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HOUSTON — His story is in a Houston hospital.

It's November, and J.J. Watt is visiting a mother dying of cancer and her children. This is typical Watt. A genuine act of kindness wrapped inside an attempt to perform that act anonymously. Except nurses and others had heard of Watt's appearance and are swarming the area of the hospital he's visiting. Soon, the crush of people becomes so large Watt has to leave to prevent the scene from becoming unsafe.

His story is that Watt is Elvis in this city. He is Elvis almost everywhere. He can date, but it has to be clandestine. "There's a lot of cloak-and-dagger," Watt said. "Security, back entrances, roped off parts of a restaurant."

On Halloween, neighbors asked him not to hand out candy at his moderate four-bedroom house in suburban Pearland, afraid traffic would flood their block. Because he didn't want to be rude, Watt obliged.

"J.J. loves Halloween because of the kids," said Watt's mother, Connie. "But if he handed out candy, it would be mayhem."

His story is about refurbishing the barbarism of football into a tradable commodity that can change the lives of the less fortunate—doing all of this while navigating the thorny waters of celebrity.

At a time in the NFL's history when the public trust in players and the league might be at an all-time low, there is an antidote, and it comes in the form of a 25-year-old, 6'5" defensive end from Wisconsin.

His story is pure dominance. The obliteration of offensive lines. The strip-sacks. The speed. The aggression. The touchdown catches. Watt is a basketball player in a football player's body who sees every play as an opportunity to dunk.

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"He's a crazy good athlete," said Bengals offensive lineman Marshall Newhouse, who played against Watt this season. "For that position, there (aren't) a lot of guys who are as good of an athlete." There are none. And what Watt's athleticism and drive does, as Newhouse explained, is "makes you honest and makes you play every snap with great technique."

His story is against Cleveland, where in a game on Nov. 16, Watt shifted up and down the defensive line, beating every single Browns lineman at least once. In that game, Watt scored a touchdown, had a strip-sack, made five tackles (three for a loss), recovered a fumble and hurried Browns quarterback Brian Hoyer into several bad throws. On the year, he has 54 tackles, 11.5 sacks, three forced fumbles and five recovered fumbles. And three receiving touchdowns.

His story is Houston lore. In January 2012, he intercepted Andy Dalton and returned the pass for a touchdown, helping to give the franchise its first-ever playoff win. Watt was a rookie.

"One of the best moments of my life," he says now.

His story is historic. Watt is the first player in league history with three TD catches, an interception return for a score and a fumble return for a score in a single season. The only player to come within one TD catch of that combo was Jay Arnold 76 years ago, according to ESPN's statistical arm.

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Put simply, no one has done what Watt is doing now. On or off the field. No one.

It is not unusual for Watt to appear at a hospital or a fundraiser or a kid's birthday party unannounced. There are dozens of charitable acts he's done, Texans players tell me, that no one will ever know about.

In the hour or so before the Texans played the Cincinnati Bengals on Nov. 23, it was Watt who, while standing on the field, played catch with a group of soldiers who were in the front row of the stands. Toss and catch, toss and catch. Then he shook the hands of each soldier—nine from the Army and four from the Air Force. Each one smiled like they had shaken the hand of a Hollywood star.

Watt's story is everywhere. Part of the Watt tale remains an unvarnished, unmitigated, unabashed sense of genuineness. There is nothing phony about Watt. It comes across in his interviews and commercials. Two years ago, the Texas food chain H-E-B created a Houston Texans Tackle Crunch ice cream. The ice cream sold fine until Watt did a commercial for H-E-B. After that, it became their best-selling ice cream.

"He could run for Congress right now and win by landslide," said former Texans player Chester Pitts, who is now a sports anchor and analyst on KPRC Channel 2 in Houston.

One NFL scout who had watched Watt in college extensively wrote this in his notes prior to the 2011 draft. It was, in many ways, highly prophetic: "I see a player who gets it and has gotten it for a long time. He has surrounded himself with good people and has a level head. He could be a star on the field and then a governor once his career ends."

