The Giants' team psychiatrist told them not to draft your crazy ass.
He said you were out of your freakin' mind and he even came up with some legal mumbo jumbo bullshit about why they couldn't draft you.
He went as far as telling GM Ernie Accorsi that he wasn't going to let him draft you.
Ernie is his own man and he damned sure ain't gonna let some geek psychiatrist from Princeton tell him who he can and can not draft.
So, Accorsi asked the Giants owner if he could borrow the team plane to fly down to Ada, Oklahoma so he could check you out himself.
Ernie wanted to see what made you tick.
F**k what the shrink thinks!
Accorsi and tight end coach Mike Pope watched you and the other Maimi players like Clinton Portis and Ed Reed workout at a private preview session. Miami players always snubbed the NFL combine back then. They all had attitudes....chips on their f**kin' shoulders.
Portis and Reed and all those bastards did.
Accorsi remembers how his assistant Pope almost had a damned orgasm watching you practice that day.
"Mike, come over here. All the other teams were watching. If you don't quit French kissing this guy we're not going to have any chance at all. Back off, will you?"
Back the f**k off!!!
Accorsi landed in your hometown at that tiny brick building in Ada, Okla., that they call an airport.
He said all he could think was Mickey Mantle, 1949, Commerce, Okla.
You met him on the landing strip and the first thing he did was drive you to the local police station so he could ask the cops in person if you were arrested the night of the high school prom for marijuana.
Accorsi was about to invest millions of dollars in you and he wasn't about to take your damned word for it.
The cop said, "No, Ernie. Nothin' like that. Nothin' at all. No sir, Ernie. Nothin' like that"
Then, you and Ernie drove over to your alma mater, Ada High School.
He found a lot of C's and D's on your report card then he noticed you bounced back in your senior year with all A's and one B. He thought to himself you must have cheated your f**kin' ass off your senior year. Nevertheless, he never made anything over it.
After all, a transcript is a transcript said Ernie.
He even went as far as to say you passed with distinction or some bullshit like that.
Then you and Ernie had the best barbecue you ever had in your life over at Bob's Barbeque. You talked about everything: life, women, sports and more sports. You connected and Ernie knew you were the type he needed to win.
F**k the shrink! You're fired!
Yeah ole' Ernie loved you and hated you all at the same time.
He first saw you in 2001 the day Miami beat Penn State 33-7, and you danced all over the end zone whenever you scored a touchdown.
Accorsi thought to himself what an asshole but what a player!
You proved him right on both counts during your career in New York.
You pissed off Tom Coughlin by throwing him under the boss after a loss against Seattle.
You made it point to find a reporter and tell them, "We got outplayed and outcoached."
Then, you pissed off Eli Manning at the time he was trying to assert himself as the team leader by ignoring his phone calls when he implored you to join him and other teammates in offseason workouts.
You returned for the offseason workouts all right and promptly threw Eli's ass under the bus with the media upon your arrival.
What an asshole but what a player!
Eli never really relaxed until you departed the lineup never to return. The pressure was finally off. He didn't have to put up with you ranting and raving and stomping your feet on the sidelines anymore when the ball didn't come your way.
Nevetheless, no one....not Tiki or Eli or Coughlin questioned that you played hard, unbelievably hard, even in practice.
It wasn't your fault that you were born a naturally self-destructive guy. It was in your DNA.
Things didn't end well in New York.
You sparred verbally with Accorsi's replacement GM Jerry Reese. You broke your leg and the ungrateful bastards didn't even invite you on the team flight to the Super Bowl.
Payton was your offensive coordinator in New York your rookie year when you caught 74 passes and had all the media bastards talkin'.
The Saints haven't had a character like you since Kyle Turley or Conrad Dobler (for you baby boomers who actually saw some games at Tulane Stadium.
You're a bad ass. Bad to the bone. Bad to the damned bone.
That Philly sportswriter Sal Paolantonio wrote a couple years back that you were one of the game's most overrated players. He said you were just making Pro Bowls because its a popularity contest.
He's probably just pissed because he's an Eagles fan and what the f**k have they ever won anyway. They even threw sno-balls at Santa Claus!
After the Saints got off to a 4-0 start this year, you said, "I'm very fortunate to come to an organization that's on the up-rise, and that's very encouraging. The New Orleans people have been nothing but awesome."
Bet your ole' Ernie Accorsi was proud when you scored that TD in the Super Bowl.
Good thing he never listened to that f**kin' shrink all those years ago.
You would have never played for the Gaints and never met a young offensive coordinator named Sean Payton.
You're Jeremy Shockey. You are a Super Bowl champion. You've got the world by the ass and doesn't much matter what some shrink or some sportswriter from Philly thinks.
You're probably crazy. Crazy in a world that's far too sane.