Online
At the end, David Woodley didn't want to sleep. He was afraid he'd never wake up. Alcohol wrecked his liver and his marriage. He was 44, lying in a hospital bed, waiting to die. The muscle and Louisiana charm that first caught the eye of his wife was gone. She once thought he looked like Christopher Reeve, like Superman. When the ball rocketed from his fingertips, receivers hid in warm-ups. Woodley had a gift.
He was 24 when he led the Miami Dolphins onto the field in Super Bowl XVII. Only 51 men have made it to the Super Bowl as starting quarterbacks and, for many, their lives are never the same. They make Hall of Fame speeches and open restaurants. Maybe Woodley did have one thing in common with them. He was never the same, either.
Twenty years after he left that field in Pasadena, Calif., he died, alone, a sliver of the hunk that Suzonne Pugh, his ex-wife, met at a bayou bar in college. He'd apparently driven himself to the hospital. What happened in that lonely gap between the Super Bowl and his death in 2003 will always be confounding.
http://sports.espn.go.com/nfl/playoffs07/news/story?id=3209245
Pretty sad story. I hadn't heard that he'd died.