ESPN Mag: A really long analysis of Houston's win over Pitt

tallanvor · Nov 17, 2011

http://insider.espn.go.com/insider/story/_/id/7241276/nfl-look-making-remaking-houston-texans-gameplan-week-4-pittsburgh-steelers-game

contains Phillips and Knapp(QB coach) analysis of the game

A TEXANS GAME PLAN STARTS with blank walls in a dimly lit, windowless bunker inside Reliant Stadium. The room has one desk, three chairs, a computer and a flat-screen TV. All four walls, from floor to ceiling, are covered in whiteboard. On this Monday night, as with every Monday night, Houston quarterbacks coach Greg Knapp uncaps a blue marker and fills the walls with notes for quarterback Matt Schaub about the next opponent, in this case the Steelers. Knapp, who is tall and bulky, with dark hair feathered back in the style of his boss, head coach Gary Kubiak, doesn't begin with X's and O's. In fact, he might never draw X's and O's with his marker. He doesn't need to. The X's and O's are contained in code.

Some of the lingo is standard West Coast offense jargon. "Tiger" is a two-tight-ends, one-back formation; "ZEB" stands for Zebra, a three-receiver set; "EAG " is short for Eagle, a four-receiver look. When noting Steelers blitz packages, Knapp writes in Texans-specific dialect: a SAW is a Sam and Will linebacker blitz; a WAP is a blitz involving the Will and "Plug," the team's term for a weakside, inside 3-4 linebacker.

Other notes come from the Texans' scouting report, which Knapp spent the morning studying: "In sub defense, NT comes out. No. 22 goes to nickel; OLBs become DEs; they play all four types of coverage (quarters, two-deep, three-deep, man) behind their blitz package."

Numbers come next. Some stats Knapp finds online: "7 of their 11 starters have 9 or more years' experience," which will remind Schaub that the Steelers are capable of more complicated schemes than most defenses. Other metrics look like calculus: 10x MPX (+) MLB/PLB 35 6x 37 4x. That tells Schaub the Steelers have used a Smack blitz (MPX), which features two linebackers (MLB and PLB), 10 times total this season, including six times from a "35" front and four times using a "37" front.

To be safe, Knapp also types every note onto a study sheet for Schaub. But he doesn't actually expect his quarterback to memorize itthere's far too much information. So why do it? Well, Knapp is like most coaches: The vast amount of preparation helps him sleep at night; it reassures him that come Sunday, he won't be surprised, the worst feeling a man in his profession can have. Deep into this evening, Knapp continues writing, like Will Hunting at the MIT chalkboard: 7x SAW ... 5x Sonic ... 4x Felix ... 4x Cobra ... base packages, sub packages, blitz percentages -- his work ends when the wall does.

GAME PLANS ARE AN EXERCISE in contraction. The pressure to win in the NFL is so great that more plays are dreamed up than can ever be run; more data is aggregated than can ever be digested. The process of distilling all that info often begins months before kickoff. "I want to say game-planning is an art," says Kubiak. "But it's a tough art."

Texans defensive coordinator Wade Phillips started watching film on the Steelers last spring, when players were locked out. "We had a little more time on our hands," he says. Phillips is 64 and in his 36th year coaching in the NFL, his first with the Texans. Kubiak, a backup QB in Denver when Phillips was the Broncos defensive coordinator, hired Phillips to improve a defense that always seemed to collapse under pressure.

Back in the spring, the Steelers appeared to be the type of pound-the-ball team the Texans struggle against. But the 2010 Steelers that Phillips watched months ago bear little resemblance to the 2011 version. Injuries to the offensive line have sapped Pittsburgh's ground game. Now it's a passing team, so Phillips has whittled the Steelers' game plan to three essential, pass-specific components:

• Contain speedy receiver Mike Wallace.
• Pressure QB Ben Roethlisberger by overpowering Pittsburgh's patchwork O-line.
• Prevent Big Ben from escaping the pocket. His size -- 6'5", 241 -- makes it a tough task.

Phillips decides that cornerback Johnathan Joseph will be assigned to Wallace on every play, man or zone, except when the receiver is in the slot, where a safety will cover him. It's a risk putting single coverage on the opponent's top threat. But that tactic gives Phillips one more man to send into the pocket -- and the quicker the Texans can pressure Roethlisberger, the less time Joseph has to cover Wallace. "It's a big matchup," Phillips says. "But Joseph's up to it."

