Drew Brees artfully slicked a ball over his offensive line into the hands of a dead-sprinting Darren Sproles, who ran pell-mell through two Falcons and into the end-zone. It was a simple half-back dump--the quarterback for the New Orleans Saints had done this play dozens of times. As he sometimes does when throwing a touchdown, Brees indulged himself in a small fist-pump, at first forward in a gut-punch and then raised in a silent but obvious declaration of victory. It was understated and cool, just as anyone who follows him has come to expect from Brees. He is short for a quarterback, precise and eloquent, with none of Vick's convicted sparkle, Tebow's near-holy charisma or Brady's movie-star looks. In that moment Brees was calm--after all, it was only nine-yard throw.
Only moments later when his linemen hoisted him into the air and the stadium exploded with flashes of light, bulbs further illuminating Brees' luminary performance, would anyone not knowing th...
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December 27, 2011
