"No trophy, no flowers, no flashbulbs, no wine He's haunted by something he cannot define Bowel-shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse Assail him, impale him with monster-truck force In his mind, he's still driving, still making the grade
She's hoping in time that her memories will fade 'Cause he's racing and pacing and plotting the course He's fighting and biting and riding on his horse The sun has gone down and the moon has come up And long ago somebody left with the cup But he's striving and driving and hugging the turns And thinking of someone for whom he still burns"
89 yards 0 TDs 6 INTs 11 sacks