Joseph has covered the opponent's top threat every week this season. The Steelers know this too. But Phillips doesn't care. Only a handful of game plans leaguewide each year are truly original -- think the Browns' zero-down-linemen front in an upset of the Saints last season, or the Jets' 3-1-7 alignment against the Patriots in the playoffs. Only once every decade is a game plan legendary, like Bill Belichick's strategy to hit Marshall Faulk on every play in Super Bowl XXXVI, which helped the Patriots beat the Rams. For most teams, which are built specifically to execute one scheme, their best game plan is their standard game plan. The trick is to do it well. "We won't go out of our system," Phillips says on the Saturday before the game, sitting in another windowless room in Reliant Stadium."You don't come up with a new blitz every week that your players will have to memorize. They'll just make mistakes."

Both teams know Houston will attack Pittsburgh's offensive line, so success will be defined by the Texans' ability to capitalize on their advantages: health, preparation and the virtue of playing at home, where a noisy crowd will limit the Steelers' snap-count options. Weeks ago, Phillips asked scout Larry Wright to hunt for clues to Roethlisberger's cadence. During road games, Wright found, Pittsburgh typically uses a quick count on first and second downs. On third down, center Maurkice Pouncey bobs his head, then snaps the ball a second later. Also, when in the shotgun, Roethlisberger stomps his foot for the snap. At Baltimore on Sept. 11, he stomped twice. And at Indianapolis on Sept. 25, he stomped once.

After Phillips has a bead on an opponent's tendencies, he seeks tendencies within tendencies. Prior to this game, he finds a doozy: Pittsburgh has called passes 28 of the 30 times it has used "11" personnel (one back, one tight end, three receivers) from the shotgun. As tells go, that's huge. He can use that.

Of course, pressing Roethlisberger is one thing; bringing him down is another. The QB has made a career of fleeing the pocket, lumbering about and firing to receivers from a windup so slow it's as if he's holding a dumbbell. Phillips learns from video that Steelers receivers have a standard reaction to Big Ben's scrambles: Those running short routes turn upfield; those running long routes circle back to Roethlisberger. The Texans' answer will be their "Plaster" defense. As soon as Big Ben runs, Houston's secondary will shove the nearest receiver to the ground, and if the wideout is near the sideline push him out of bounds -- both legal tactics, as long as the quarterback is outside of the tackles. It's a revealing tenet to this week's game plan: The Texans, used to being pushed around, believe they can manhandle the Steelers.

NO GAME PLAN IS AN ISLAND. They are all group efforts. Assistant offensive line coach Frank Pollack is responsible for pass protection. Offensive line coach John Benton handles the running game. Offensive coordinator Rick Dennison, Knapp and others devise the passing attack. Kubiak? He decides the final plan -- usually 90 passes and 35 runs -- and calls the shots on Sunday. He also pops into Dennison's office at all hours to drop off new plays he's conjured up. Which he feels guilty about.

Kubiak remembers how frustrating it was to be Denver's offensive coordinator when Mike Shanahan would do it to him. "The coordinator has to do all the work," he says. "Getting scripts ready, drawing up cards. As a head coach, you're not doing the paperwork, so you come up with all these ideas last minute and forget what it's like to have to implement them." Kubiak, for his part, wants to run against the Steelers. To create space for the Texans' bread-and-butter stretch run play, Benton has an idea: Employ it out of passing formations, such as the three-receiver Zebra and four-receiver Eagle, to play off the tendency of Steelers opponents to spread the field and pass the ball to negate all the blitzing they face.

The same principle of deception is applied to the passing game. In a 40-33 loss to the Saints on Sept. 25, Houston tight end Owen Daniels scored a touchdown on a play called Wing Right, 3 Jet, U Choice, Y Shallow Cross, Trey Corner. Daniels was the "U." From a three-tight-end alignment, he ran five yards and had the option to break inside or outside, depending on the defender's position. This week, Daniels will run the route from the slot -- a perfect third-down call. "The concept is similar," Knapp says, "but the window dressing is different."

As Knapp noted on the whiteboard, Pittsburgh blitzes 47 percent of the time when the opponent is in base personnel. The Smack blitz, featuring linebackers James Harrison and LaMarr Woodley, is the Steelers' favorite. Houston's game plans typically include up to 16 protections, but against the Steelers, only eight will be in the mix. "They give you so many looks," Knapp says. "It's best not to get caught up in what they're doing and instead just execute our stuff."

