Dwight Freeney understood the rules of his game. In the NFL, on the quarterback’s blind side, you came and you went. You had your moment when you played so perfectly in the sun that you were mistaken for the sun—and then you were eclipsed. The summer before the start of the 2006 season was still his moment, and would remain his moment—until it wasn’t. Until he lost a step. Or got hurt. Or until the next Jonathan Ogden showed up and was maybe a step quicker, or fractionally more gifted, than the original. As he listened to the biography of Michael Oher, Dwight Freeney’s expression changed. He was no longer smiling.
“What’s his name again?” he asked.
“Michael Oher.”
“You tell Michael Oher I’ll be waiting for him,” he said, and walked into the locker room.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents