Strahan Michael - Inside the helmet : hard knocks, pulling together, and triumph as a sunday afternoon warrior

I stand on our sideline, sing a couple of bars of the national anthem, say a prayer to G-d and then scan the Indianapolis Colts sideline for my targetColts All-World quarterback Peyton Manning. I absolutely and utterly despise playing quarterbacks like Peyton. Hate it. I stand there and stare at the man, the face of the NFL. Im there for one reason that night. To try to knock the snot out of the face of the NFL.

I showed up to Giants Stadium two and a half hours earlier with thoughts of ruining that mans night. My eyes dart from Manning to the man Id be facing throughout this battle, Colts right tackle Ryan Diem. The anthem continues and I stand there and eyeball Diem, the man responsible for keeping me from killing Peyton that night, looking to see if hed sneak a peak at me. If he does, hes done.

Im staring a hole through Diem to gauge his body language. Im looking to see if hes nervous, looking to see if hes moving back and forth like hes too loose and confident. Im looking to pick a visual fight. Come on, look over here. He doesnt. Most of them dont, but when they do, I flash them the gap. Shoot em a big ol smile letting them know Im about to have the time of my life embarrassing the hell out of them. Dont mistake the smile that I flash as softness because when it comes to my business, I dont take any shit.

The anthem ends and I walk over, grab an ammonia cap (smelling salts) and inhale it all in. Thats right, ammonia. Ill inhale the hell out of one or two of these (most of us do) to clear my head and then Ill take my place in the middle of the field.

Between the anthem, the Sunday night crowd and Peyton getting ready to meet me at midfield, I cant take it.

I walk out for the coin toss but I pay little attention to the toss itself. I act like I care, but to be truthful, I dont care about the toss. If I said I cared, that would be a lie. I like to walk out there for the toss because it puts me that much closer to YOUR sideline and brings me closer to the guy I get to torment for the next 180 minutes.

Im not coming out there to be your friend. I may tell those guys, Hey, man, have a good game, but Im trying to find my guy over there and stare him down again. Right here, at the coin toss, is where my personal matchup begins each weekat this point I cant wait for the kick.

How do I explain the feeling of those minutes between the coin toss and the moment the ball was kicked off for what was dubbed the Manning Bowl? What better game than our season opener in 2006 to describe what its like to be out there at the start of game day.

Silence turns to bedlam, pedal to the metal, zero to 120 in one second flat. Not zero to 60zero to 120, maybe 150. Man, were revving through the red zone. When the ball is kicked and the flashbulbs start poppingINSANITY!

If you want to know what its like the moment before we are about to strap it up, ask a soldier what he feels the moment before he knows gunfire is about to erupt. How do you contain yourself?

The emotion of the opening kick begins to build before the coin toss, well before the kickoff team takes the field. The tension, the excitement, the nervesit all builds to a crescendo.

About ten minutes before the kick, its silence in our locker room with each man living in his own private world, searching for a welcome distraction. Or fantasizingplaying the game in his mind alreadywilling how the course of events over the next three hours will go.

Some pace nervously back and forth while others shake out their limbs, barely able to contain their excitement as their music blares from their iPods. Some sit on their stools with eyes closed, trying not to get overexcited, while others go through the final touches of their routine. We all have some routine we go through prior to kickoff each Sunday. Me, I have to take the same exact route in every morning, walk the same path and go to the bathroom at the same exact time.

When I get to the stadium, one of my first routines is an odd one. I actually make a ritual of reading the program while sitting on the can whether I have to use it or not, and I study the head shots of every single member of the opposing team. As I sit in that stall, I burn a hole through their roster, especially my personal opponent. I try to stare into his eyes as if I can glean some sort of late-breaking information. I know it makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but its what Ive done for the last decade. Who am I to mess with ritual? Rituals lead to confidence, confidence plus the anticipation of violence combined with the thrill of competition, which begins to gurgle to a boil as we get closer to walking out of that locker room.

I have a pretty good analogy of what my battle feels like. It may sound funny, but the Russell Crowe movie Gladiator is dead-on. The battle never changes, only the combatants. Rules and venues change. Whether its an ancient gladiator or No. 92 for the Big Blue, we go through the same damn feelings and similar rituals.