Execution, of course, requires repetition. And the Texans' practice schedule is standard NFL: Most of Houston's game plan is practiced on Wednesday. Short yardage and goal line on Thursday, red zone on Friday. In all, the first 15 plays of the first half and the first 10 of the second half are scripted. Of course, the game rarely goes according to plan. One time in Denver, Kubiak and Shanahan built an entire game plan against the Patriots predicated on facing a 3-4 front. But the Pats played a 4-3 that game. "An entire week's work went out the window," Kubiak says. He'll never forget the look of lost confidence on his players' faces. It's one of his goals to never be unprepared again.

THERE ARE DAYS, though -- rare and special days -- when a game plan works as designed. And after winning the toss on a brilliant, sunny Sunday, this appears to be one of those days. The Texans begin from their own 5-yard line. Working from the script, Kubiak begins with three runs and three passes, gaining 24 yards and two first downs. On the seventh play, he calls Benton's disguised stretch run. Houston aligns in Zebra, with three receivers. Fullback James Casey motions out of the backfield to become a fourth receiver; now the Texans are in a faux-Eagle set. Inside linebacker Lawrence Timmons shifts outside to cover Casey, leaving only one inside linebacker, Larry Foote. The Steelers defense is stretched thin. Tailback Ben Tate takes the handoff and runs to Timmons' vacated gap for 20 yards.

Even after a holding penalty knocks the Texans into a first and 20, Kubiak doesn't veer from the scriptbut he does allow for changes within each play. For instance, later in the drive, on third and two from the Steelers' 14, Kubiak calls a slant to receiver Andre Johnson. But the coaches have noticed that the Steelers are double-covering Johnson; he probably won't be open. So Knapp tells Schaub through the headset, "You're going to have to run for the first." Sure enough, after the snap, Johnson is bracketed. An alley opens, and Schaub scrambles for two yards. Two plays later, on first and goal from the 1, Schaub fakes a run right and then lofts a fleece-soft pass to Daniels for a touchdown. Nineteen plays, 95 yards, seven first downs, 10:55 off the clock, 7-0 Texans. "We stayed on schedule," Knapp says.

Meanwhile, the defense, before a rowdy record crowd of 71,585, is amped -- perhaps too much so. On the first play, defensive end Mario Williams sees Pouncey's head bob and jumps offside. Roethlisberger's first pass is a hook to Wallace, who breaks Joseph's tackle and gains 22 yards. But as the drive continues, the Texans relax, and the Steelers play to their tendencies. Pittsburgh calls passes both times it uses "11" personnel out of the shotgun, with Roethlisberger calling for the snap by stomping his foot once. Roethlisberger is sacked each time. The Steelers punt on their first two possessions.

At halftime, the Texans lead 10-0. Still, the first 30 minutes reek of missed opportunities, especially after Johnson injures his hamstring in the second quarter. Inside the locker room players perform their customary halftime scramble drill. They get two minutes to themselves while the coaches huddle together -- offense on one side of the room, defense on the otherand discuss adjustments. Some players line up for the bathroom. A few get retaped, change their T-shirts or receive IVs. The offensive coaches then share their new post-Johnson strategy. "We went to two tight-end and base sets to keep the Steelers out of blitz packages," Daniels says. Or, as Knapp puts it: "We backed off."

It showed. The timid Texans offense can't produce in the third, as the Steelers tie the game at 10. But early in the fourth, with momentum slipping away and facing a third-and-six from Houston's 19, Kubiak calls Daniels' redesigned "choice" route play. Daniels lines up left and motions right, into the slot. He fakes safety Troy Polamalu to the outside, cuts back inside and makes a diving catch for a first down. Two plays later, Kubiak calls another of Benton's stretch runs out of Zebra. Running back Arian Foster runs 42 yards for a touchdown to put the Texans ahead 17-10.

It's a lead the Texans will never relinquishthanks to a defensive scheme that works just as Phillips envisioned. On the second series after Houston's touchdown, Pittsburgh tries its counter play. But Williams slides past a blocker and tackles tailback Mewelde Moore for no gain. "We finally stopped it," Phillips says. After that, Pittsburgh calls passes on 12 straight plays, and Houston tees off, sacking Big Ben three times in the fourth quarter and intercepting a desperation throw with 10 seconds left. Final score: 17-10.

The Texans' final tally: four sacks against Roethlisberger in the 20 plays that Pittsburgh employed out of the "11" shotgun formation. Joseph held Wallace to four catches for 37 yards. And Big Ben escaped the pocket only five times while completing just one pass against the nudge-the-Steelers-out-of-bounds defense.

