TAMPA - Beverly Mitchell still has the makeup-stained handkerchief former Buccaneer Warrick Dunn handed her when she couldn't hold back the tears any longer. She kept the red bow from the ribbon cutting, too.
The first pictures displayed in Mitchell's living room photo album marked "Memories" are of Dunn, Mitchell and her three children, standing outside of the new house on Ninth Street.
It was Mitchell's first home after apartment shopping with her kids since she moved to Tampa in 1989 from her hometown of Webster. Dunn, as part of his Home for the Holidays program for single mothers, put a down payment on the house, helped furnish it and got Publix to donate a fully-stocked kitchen of food.
That was Dec.18, 2001. Just a week before Christmas, Mitchell, now a 33-year-old bus driver, and her family stood by a giant red Bucs flag that hung in front of the garage. They beamed for the news cameras, charity coordinators and nosy new neighbors. Then the Mitchells walked in the house, let the shock of their new surroundings sink in, and began to build their new life together.
Sunday, Mitchell sat on her living room sofa, rubbed her pregnant belly (her daughter, Courtnei, is due Nov.6) and talked to the TV screen. "Run, run, run, run," she whispered when Dunn - now with the Falcons - carried the ball.
Don't get her wrong. She's crazy for the Bucs, crazy for every single one of them. But can you blame her for having a soft spot for the Falcons' No.28? This was a man who reached out to Mitchell and helped give her family a sense of security, and still sends them a Christmas card every year.
She didn't necessarily want Dunn to score against the Bucs, but she couldn't bear to see him get hurt, either.
Mitchell watched the game with her 14-year-old son, Kenneth, and her 10-year-old daughter, Kenisha, who wore a Dunn Bucs jersey that he donated. Mitchell's 9-year-old son, Mauhiayadin, played in the back bedrooms with his cousins, Marcues and Terrence, and Mitchell's boyfriend, Curbie.
"This is something we do every Sunday," Mitchell said. "It's God, then football."
Mitchell is no casual fan. She knows her stuff, particularly when it comes to penalties. She hates them, and is a pro at making calls before the officials do.
She loves the players. "I don't have a favorite since Dunn left," Mitchell said, but Thomas Jones reminded her of him. She shrieked when Michael Pittman caught a 68-yard pass for a touchdown, squealed when Jones fumbled, and laughed when Warren Sapp did his "Beyonce Dance" in the end zone.
"That's that bootie dance!" Mitchell yelled, then Kenneth imitated the move right there in the living room.
Mitchell paid close attention to the Bucs and their faces and feelings.
She watched Keyshawn Johnson: "See, he's got to be standing on his head or all flipped around to catch the ball. Then, when he's wide open, he drops it."
And Anthony McFarland: "I don't even want to know how he got the nickname Booger. He must have been a nasty little kid."
John Lynch: "It's not like Lynch to be missing tackles like that. He usually hits people so hard, I hurt."
And Pittman: "He kind of scares me a little bit because he's a one-hander. I don't like the way he carries the ball."
There was only one player on the field (guess who) that got Mitchell's unconditional love and sympathy. She scrutinized his every move and tensed when he ran into a tangle of Bucs.
Dunn's face flashed on the screen at the beginning of the game: "He looks like he might be eating sunflower seeds."
Then again, with 10 seconds left in the game, a sad-looking Dunn was on the sideline.
Awwww Warrick," Mitchell said softly. "We're sorry."