A governor once his career ends. That was actually written, years ago, by a scout. He was right. If that is what Watt wanted. But for now it isn't. More on that in a moment.

His story has become so large it ripples across time, careening through the NFL's past and future. The comparisons for Watt are not to today's linemen. Too mundane. They are to names like Deacon Jones, Michael Strahan and Alan Page. And they are to players who will be in the game 100 years from now.

Everyone has been watching this story, including a woman, many miles away, in North Carolina. Her name is Sara White. She is the widow of Reggie White, the player considered the best defensive lineman of all time, and one of the best football players the sport has ever seen.

"J.J. is the closest thing to Reggie," she says in an interview, "that I've ever seen."

Watt and I meet in the stadium before practice. The first thing you notice about him—besides his striking height and the fact he's built like LeBron James—is the lack of BS he spouts.

Watt speaks the way he plays. There is no filter. An example of this is the expression on his face when I inform him of Sara White's words. He's rarely stumped by the media—heard it, seen it, done it—but her words cause genuine surprise.

"I mean, to hear that," he says, "that means a lot. He's the greatest defensive lineman to play this game. To have her compare him to me is a great honor.

"I think one of the things with Reggie was his work ethic, and he was very humble. I try to be the same way. My dad was a firefighter for almost 30 years. My mom worked her way up from a secretary to vice president of her own company. They taught me to work hard for everything and take nothing for granted. That's how I play.

"I think that's why you won't see me be one of these guys who spend 15 or 20 years in the NFL. I don't want to play forever. I want to give everything I can now and then walk away knowing I gave everything. The example I think of is Barry Sanders. He was such a great player, and he left when he was still on top. I want that to be me."

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To understand how great Watt has become, you have to go back in time, to when White dominated the sport as a player with the Eagles and Packers. No defensive lineman in history could annihilate an offensive line like the 300-pound White. Until Watt.

The comparison isn't perfect because White didn't shift up and down the line the way Watt does. But the dominance…the dominance is the same.

"What I love is he has desire to excel in every facet of the game," Hall of Fame defensive lineman Michael Strahan told me recently. "He plays run like a champ and can line up and rush the passer unlike anyone else on the field. He plays as if it's an insult if the opponent only blocks him with one person.

"He plays with max effort every play and never leaves the field after the game with any regrets. I feel he makes all these incredible plays not because he's the most physically gifted lineman in the league but because he plays every play at a pace that puts him in the right place to make the spectacular play. You can tell that it's not about anything but being the best, and most of all being respected."

What Watt has done is in many ways unprecedented, even by White.

On the field, Watt is already the player White was. This is not hyperbole. It is accurate. We don't know if Watt will have White's longevity, but he is already having the impact.

Off the field, Watt understands—as White did—that his football skills are a hyper-generator for changing the lives of ordinary people for the better. But unlike White, and other superstars who met that second criteria noted above, Watt is without blemish. There are no controversies. Nothing but production and selflessness.

This is something even the superhuman White could not pull off. In 1998, six years before his death, White drew massive criticism for remarks he made about gays and ethnicities. He would be seen as a legendary player, but to some he was also a bigot. None of this is said to disparage White. It is said with factual neutrality. What White said impacted how some viewed him.

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Watt, speaking only of himself, said something fairly interesting about the potential for missteps.

"I know I can't mess up," he said.

Translation: Watt is seen as a sincere, good man, doing sincere, good things. He is currently in a cynicism-free zone. But so was Ray Rice. So was, in some ways, Adrian Peterson. So was Darren Sharper.

Watt is keenly aware of this. "If I mess up," Watt said, "then people will doubt everything. I know that."

One Texans player told me that Watt has even studied what happened to some of those players who found themselves in trouble. "I think J.J. sees it as arrogance can get you in hot water," the player explained. "J.J. doesn't see himself as infallible. He doesn't think that because he's a football player, he can't make mistakes. He's not arrogant. That is why I don't think you'll see him in any beefs."

To Watt, it's simple. He won't mess up. That is, in many ways, an inhuman standard he must live up to, because people are fallible. But he is used to being super. To Watt, that is just another challenge, like beating a double-team, and he will succeed.