After the game, Knapp leaves the locker room grinning and holding a Texans hat. The plan was, he says, "as good as we could have it." But the satisfaction is fleeting. Coaches are like addicts, rejuvenated by their compulsions.

Which is why, at 5 p.m. on the Monday following the game, Knapp is alone in a dimly lit, windowless room, crunching numbers. He is prepping for Houston's next opponent, the Raiders. Blank white walls surround him.

He uncaps a blue marker and begins scrawling out his code.
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mvpcrossxover · Nov 17, 2011

i wonder what it would be like with peyton manning?

:grin:

liljojo · Nov 17, 2011

That was a really long analysis of our win over Pitt...

tallanvor · Nov 17, 2011

liljojo said: ↑

That was a really long analysis of our win over Pitt...
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are you being sarcastic? I guess your right, my title sucked. I couldn't think how to describe the article. How about 'Too much info given away by the Texans'

liljojo · Nov 17, 2011

Not sarcastic. Good article. It was very long though. And analytic.

I sound sarcastic again don't I? Guess the title was spot on.

Rashmon · Nov 18, 2011

tallanvor said: ↑

are you being sarcastic? I guess your right, my title sucked. I couldn't think how to describe the article. How about 'Too much info given away by the Texans'
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I think it was the best post of your Clutchfans career, in any forum. Thanks.

DonkeyMagic · Nov 18, 2011

fairly average length...

eric.81 · Nov 18, 2011

DonkeyMagic said: ↑

fairly average length...
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That's what she said? Swoly?

Colt45 · Nov 18, 2011

I suggest picking up a copy of the issue from the news stand as there's a whole feature on every aspect of the game from McNair on down to the vendors.

Fyreball · Nov 18, 2011

That was awesome. I'm fascinated by the amount of work and preparation that goes into a game each and every week, and how the implementation of it is accomplished. And, it's amazing how all that work can mean absolutely nothing if the players don't execute what they're supposed to do. Ultimately, if your players don't keep a cool head, and don't buy into the system, none of that prep work means a thing.

ItsMyFault · Nov 18, 2011

Got this in the mail yesterday. Love the cover.

SwoLy-D · Nov 18, 2011

eric.81 said: ↑

That's what she said? Swoly?
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Totally approve, sir. Also, we could have used a " " or a " " :grin: .

Carl Herrera · Nov 18, 2011

After Phillips has a bead on an opponent's tendencies, he seeks tendencies within tendencies. Prior to this game, he finds a doozy: Pittsburgh has called passes 28 of the 30 times it has used "11" personnel (one back, one tight end, three receivers) from the shotgun. As tells go, that's huge. He can use that.
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I am no football expert, but it does not seem that suprising that a team almost always passes out of a shot-gun 3-receiver, 1 back set.

msn · Nov 18, 2011

that was an awesome read; thanks.

DaDakota · Nov 18, 2011

I think the team got beat up a bit in that Pitt game costing us another victory or two...

DD

Fyreball · Nov 18, 2011

Carl Herrera said: ↑

I am no football expert, but it does not seem that suprising that a team almost always passes out of a shot-gun 3-receiver, 1 back set.
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I'm guessing they only included the most basic of basic formations in this article so that regular people could follow. I'm sure the majority of Philips' tendencies are more nuanced than that.

ascaptjack · Nov 18, 2011

ItsMyFault said: ↑

Got this in the mail yesterday. Love the cover.

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Hate the cover, we should see the Texans faces and the Steelers laying on their ass, maybe a pic of Cushing laying out Big Ben.

tallanvor · Nov 18, 2011

The magazine also contains an article on the Texan's trainers

I didn't read it because who wants to read about Texans injuries at a time like this but here it is none the less

"What's going on? How are you feeling?"

Andre Johnson, the Texans' franchise wide receiver, is down. Midway through the second quarter, after hauling in his fourth pass of Houston's Week 4 game against the Steelers, the five-time Pro Bowler turned upfield, then pulled up lame. He collapsed to the ground, lost his helmet and clutched his right leg. Now he is rolling around in agony on the Reliant Stadium turf, holding his head in his hands and turning over onto his chest at the 37-yard line. The players around him, from both teams, slow down. Then they just stop and watch.

"Talk to me, Andre."

In a flash, Johnson is no longer alone. Head athletic trainer Geoff Kaplan is there. As happens on every play, the snap of the ball had launched his eyes into a scan of the field. They never follow the ball. Rarely do they look above the players' belt lines. When everyone else is turned to track a run or a reception, Kaplan remains focused on the line of scrimmage, making sure all of the timbered linemen get up off the ground. He watches knees and ankles. He looks for drooped shoulders, unusually heavy breathing -- any sign of injury. On this play, Kaplan's eyes had whipped toward Johnson just as the 6'3", 226-pounder crumpled without being hit.

"Take a deep breath. What does it feel like?"

Silence has enveloped the stadium now, and Kaplan's voice is the only one Johnson hears. It has a comforting tone, finely tuned over 300 games and countless moments like this one. The trainer places his hand along the back of the player's ailing right leg.

"Andre, tell me what you feel."

Johnson's voice is normally self-assured, an almost sleepy baritone. But Kaplan notices signs of panic -- a pitch that's an octave higher and disbelieving eyes that won't stop looking at the leg.

"Look at me, bud. Talk to me."

The 71,585 fans in attendance are convinced it's a knee injury. And for a split second, as he fell to the ground, so was Johnson. But almost instantly Kaplan knows it is not. He runs his hand over the knee and the check reveals that everything is where it's supposed to be. As Johnson rolls over and sits up, he looks into the trainer's eyes and knows that yes, he's hurt, but no, it's not devastating.

Suddenly the fear is replaced by reason. The chaos of the moment slows enough to open his mind to self-analysis. Johnson talks through the catch, the landing, the pop he felt in the center of his right thigh and the tightness he still feels. Kaplan looks to the other two men on the scene, fellow trainer Roland Ramirez and Dr. Walter Lowe, one of 10 physicians on the Texans' sideline for every game. They've done the same spot evaluation and heard Johnson's description. They nod to Kaplan to indicate they're all on the same page. It's in the hamstring: Maybe a pull, but the fact that he collapsed the way he did indicates something more severe, likely a muscle strain or perhaps even a tear.

Under his own power, Johnson stands, albeit slowly. He walks to the sideline with a slight limp, head held up in an effort to look unconcerned, with a glance toward the giant video screen. He passes through a parting wall of teammates, all of whom say nothing; he bypasses the bench for the end zone tunnel and the training room.

Tom DiPace for ESPN The MagazinePanicking and clutching his right leg, the wideout thought the pop he'd felt was his knee.

For a second, Kaplan considers checking out Johnson on the sideline examination table, but the scene there is borderline bedlam. Team execs, reporters, photographers and everybody else with on-field credentials have already crowded around for one show there today -- back in the first quarter when running back Ben Tate received treatment for a groin pull. "Thank God," a member of the security staff says as he watches Johnson walk away. "No offense to Tate, but if I had to pull people back from bothering him, then I'd have to go John Cena on the mob of looky-loos that would pile in here for Andre."

In the training room, Johnson is stretched out on a massive wooden exam table. In many ways, the Reliant Stadium sports medicine area is cutting-edge, complete with an X-ray machine and the chlorine smell of a YMCA's worth of pools that feature contrasting temperatures, resistance currents and whirlpools. There are volumes of sports medicine research journals along with mountains of digital data on each player. But also lining the shelves throughout the rectangular concrete room where Johnson now lies is an inventory of items that can be found in any high school training room: thousands of rolls of athletic tape, an anatomy chart and jars of good ole stinky Atomic Balm.

Lowe, who's followed Johnson off the field, begins a deeper orthopedic examination. Using two thumbs to press down into the thigh, he feels for tension, for heat that might indicate bleeding, for gaps in the muscle that would suggest tearing or for tingling that might signify nerve damage. Now lying on his back, Johnson has his leg lifted, stretched straight up as high as it can go, searching for its limit. Sitting up, legs dangling over the edge, he is asked to resist as doctors press down on his shin to test strength. Every step of the way is punctuated with: "How does that feel? Is it tight? Does it tingle?"

Every detail is relayed to Kaplan back on the sideline, via radio earpiece. No one wants to ask him about Johnson, for fear of what the answer might be. Finally an assistant coach breaks the silence. "Hamstring," Kaplan responds, eyes still fixed ahead. "He'll be all right."

"F'n hammy," the coach says as he walks away.

Welcome to the world of the NFL trainer. It is a never-ending parade of the wounded, sometimes covered in blood but more frequently wrapped in mystery. Here, the most cumbersome work can be found not in the breaks and tears but among the dings and deep bruises. On any given NFL weekend all 32 teams will have, on average, half a dozen players sitting out because of injuries. Early in the season it might be three or four, and by Week 17 it's eight or nine. The vast majority of those injuries are like Johnson's. Nagging and tedious, left to be described by the most confusing of all lists, the "probable/questionable/doubtful/out" NFL injury report.

