The air around McNair

What follows is the script for this week's "Sports At Large,'' which airs each Monday at 5:30 p.m. and during "Maryland Morning" each Tuesday at 9 a.m. on WYPR 88.1 FM in Baltimore.

It's well more than a week since Steve McNair, a married man with four sons, and his girlfriend were found dead in a Nashville condominium, and frankly, I still don't have any concrete thought on what to make of it all.

I first heard about a strong-armed quarterback named Steve McNair in the early 1990's. Back then, he was "Air McNair,' leading Alcorn State out of the obscurity most historically black colleges and universities labor under.

In the process, he set passing records for Division 1-Double A for a season and a career that still stand.

Despite the grumblings of so-called experts who claimed that the football he played at Alcorn wasn't the same as the football played at major schools, McNair finished third in the 1994 Heisman Trophy voting.

Taken third overall in the 1995 NFL draft, McNair learned on the Houston Oilers bench for two years, but when the franchise relocated to Nashville in 1997, he became the starter.

From then on, McNair became a symbol of efficiency, toughness and cool. Time after time, he would take massive hits, only to get up from virtually all of them, dust himself off and make his way to the huddle for the next play.

Trailing the St. Louis Rams late in the fourth quarter of Super Bowl 34, McNair led the Tennessee Titans in a furious late game drive that ended one yard short of the goal line, seven points short of a tie.

McNair went on to share the league's Most Valuable Player trophy in 2003. When he came to Baltimore in 2006, McNair's best days were behind him, but he immediately gave the franchise credibility at quarterback, something the Ravens had never had to that point.

McNair retired after the 2007 season, and left football as one of only three quarterbacks to throw for 30,000 yards, while running for more than 3,500 yards in a career. The other two, Fran Tarkenton and Steve Young are enshrined in the Pro Football Hall of Fame, and so should McNair someday.

In addition to all of his playing field exploits, McNair was a force in his community, whether it was Nashville or his native Mississippi, where he personally loaded and paid for trucks filled with relief supplies after Hurricane Katrina.

In a two-dimensional sense, Steve McNair was the kind of man whose jersey you'd be proud to wear or whose poster you'd want to your kid to have hanging on the wall.

It's that third dimension, the one with human frailties, the one that emerged with his death that gives me pause about how to review the Steve McNair movie that just ended.

While Steve McNair was competing in that Super Bowl in 2000, Baltimore linebacker Ray Lewis was being charged with double homicide in connection with an incident outside an Atlanta nightclub.

Lewis' coach, Brian Billick famously told the media the next year that they weren't qualified to pass judgment on Ray Lewis.

Right at this moment, I feel similarly about my qualifications to stand in judgment of Steve McNair or anyone else for that matter.

How are your qualifications?