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“The Murder of Air McNair”: True crime meets NFL retrospective

CLEVELAND - NOVEMBER 6: Quarterback Steve McNair #9 of the Tennessee Titans on the sidelines during a game against the Cleveland Browns at Cleveland Browns Stadium on November 6, 2005 in Cleveland, Ohio. The Browns defeated the Titans 20-14. (Photo by George Gojkovich/Getty Images)

Most NFL players only stay in the minds of sports fans for a few years. The transition from week-in, week-out star to supporting role happens frighteningly quickly. One minute they're a key member of your fantasy team, the next they're nostalgic: “Remember that guy?”

Few players from any era survive beyond their playing days, some because of their fame, others because of tragic events. Steve McNair played 13 years in the NFL, some of them very well, one of them great. But today he is remembered most for the final moments of his life, a tragic end that cast a shadow over his entire career.

McNair is the subject of a new entry in Netflix's “Untold” series of sports documentaries called “The Murder of Air McNair.” Directed by Rodney Lucas and Taylor Alexander Ward, the film offers a comprehensive look into the life of one of the NFL's stars of the early 2000s… beginning and ending with his shocking death. Positioned somewhere between a true crime story and an NFL retrospective, it's a clear look at a life that ended far too soon.

The documentary begins with an audio clip of a July 4, 2009, 911 call in which one of McNair's close friends discovered the bodies of a man and woman who had died of gunshot wounds in a Nashville apartment. After the call, there was initial confusion – who are these people? How did they die? Why are so many high-ranking law enforcement officials arriving at the scene? – but the tragic truth quickly became clear.

McNair and his girlfriend, Jenni Kazemi, died of gunshot wounds – McNair suffered four gunshot wounds to the body and head, Kazemi a self-inflicted one to the temple. It's a sad, straightforward story – a love affair gone wrong, a gun bought on the street, a violent end – and so the documentary must fill its allotted running time with stories far removed from McNair himself.

Air McNair is as much a story of the Titans of the turn of the millennium as it is a story of Air McNair. These Titans are worthy of a documentary of their own, from their final days in Texas as Oilers to their brief stop in Memphis to their attempt to win the state of Tennessee.

The 1999 season was a remarkable one for the Titans – their first at home, an undefeated 8-0 home record, a playoff run that included both the Music City Miracle and the famous “One Yard Short” play to close Super Bowl 34. Led by head coach Jeff Fisher – who appears frequently in the documentary – McNair oversaw a magical season for the Titans and was named co-MVP along with Peyton Manning.

It's actually a bit odd that we don't hear much from McNair himself, considering how often he's been on camera throughout his career. He's a cipher, lurking on the fringes of his own story. His longest on-camera appearance was his press conference announcing his retirement as a Baltimore Raven in 2008, when he retired from the game with obvious regret but also declining skills.

At this point, the documentation of McNair's life between retirement and death pulls back. Although McNair was married and had children, he apparently also had an active extracurricular life. (“Steve had an itch he was trying to satisfy,” says his college teammate Robert Gaddy.) He was close with Kazemi, a former waitress at Dave & Buster's, but he wasn't dating her exclusively, which — according to text messages — may have sparked what happened next.

Several characters appear and disappear in the documentary. Kazemi's ex-boyfriend in particular arouses a little pity – he was a long-time Titans fan who idolized McNair, only to be left by his girlfriend for… Steve McNair. Like several others, he was classified as a “person of interest” but was quickly cleared.

There is a late attempt to distort the official murder-suicide story. A private investigator points out some “what if” holes in the narrative and criticizes the police's work. But the whole thing comes across as a know-it-all act that raises doubts because not all the pieces are in perfect order.

Several people in the documentary point out that McNair, who was only 36 when he was killed, is more than just his final moments, that he deserves to be remembered for more than his gruesome death. But the documentary is titled “The Murder of Air McNair,” probably because “The Life of Steve McNair” wouldn't generate nearly as much interest.

That's a shame, because the life McNair built for himself – from quarterback in a small town in Mississippi to Super Bowl star – deserves respect. “Except for the ending,” Fisher says, “it couldn't have gone any better.”