For those trying to rehab their way through that scale, team trainers preach the benefits of taking one's time in the most macho job imaginable. It's a hard sell, light-years from the old tape-an-aspirin-to-it, walk-it-off approach that still permeates many corners of the league. But because Kaplan pushes patience, and because the front office and coaching staff allow him to, he keeps the players at ease and continues to cement the trust between the locker room and the training room.

"All you want to do is get back out there," says Arian Foster, who missed Week 1 and the second half of Week 2 with a hamstring strain similar to Johnson's. People screamed for his return in Week 3, but Kaplan and the Texans chose to sit him out an extra week. He was cleared just four days before the Steelers game and responded with 155 yards and a touchdown. In the next five weeks, Foster rushed for 100-plus yards three times and had two 100-plus-yard receiving games. As Foster explains it: "When Geoff looks you in the eye and says, 'Tell me how you feel,' you realize that whatever he is saying you need to do is what you need to do. There's not a lot of trust going on in this league, but you trust them with your body. The second that Andre was hurt, he knew that trust was there. Just like I did."

Kaplan learned that philosophy early in his nearly 20-year career. He started full time with the Houston Oilers in 1995 before moving east with the team to Tennessee. Along the way, Eddie George, Bruce Matthews, Frank Wycheck and Steve McNair -- four legendary locker room presences -- taught Kaplan the importance of a strong bond between the man who fixes bodies and the men who occupy them.

"McNair and I kind of grew up together," says Kaplan of the QB icon. "He took football very seriously, and early on he set the no-BS tone with me. He promised honesty about feedback, and I promised to be honest with him about his condition. They all taught me the importance of preventive maintenance. They stayed out ahead of the pounding with hard work. Those lessons are still with me."

Kaplan constantly calls on that approach with his staff. "These athletes know their bodies better than anyone, and they know when something's wrong," he says. "But you have to ask, and you have to listen."

In return, the athletes must listen to the trainers and the doctors, even if they don't like what they hear. Just ask Johnson.

The X-rays performed on Johnson in the Reliant training room were encouraging; they revealed no damage to bones or ligaments. So he returned to the sideline of the Steelers game to support his teammates, all the while knowing that the next morning he'd be chaperoned to the hospital by a member of Kaplan's staff for an MRI. As the final horn sounded after the 17-10 win, he followed his team out of the tunnel, stone-faced. "Andre!" a woman shouted, hanging over the railing. "We need you back!"

"Don't worry," the receiver replied without cracking a smile. "This won't take long."

Less than 48 hours later, Johnson found himself on another table, once again facedown. The MRI identified a hamstring strain, and as Foster was nearly two months earlier, Johnson is ordered to begin platelet-rich plasma therapy. PRP is an injection of blood plasma that contains huge amounts of bioactive proteins, created by using a small amount of Johnson's own blood. It won't directly repair the injury, but it will prevent excessive scar tissue from building up around the injury as it heals.

Two days later, on Wednesday, Kaplan presents Johnson with a rehabilitation and recovery plan, beginning with flexibility and coordination exercises. And even though Johnson was hopeful that he could return in two to three weeks, the player's response is typical. "Time's wasting," Johnson recalls saying. "Let's get on with it."

One week goes by. Then two. Then three. Johnson graduates to work with his position coach, replicating the motions of a game. Eventually, perhaps even on a game morning, he will run those drills in front of Kaplan and the coaches three hours before kickoff, praying to be activated. "That's the hardest part," Johnson says. "When you feel like you are so close, but then there's another step added. Or you get paranoid about every little tug or tightness you feel. It wears your mind down. But they keep pushing you, reminding you of the ultimate goal."

All of the above happens with the openness of a Pentagon special forces briefing. Through Week 10, Johnson still hasn't played. That leads to media impatience, Internet speculation and random fans pestering Kaplan with questions at the grocery store. "It is unusual, I suppose, that so much of how the NFL works is built around keeping secrets," Kaplan says, two hours after the Steelers game as he bangs out the official in-house injury report at his desk. His phones are already ringing with people wanting updates on Johnson. He responds with yes, no or a grunt, wary of revealing information to the writer and the photographer sitting in his office.

Then he stands, headed to give his bosses an update on the condition of the franchise player. But before hitting the lights, he turns around and makes direct eye contact with his guests.

