New Orleans, 1983 -- A barber by the name of Robert Stewart is cutting another man's hair, but even the electric razor can't drown out his bragging. He's spouting off about his 11-year-old son, a son who can play quarterback, wide receiver, linebacker and every other position known to mankind. "My boy Kordell, he'll be in the NFL someday," the barber says. "I betcha he'll play in a Super Bowl someday, right here on Bourbon Street. You watch."

New Orleans, 2002 -- Hot damn, he might be right.

Pittsburgh, 1997 -- This Kordell Stewart character is virtually unstoppable. He and his offensive coordinator, Chan Gailey, are as close as a thumb and an index finger, and they take the Pittsburgh Steelers to the AFC championship game. Stewart's nickname is "Slash," because he can run/pass/catch and make coffee, and even though the Steelers lose in the playoffs to Denver, he is pretty much the talk of the league.

"His persona was this new coming of Hercules or something," remembers an offensive lineman named Wayne Gandy. "They said he had the smarts of Joe Montana, with the arm of John Elway and the fearlessness of Brett Favre. They had him as this Superhero, and it was impossible to live up to."

Pittsburgh, 1998, 1999 and 2000 -- Hot damn, he was right.

Because Stewart couldn't live up to it, one bit. He was lousy for much of these three seasons. Part of it was that Gailey had left to be a head coach in Dallas, and part of it was that Gailey's heir apparents -- Ray Sherman and Kevin Gilbride -- tried to turn Stewart into a robotic pocket passer.

"I'm trying to find out what part of his career was he ever a pocket passer!" says Gandy. "Because last time I checked he went to the University of Colorado, where half the time he ran the option and there were a lot of option passes. They never threw it 50 times. I don't think this was the right offense for him. I mean, the offensive coordinator we had in '99 and 2000, was Kevin Gilbride, and Kevin needs the Kurt Warners of the world. Don't you think?"

Mismatched with his offensive coordinators, Stewart went into a shell. Gailey always used to say to him, "It's not who's right, it's what's right," but this new Steelers regime was a dictatorship, and they weren't convinced Stewart would ever grasp their offense. "We had to start at Step 1 with him," says one of his former offensive coaches. "He had a good arm, great feet, and he didn't get injured a lot, but the biggest thing was he didn't know where to go with the ball. He was just throwing it. And he'd predetermine coming out of the huddle where he was throwing it."

So they pretty much gave up on him.

New Orleans, 2001 -- Hot damn, they were wrong. Stewart went home following the 2000 season and sat down over the summer with his father, the barber. They played golf and, for one, talked about how fickle the Pittsburgh people were.

"So, daddy, listen to this one," Kordell is saying. "One game in '98, this dude sitting in the end zone shouts, 'Kordell, you suck! You need to do what the coach tells you! You make so much money that if the coach tells you to play center, you better play it! Because you suck!' And I just looked at him and waved. I smiled and waved. And I never forget a face, man. So I see this same guy a few years later in front of the Hilton, and he waves to me. Wants me to sign his jersey. And I just wave. It was amazing.

"And another time we're in the airport, and I didn't sign an autograph, 'cause I had to catch my plane. And the dude says, 'Kordell, you know you could sign this. That's the problem with you, dah-dah-dah. You suck.' And I'm walking in the terminal and I look back, and, like I said, I don't forget a face. And so now I'm in front of the Hilton two weeks later, and this same guy asks me to sign two footballs. And when he gave me the two footballs, he gave me the footballs shaking like a leaf. And I said, 'What's wrong? You all right? You okay? You're nervous, aren't you? You're scared as all outdoors, aren't you? Because you're the same guy that talked crazy a couple of weeks ago about me. But I will sign these balls. And you will see my name on this football.' And he said, 'Kordell, I love you, dah-dah-dah.' I said, 'Nah, that's not what you said. I go off what you said. Because what you said to me let's me know how you really are as a person.' "

His father hears all these stories and says, "You know what, son? Next season, just wing it. Just play and have fun. Have fun like when you were 11."

Pittsburgh, 2001 -- Hot damn, he was smart. Kordell began having a blast, all right, and his teammates could sense him opening up. Before every game, his running back, Jerome Bettis, would say, "You and me, man. You and me." And the two of them started dominating, and the rest of the team rode their coattails. And then when Bettis went out with a groin injury, they rode Stewart alone.

"You can't be the guy in the corner and play quarterback," Bettis says. "You can't! And maybe that was part of his problem before. But he opened himself up to his teammates, and his teammates have really gravitated toward him, and they play for him. They do things they probably wouldn't do [before]. A ball that maybe they'll dive for now they wouldn't have before."

This fall, Gandy began telling Kordell, "I need 19-for-27 for about 235, and I need you to run for a touchdown and throw for a touchdown." And it got to the point that every week, Kordell would start saying to Gandy, "What do I need to do today?"

Kordell suddenly was loving life again, loving all the fellas. "If I screw up, it's not going to get me down on myself," Stewart says. "And because I'm not going to get down on myself again, I'm not going to screw up ... What changed me? Just everything I'd gone through. For one, I realized, 'These are the guys I'm battling with.' I don't need no Coach Kevin Gilbride. I don't need no Ray Sherman. I don't need no coaches around me. I don't need them. I mean, I'm not saying I don't need them, but I don't need that validation from them to succeed. The guys I need the validation from are the cats in that locker room."

Pittsburgh, as we speak -- Hot damn, the cats in that locker room like him, all right. They're talking about who should be league MVP, and they know it's him. Gandy, talking about the hype of other quarterbacks says, "I hear all this about Donovan McNabb. Well, Donovan McNabb is no greater than Kordell Stewart. None of the people they make you think is better is better. Kordell, what he's doing now, he's converting third downs, with his feet or his arm, and he doesn't turn the ball over. What I try to get through to Kordell is that there's no quarterbacks in this league better -- okay, maybe two or three when they're on. A Favre, Warner for the system he runs, and now this new guy Garcia is coming along. But, Kordell, he's perfect for us."

Pittsburgh, as we speak -- Hot damn, they've clinched home field for the playoffs. Bettis is yapping in the locker room, as usual, and when he's asked about his quarterback, he says, "Kordell's like a butterfly that's just come out of his cocoon."

Kordell hears this, and has something to say back to Bettis:

"Well, if I'm a butterfly, I'm a monarch butterfly," the QB says. "Because a monarch is black and gold, and that's our team. And Monarchs have the longest migration, up to 3,000 miles. And they know where they're going, even though they've never been there before. Hear me again: They know where they're going, but have never been there before. And they like warm climates. And when you think of warm climates and me, you think of the South. And where in the south do you think of?"

"New Orleans," Bettis says.

"There you go," Stewart says.

"New Orleans ... isnt' there a Super Bowl down there soon?" Bettis says.

"There you go," Stewart says.

New Orleans, 2002 -- A barber by the name of Robert Stewart is cutting another man's hair, but even the electric razor can't drown out his bragging. He's spouting off about his 29-year-old son, a son who can play quarterback, wide receiver and maybe every other position known to mankind. "My boy, Kordell, he plays in the NFL," the barber says. "I betcha he'll play in the Super Bowl in a few weeks, right here on Bourbon Street. You watch."

Hot damn, it may come full circle.

Tom Friend is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at tom.friend@espnmag.com.