their end of the bargain and I would be voting yes on the ballot measure in September.

We came out the gate strong and won our first three games. Our fourth game was against the Patriots — the defending Super Bowl champs and a team led by my former coach, Scott Brown. Kentucky had put together back-to-back one-win seasons following our magical run to the national title, so he and I spent an hour reminiscing on Monday, after the Patriots handed us our first loss the day before.

We both were amazed at how quickly so much hard work could be erased. Ed Hemphill was gone before his first season ended. He resigned after the team's eighth-straight 20-point defeat. His son, Alex, was in his first season as starting quarterback for Alabama and had the Tide off to a 3-1 start.

Coach Brown was set at quarterback for the foreseeable future — his QB was one of, if not the best in the game. So I knew I probably would never get the chance to play for him again. But maybe I'd get the chance to play against him in the Super Bowl.

We lost again the next week and hit our bye week at 3-2. I traveled to Lexington and spent a couple of days with Mack, Ellie and the Elliotts, then drove to Columbus where I was introduced to Beth and Greg's son, Timothy. The last stop on my road show before heading back was Florida where I spent the weekend with Sara, her mom and stepdad. Sara was 16 and had turned into quite the looker. She was the star of her high school golf team, and I had to watch myself carefully to keep from checking out her butt when we played a round on Saturday afternoon.

Before I knew it I was back at practice and preparing to head east again for a game in Nashville against the Titans.

Cody and I had kept in touch for a little while after her concert, but I think her boyfriend wasn't too keen on the idea of us getting to know one another again. I wondered if that's why I didn't like Beth's husband that much. But there was a message from Cody waiting at the team hotel when I got there, so I called her and we had a late dinner. Her third CD was ready to be released and she was preparing to head out on tour to support it.

We caught up on where the other had been and what they'd been doing. I'm ashamed to say she was more up-to-date on my career than I was on hers.

It was a nice relaxing evening and I told her I hoped we could get together again.

Cody looked up at me with her big blue eyes and gave me one her dazzling smiles.

"How about if I fix you breakfast in the morning?" she asked.

I knew what she meant immediately, but I wasn't sure it was a great idea at the time.

Cody saw my hesitation.

"Maybe not tomorrow morning," she said. "But my tour starts out west and I'd like to visit with you in Phoenix for a while."

I wasn't sure of my feelings toward Cody but I didn't see any harm in exploring them and I told her so.

Tennessee had yet to emerge from a salary-cap forced talent purge from a few seasons back. Their roster was bereft of talent, but loaded with overpaid veterans with guaranteed money still on the books. The Titans had the first or second overall pick for three straight seasons and looked well on their way to a fourth. They were 0-8 on the season by the time we left Nashville.

Cody arrived in Phoenix a day after I did. She planned to stay for a few days then head back to Nashville to finish her tour arrangements. My normal weekly schedule wasn't too demanding. We almost always had Mondays off. We had a light practice Tuesday and Wednesday mornings, and team and position meetings in the afternoons. Thursdays were a full practice, and Friday was either a travel day or a walk-through day. Saturdays were always walk-through days in the mornings and Sundays were game days.

The Cardinals rarely played any day but Sunday. We hadn't played on Monday Night Football in five years and Thanksgiving Day was always in Dallas and Detroit so the other two slots were usually reserved for teams that would create the best matchups. It was rarely us. Occasionally we'd play late-season Saturday games after the college season ended or if Christmas and New Year's fell on a Sunday, but we were pretty much a lock for Sunday afternoons.

Cody and I went out each night she was in town. There was no doubt she was a beautiful and charming woman. But my feelings toward her weren't romantic. Her feelings toward me definitely were. We dated for almost the rest of the season. Whenever she had a tour break, she'd stay with me in Phoenix. But I didn't feel the spark I had with any of my previous girlfriends. Mostly I worried that I couldn't live up to the ideal she had in her head.

I don't know if she recognized that I wasn't falling in love with her, or if I just didn't meet her expectations, but she ended our relationship shortly after Christmas. I do know she wrote a scathing breakup song soon after that would be played at visiting stadiums anytime I appeared for the next season.

My only regret about dating Cody was the fact it ended any possibility of a friendship.

The Sunday after Cody and I broke up was the regular-season finale. We were 9-6 coming into the game and controlled our own destiny for the playoffs. We were assured a wild card berth with a win; a win coupled with a Seattle loss would give us the NFC West title and a home playoff game for the first time in 16 years.