"How you feeling? You good?"
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and a shorter article about Bob McNair

HERE COMES YOUR HOST, kissing little old ladies' cheeks, working the stadium like a politician on overdrive. He has a beefy security guard tailing him. But why? Robert McNair, billionaire owner of the Houston Texans, is going to stop for anybody -- a complete stranger or the guy with his face painted holding a Bud Light -- and shake a hand or slap a back. "I like to press the flesh," McNair says. "I'm a toucher."

He has the suit and the gait of an important man, someone who needs to be elsewhere but can't quite pull himself from the party. He drinks cranberry juice on the rocks, sans the twist, and has been up since 5:30 a.m. on this October Sunday because that's when Sparky, his English cocker spaniel, wanted outside.

On the surface, McNair's game-day mornings probably aren't too different from yours. He drinks a cup of coffee, reads the newspaper and watches the pregame shows on TV. There is one slight difference. On this particular morning, he receives a phone call from overseas. Seems his filly, Elusive Kate, has just won a race in France. McNair turns to Janice, his wife of more than 50 years, and says it's a sign. This is going to be a good day.

Just after 9:30 a.m., the McNairs are preparing to leave their 12,124-square-foot Houston manse for Reliant Stadium's 3,620-square-foot owner's suite, which is big enough to house a small jet. But before the 15-minute drive, McNair makes his first executive decision of the day. The Texans have a 50-80 rule: If the temperature outside is below 50 degrees or above 80 degrees, the stadium roof is closed. Today is expected to be a picture-perfect south Texas afternoon, with the thermometer climbing above 80 degrees. McNair makes the call to shut the roof.

Most of the decisions McNair makes on Sundays go unnoticed, and that, he will tell you, is the idea. Where football is concerned, McNair believes in hiring the best coaches and front office staff and letting them do their jobs. But the game-day experience -- the temperature inside the stadium, whether glare from an open roof will impede fans' views or the tailgate parties in the parking lots -- are his baby. It's one of the burdens of ownership these days. Fans don't just demand a winner. In exchange for their high-priced tickets and parking, they expect creature comforts, such as the 72-foot-tall high-definition scoreboard at Cowboys Stadium and amenities such as the 1.3-million-square-foot Patriot Place retail and dining area at Gillette Stadium.

The defending-AFC-champion Steelers are in town, and the city of Houston and the entire NFL will learn whether the upstart Texans are finally for real or, once again, paid too much for this party. Some important people will be at Reliant Stadium -- the house that McNair built -- to witness this clash of 2-1 conference foes. Houston's mayor, the president of Baylor College of Medicine and former Secretary of State James A. Baker are all on hand. George H.W. and Barbara Bush would be here, but they don't arrive in Houston until later in the fall, when they migrate back from Kennebunkport, Maine.

Still, 74-year-old McNair is the most important man in the room. Even so, he's humble enough that security guards feel comfortable approaching him. He's willing to sit with his suite open to the fans, some of whom are just feet away waving Terrible Towels. He's also sitting next to Baker, one of the most important political figures of the last century.

A few years ago, McNair's loyal executive assistant Becky Virtue remembers, Jerry Jones visited McNair's suite when he was collecting ideas for the rich man cave he was developing. Virtue has been with McNair for 13 years. She couldn't tell you Arian Foster's stats, but she knows everything about her boss, like that he avoids sweets every day but Sunday. That day he likes ice cream, win or lose. What Virtue remembers about Jones is that he once said his Cowboys were about glitz and glitter and that things like checkered tablecloths, boots and 10-gallon hats should be left to the Texans.

But this is no hoedown. Everything in McNair's suite is first class. There's a piano in the corner for when country star Clay Walker comes to visit or when team staff has its midweek Bible study. There's a glass-enclosed phone room for when Bush 41 or other visiting dignitaries need to break away and make a private call. The Sunday menu covers just about everything, with made-to-order omelets with all the fixings, jalapeno grits and bacon-wrapped hors d'oeuvres. The servers have been given advance notice, in caps, on how to display the jumbo Texas shrimp. BE SURE THE SHRIMP IS FRESH AND ISN'T ODOROUS AND BE SURE THAT IT IS SERVED ON ICE TO KEEP FRESH.

Sticking with his game-day routine, McNair decides to take the elevator to the field an hour before kickoff to watch the players warm up.

A former college athlete, he still feels a bond with those who sweat for a living and wants to know how they're feeling. Janice McNair is on the field on this day too. It's the start of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and Janice, a survivor of the disease, will partake in the coin toss.