What Watt has become is the NFL's savior. That may sound outrageous. That may seem ridiculous. It may even be bigoted to call a white player—in a 70 percent black league where the majority of players do the right thing—a savior. But that's where we are, and that's what he is.

These are extraordinary times in the NFL. In many ways, the league has never seen troubles like this before. In the past, controversies involving players didn't seem so numerous. They were spaced apart by months and years. The Rice and Peterson controversies happened in the same week, and they occurred in the Twitter and Instagram era. That made it seem magnified, and their impact definitely is.

There was time, not so long ago, when NFL executives believed the league was in a renaissance era that could last decades. Now, team and league executives believe the NFL's popularity is in danger of becoming diluted by the criminal conduct of players and owners, like a battery drained by frigid temperatures.

"I can tell you," Sara White said, "Reggie's heart would be broken with so many of the bad decisions some of the players are making today. He would be devastated."

This from The Washington Post's Marissa Payne in a story about the NFL's potential popularity drain with younger viewers:

The NFL's biggest fear should be younger viewers tuning out because of controversies within the league. With more information coming out about the damage the game has on players' brain health, it becomes harder to watch. Hard hits are no longer cool, but horrifying to many. That emerging science, combined with the damage done to the NFL's reputation earlier this year over the way it handled ex-Baltimore Raven Ray Rice's case and other domestic violence cases, as well as Adrian Peterson's child abuse case, may have also alienated some potential young viewers.

The problem has become so worrisome that advertisers are feeling pressure, writes AdWeek:

Roughly 62 percent of Americans and 65 percent of ad pros polled (for a total of 1,500 respondents) believe the domestic violence troubles would impact advertising creative on Super Bowl Sunday, according to a national survey being released today by the 4A's. And 78 percent of Americans and 73 percent of ad execs see this controversial period as an opportunity for brands and companies to promote positive social messages.

What the NFL needs is a hero. Watt is stepping into that role. It fits him perfectly. More importantly, he wants the responsibility.

Again, there are hundreds of NFL players who do the right thing. None, however, is like Watt.

Several days before Thanksgiving, a group of Houston firefighters and police officers received a special delivery. It was pizzas sent by Watt. That act itself was thoughtful, but it was the handwritten note Watt sent that was, well, very Watt:

HFD & HPD I just wanted to send y'all a small token of my appreciation for everything you do. My Dad and Uncle were both firefighters, so I spent a lot of time around the firehouse when I was younger and gained a great deal of respect for both firefighters and the police [force] along the way. Y'all show up day in and day out, never knowing what the day might hold and never getting enough thanks for what you do, yet you continue to put others before yourselves and save lives because of it. As athletes, we often get the headlines and big crowds, but just like the men and women in our military, y'all are the ones who truly deserve the credit, appreciation and admiration. I know it's not much, but please enjoy lunch on me today. Thank you for all that you do! JJ Watt 99

An admission: I tried. I tried to find dirt on Watt. Most journalists either don't admit they've done this (with Watt or other players they are writing profiles on) or keep it quiet, but many of us do it. It's for protection. We're cynical.

You don't want to write a story declaring a guy is a good dude when he's secretly robbing banks. Some of us have been fooled by polished smiles and publicists before. We have written about athletes spending time with the kids at the YMCA only to later find they had enough kids with a mistress to populate that YMCA.

So, I tried. Is everyone being played by Watt? Is this another case of fool's old?

"What you see with J.J. is no phoniness in any way," said longtime NFL writer John McClain, who has covered Houston football for decades and is one of the most knowledgeable and savvy writers I have ever known.

McClain then ticked off names of legends who have come through here. Names like Warren Moon, Earl Campbell and Bruce Matthews. "J.J. has worked harder than any of them off the field," McClain said.

"There is nothing phony about him," said wide receiver Andre Johnson, "in any way."

Then Johnson added, "Players would know."

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"What makes him so good is his work ethic," said Johnson. "The reason you see him succeed so well on the field is because of what he does in practice and in the weight room and in the film room. First guy here, last one to leave."

