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SouthernJet

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I have good days and bad days," Chrebet says. "A bad day is when you can't get out of bed and there's this dark cloud hanging over your head. A good day is anything else. But you know right away. I know as soon as I wake up what kind of day it'll be.

"Sometimes the bad days and good days go back and forth. Sometimes you get a bunch of them in a row. It's not an exact science. The bad days happen. You just try to make the best of it. But when it's bad, it's really bad. It's not the kind of thing you can talk yourself out of. If it was, I would do it."

Five minutes into an interview this week, he admits that he can't remember the reporter's name. "I remember the faces, not the names," he says. He loses his car keys like anyone else, "but it just happens to me more than other people." He'd like to meditate or read, but he can't concentrate enough.

He can't make the drive from his home in Colts Neck, N.J., to Hempstead, or anywhere, without a navigational system. He remembers the time, after one of his final games, when he drove from the stadium to a house where he no longer lived. His wife directed him home.

"If it wasn't for the GPS in my car, I'd be in trouble," Chrebet says. "If I have one of those, I'm usually fine. If not, I panic."

But football is different. Sit him in front of a game with a team running the West Coast offense, and Chrebet can call out the plays before the snap. Names are a problem. Dates are a problem. Highways are a Sudoku puzzle. But offenses and defenses are a breeze.

"It's like riding a bike," he says. "After hundreds of hours of watching tape, I'll never forget that. It's in my blood."

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