After the Texans win the flip and pound the Steelers' defense with a 19-play, 95-yard drive that eats up 10:55 and ends in a touchdown, AC/DC's "Thunderstruck" plays, the guitar chords rippling like waves through the crowd. McNair's stadium vibrates. Still standing on the sideline, the owner raises his fists halfway. Time to go back to his suite.

IN THIS WORLD of winnowing information and access, where jammed thumbs are treated like national secrets, McNair lays down just one hard rule after allowing a reporter, a photographer and a photo assistant to trail him on such an important Sunday: He does not want to be bothered during the game.

His guests are mindful of this three-hour chatter-free zone and let McNair be while he's hunkered in the first row of his suite next to general manager Rick Smith. This team is not a toy for a man who, according to Forbes, is worth $1.5 billion -- a fortune that was decades in the making. McNair was the first person in his family to go to college. He was drafted by the Chicago Cubs out of high school in 1954 but wound up playing basketball at the University of South Carolina, leaving the team after his freshman season. In 1960, he started a Houston car-leasing company with $700, then later a trucking company. When the latter nearly failed, almost forcing him into bankruptcy in the 1980s, McNair had enough resilience to start Cogen Technologies, which owned power cogeneration plants. It became the largest privately held firm of its kind in the world and, in 1999, was sold to Enron for $1.5 billion. That proved two things about McNair: He had impeccable timing, and he understood that building good things takes time.

McNair is so calm and cordial that critics wonder whether he, or his team, lacks a killer instinct. But he wants to win. Desperately. He believes that whatever happens with this franchise will help define his life. "Bob won in business," says Texans vice chairman Philip Burguieres, "and eventually, we're going to win on the football field."

McNair lives a few doors from Bud Adams, who owned the Houston Oilers before moving that team to Tennessee after the 1996 season. On Sundays, McNair would walk to his house to get a ride to the Astrodome, where the Oilers played, and the two would sit in Adams' suite. McNair loved those days. After the Oilers became the Tennessee Titans, McNair says his civic duty prompted him to pursue an NFL team. He couldn't fathom the idea of the country's fourth-largest city being without one.

When the league announced in 1999 that it was expanding to 32 teams, McNair led a group that plunked down $700 million for the new franchise and patiently waited for two competing bids from LA to fizzle. Like a prize from a big-game hunt, a framed blue No. 32 jersey with the words LOS ANGELES crossed out is on display in the suite.

The Texans, now in their 10th season, are the only current NFL team never to make the playoffs. This isn't Green Bay or New England, where a couple of losses launch the fan base into crisis mode. There is a forced patience in Houston; this city knows what it's like to lose its team. But patience is waning. At the end of last season, another mediocre one, many fans were ready for McNair to blow the team up and start over without coach Gary Kubiak. McNair felt the urgency, but the coach kept his job. Two days before the Steelers game, McNair was asked what he'll do if the Texans don't make the playoffs. He barely pauses. "I don't worry about the playoffs because we're going to make the playoffs," he says. "I don't consider what would happen if we don't."

HOW DO YOU SHADOW A ROCK? McNair's emotions over an up-and-down second half are well in check. He stares down at stat sheets, sips his cranberry juice, leans in, leans back. He gets up at one point, flashing an anxious smile.

With 6:09 to play and the Texans clinging to a 17-10 lead, Mario Williams sacks Ben Roethlisberger, and the suite starts rocking. McNair raises his fists in the air. A few minutes later, he hustles to the elevator and pushes the down button twice. "Boy that was great, Mario coming up with that stop!" McNair says to his GM. After a short ride, the elevator doors slide open to the field-level crush outside, and McNair walks faster. He'll spend the rest of the game in a five-yard space on the sideline not far from the end zone. With 19 seconds left, Texans cornerback Jason Allen intercepts Roethlisberger, and McNair can finally exhale. He shakes the hand of his son Cal. He shakes his GM's hand. He backslaps or bearhugs linebackers, linemen and basically anyone else not wearing black or gold. Before the reporters enter the locker room, McNair stops by every stall and congratulates each player, from the stars to the ones who didn't suit up. "They're part of the team," McNair says.

By 4 p.m., he's ready to go home. It's been an emotional day, a huge win for a franchise so hungry to take the next step. McNair is spent. After working the locker room, he heads up to his suite.

Ever the host, he asks whether anyone needs anything. Then he says, "I'm going to go eat ice cream. And then I'm going to go home and pass out."
Click to expand...

I don't like ESPN all that much, but I think I will go give them some money and buy this magazine to show my appreciation for the attention they gave to my team.

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