I wondered: Is there resentment in the Texans locker room toward the attention Watt gets? I've seen that before, once in particular, in Detroit in the 1990s. Linebacker Chris Spielman became one of the most popular players with fans and the media. He was a very friendly guy who never turned away an interview (which is why I liked him). I remember black players telling me specifically that they felt Spielman was overrated by the media because he was white.

Nothing like that is happening with Watt. In my five days with the Texans, I saw Watt interact with almost everyone on the team. I mean, just about everyone. I can tell you that is highly unusual for a superstar.

When Watt scored another touchdown last week, he was mobbed by congratulatory teammates. When he was mic'd by NFL Films last week, you saw a similar scene after Watt stripped the football from the Titans and recovered the fumble. Again, teammates swamped him. Generally, in all sports, superstars stick to themselves or a small circle of teammates. In that locker room, and outside of it, Watt is Everyman.

In that same mic'd-up story, you also saw an underrated part of Watt's personality. His humor. He said, quite calmly, to one of the Tennessee linemen trying to block him, "You gonna hold all day or just part of it? You (haven't) blocked me once."

Even when he talks smack, he does it it in a way that's endearing.

"I haven't seen any resentment" to his stardom from teammates or others, Watt said, "I think because my play matches the hype."

"If you're jealous of him," Johnson said, "you need to look in the mirror."

Watt's story is back in a hospital, whether we know it or not. One of the things Watt does most is visit hospitals. Often, if not all of the time, he does this secretly, or tries to and then news (and photos) of his visits leak.

Watt's mother, Connie, believes this impulse in her son to visit the extremely sick stems from when Watt was younger. Prior to his senior year at Pewaukee High School, his mother remembers him getting seriously ill. They thought it was mononucleosis, but some initial tests showed it might be leukemia.

It wasn't leukemia, thankfully, but that moment changed everything for Watt. "I think he took to heart what it might have meant had that leukemia diagnosis been true," she said. "I don't think he ever forgot."

That became apparent as Watt befriended the Berry family. Aaron, Peter and Willa Berry were orphaned three years ago in July after their parents were killed in a horrific car accident in the Houston area. Two of the kids, eight and nine years old, were paralyzed from the waist down.

Many donated money, but Watt didn't stop there. He became friends with them and remains so to this day. "I didn't want to be one of these guys who dropped in, and they never heard from me again," he said.

Yet all of the work Watt does to generate good will presents a significant challenge to the man himself. "The challenge J.J. is running into," Connie said, "is now he is asked to help people all the time. But there is just one J.J."

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There are pitfalls awaiting Watt. White faced them, dodged all of them for a chunk of his career, then one chased him down the way he pursued quarterbacks. Those moments stuck to him even beyond his death in 2004.

Sara said Reggie would give Watt three pieces of advice. "One or two mistakes can damage your legacy," she said. "That would be first. On the field, be consistent. Then lastly, be careful with your money." Sara said Reggie's first contract was worth a total of $125,000.

"The one thing with Reggie was that he loved to speak to kids, help people and help fellow players," said Sara. "But people used to try and take advantage of his popularity. I would not be surprised if the same thing is happening with J.J.

"Reggie would always feel guilty about not being able to help someone or make it to an event after he had already done so many things to help people. I used to say, 'You can't be in two places at once.' I think Reggie would tell J.J. to be careful. Make sure you find time for yourself."

Watt did that recently. He planned a trip to Europe for himself and his two brothers. They went to France, England and Ireland.

"That meant the world to me that J.J. did that," Connie said. "Taking time for himself and being with his brothers."

"One of the things I have to do, and I'm working on it," said Watt, "is making sure I enjoy the ride along the way. I have to remind myself, 'Take a look around, look at things, and enjoy it.'

"What I want to do now is use the power of football to help people. But when I retire, I want to be normal. I will always do what I can to help others, but when I retire I want to be a dad and a husband. I want a house and a dog in the yard. I want to have barbecues."

That will happen, but for now, for right now, Watt is changing the sport. With sacks, with excellence, with kindness.

Mike Freeman covers the NFL for Bleacher Report.