
Two months ago,
Steve McNair walked into a bar named Loser's near downtown Nashville. It was after midnight. McNair wore blue jeans, boots and a black T-shirt hanging tightly on his broad chest. The patrons inside Loser's, a country-themed bar with wood panels on the walls, wooden floors, and a wooden porch, were swaying to
"Country Roads
" in front of a live band. McNair walked to the bar and ordered a shot -- straight vodka. He took the shot glass, tiny in his large right hand, the one that had thrown touchdown passes for 13 NFL seasons, and tossed it down. Then he turned to look out over the scene. For just a moment he winced, then he opened his mouth wide, an orange peel held between his teeth.
McNair's mouth hung open in a bright orange smile. My friend elbowed me, "Can you believe that guy came within a yard of winning the Super Bowl?" he asked.