In The End, Steve McNair Always Found a Way

The time you won your town the race

We chaired you through the marketplace,

Man and boy stood cheering by,

And home we brought you shoulder-high.

The "air" is heavier today. The man who was once called “country strong” has gone out to the country pasture. A man known for his ability to run away from pressure could not run away from what fate had in store for him. On America’s first day, July 4th, he met his final day. 

Steve McNair has passed away at the age of 36, shot down in a condo in Nashville, TN.

Today, the road all runners come,

Shoulder-high we bring you home,

And set you at your threshold down,

Townsman of a stiller town.

In the coverage of McNair’s death, so much has focused on his role in one particular game: Super Bowl XXXIV against the St. Louis Rams. It is fitting, perhaps, that this game has come to define Steve LaTreal McNair. Always good, always close, but in the end it was not enough. On that day when Kurt Warner was finally vindicated as a quarterback, McNair proved a most capable foil.

Here were two men whose days until that point were marred by circumstance. Warner could not hang in the NFL at first and wound up stocking shelves. McNair fought the vicious stereotype of the black quarterback and only had one college offer him a scholarship.

Both fought their way onto arguably the biggest stage in professional sports through sheer force of will and spirit. When Warner made one play, McNair was seemingly there to match it.

But as we so clearly remember, on that day when Warner found his salvation and cemented his legacy as The Comeback Kid, his opponent, McNair, became known for coming One Yard Short. Warner came all the way back, McNair only came close. So close. But ultimately, not close enough.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away

From fields where glory does not stay,

And early though the laurel grows

It withers quicker than the rose.

Steve McNair was a man who partially carried the burden of taking a long-established franchise, the Houston Oilers, and turning them into another one, the Tennessee Titans. The Oilers never made it to the Super Bowl, but the Titans did quite quickly with McNair at the helm. He did what needed to be done to lead his team to victory.

But yet, he was never called a great passer. He was a dual threat but never elite. He was always good but he was never the best. Even when he reached his personal pinnacle by winning the NFL MVP in 2003, he had to share it with someone else—of all people, the silver spoon-fed, genetically predestined Peyton Manning. At his best, sadly, Steve McNair was never the best.

Eyes the shady night has shut

Cannot see the record cut,

And silence sounds no worse than cheers

After earth has stopped the ears:

Even before that 2003 MVP season, demons found a way to get to Steve McNair. In May of 2003 McNair was arrested for DUI, and in his car the police found a gun beside him. Why would he need a gun? Why would he need to be driving drunk? Who was he running from that night? Why was he scared?

Then there were the injuries. Steve McNair’s body never allowed him to always be there to the level he wanted. Disks, sternums, calves, ankles—they all conspired against him. Fly high, they said, but we will find you and we will put you down. Lead your team to the Super Bowl, yes, but we will make the debate clear as to who was most responsible between you and Neil O’Donnell (4-1 as a starter during the Super Bowl season).

Yes, sir, you may fly, but not too high.

Now you will not swell the rout

Of lads that wore their honours out,

Runners whom renown out-ran

And the name died before the man.

Even during that Super Bowl season, the Titans were known more for a borderline illegal play that vaulted them past the Wild Card round. A cross-field lateral—or was it?—that led to a kickoff return touchdown in which McNair had no part. His franchise overcame the Bills, and returned the karmic dagger that Buffalo thrust into them years before, but he was not responsible.

The next game, defeating the Colts in the Divisional Round, came as a result of some fine running by Eddie George. The defense put the squash on Peyton Manning. McNair? Perhaps he enjoyed the ride. The Titans then defeated the Jacksonville Jaguars—indeed, the Titans were the only team to do so that season—to advance to the Super Bowl.

But McNair couldn’t lead the Titans to victory in the Super Bowl. His throw to Kevin Dyson, earlier a hero, couldn’t find its way into the end zone. Steve McNair, as always, got close. But he couldn’t finish it in the way he’d want.

Then, while he played a few more successful seasons with Tennessee (including the sort-of MVP season), he couldn’t finish his career with the only team he’d ever known in the way he’d want.

After eleven years with the Oilers/Titans, the franchise wanted nothing to do with him. The team that McNair had almost led to the Promised Land now locked him out of their practice facilities and traded him away for a 4th round draft pick. That pick turned out to be wide receiver Chris Davis. I looked for his profile on the Titans’ website, but couldn’t find it. The page, and the player, were no longer found.

So set, before its echoes fade,

The fleet foot on the sill of shade,

And hold to the low lintel up

The still-defended challenge-cup.

McNair played for the Ravens for two seasons. His first led to an AFC North Championship and a loss in the playoffs to Manning and the Colts. His second led to so many hits that he had to bow out in the beginning stages of a 5-11 season. Even before the season began, McNair was arrested once more for DUI.

In the 2008 NFL Draft, the Ravens selected Joe Flacco, with the franchise expecting McNair to mentor him. Instead, McNair retired. Flacco led the Ravens to the AFC Championship game, where they lost to the Pittsburgh Steelers. In Super Bowl XLIII, the Steelers defeated the Arizona Cardinals, led by—who else?—quarterback Kurt Warner.

This upcoming season, Warner will be defending his team’s NFC Championship. McNair, his foil so many years ago, will be watching the season with his Maker.

In the end, Steve McNair was not perfect. He was not the best passer, not the greatest citizen, and never won a title. But he got his. He did whatever it took to get his. What it took wasn’t always pretty or upright, but it got him there.

Steve McNair was a competitor. He did what he had to do. Perhaps it was what caused his untimely demise. Perhaps he was simply a victim of circumstance. Perhaps we’ll never know which one it was.

But one thing is for certain: Steve McNair, after all was said and done, always found a way.

And round that early-laurelled head

Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,

And find unwithered on its curls

The garland briefer than a girl's.

-          A.E. Housman