8 Teams 17 Years 208 Games One Long Road

His shoes are old-school high-tops that he stockpiled when Nike stopped making them several years ago. "They look old enough to go straight to the Hall of Fame," says Jay Brunetti, Houston's director of equipment services, a 35-year NFL veteran. On the bottom of the shoes Zgonina will wear only all-black cleats, unlike his teammates' glitzier models. His belt cinches with two metal rings, old school, while his teammates' have conventional buckles.

On Sunday mornings Zgonina is the only Texan who applies his own tape to his shoulder pads, and he uses ancient, four-inch carpet tape. (Other players' pads are taped by the equipment staff with thinner, two-sided tape.) Two blueberry cake doughnuts must be placed in his locker before the game by Brunetti's assistant, Chris Snell. When the team returns to the locker room for last-minute preparations, Zgonina sneaks into the equipment room and calls his wife. Upon returning to the field, he first smacks every assistant coach on the butt with the back of his right hand, then takes a seat on the bench at the 50-yard line, where Snell unties and then reties Zgonina's cleats before putting two puffs of air—not one, not three—into his helmet liner.

At the last minute Zgonina seeks out the second-oldest position player on the roster—with the Texans it's now 34-year-old strong safety Nick Ferguson—and says into his face, "Let's go, old man."

Soon the rituals will end. Zgonina says this is his last year. (Although he also says, "Never say never.") He will dote on his family, and he will devote more time to his bull-breeding business. An era will end as quietly as it has been played. And the game will lose a keeper.

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