TOUCHED BY AN ANDREW

He’s 6 feet 4, 225 pounds, and Mark Rypien, Super Bowl XXVI MVP, spends much of his day dressed as Tigger, full orange-and-black tiger head and suit with tail, looking every bit Winnie the Pooh’s pal, and so what if the costume is a good goofy six inches too short?

A pair of pulled-up white socks have taken care of that, passing as Tigger’s feet. They are good enough for 3-year-old son Andrew to jump approvingly into the lovable critter’s lap.

“Andrew’s a mama’s boy, but this lets me get real close with him,” says Rypien, “and when I have the whole thing on he just melts into my arms.”

Rypien, 35, accosted by linebackers and as macho tough as they come playing quarterback for the Washington Redskins and St. Louis Rams, growls with charm for the youngster as a good Tigger should, singing to his son:

“The wonderful things about Tiggers is . . . they’re bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy . . . full of fun . . . the most wonderful things about Tiggers is, I’m the only one!”

No matter how many times little Andrew hears that, he giggles, and so that is why Rypien runs around the house in costume, all bouncy and flouncy, instead of throwing passes in training camp for the Atlanta Falcons.

“It’s all about making Andrew happy,” he says.

There is a father’s pause for composure. If only this was really a fairy tale, then there would be a happy ending.

“We’re praying for a miracle,” he says. “In the past we’ve been praying for recovery, but now we’re down to praying for a miracle.”

The doctors, who fought the good fight, even delivering good news that there were no more tumors as recently as May, have predicted that a returning vicious and relentlessly growing brain tumor will not let Andrew live much longer than two months.

And that news came five weeks ago.

“The situation is very bleak at this time,” says Rypien, who walked away from a $1.8-million contract with the Falcons. “My wife and I have talked, and if God has His will and He needs Andrew more than we do, then while Andrew’s here we’re going to keep him happy and pain-free.”

One more pause, as much a search for the right words as the strength to say them.

“We’re trying to understand it all. . . . We have this cousin, a wonderful man, a Jesuit, who has told us that, while we will have Andrew for only this short period of time, he’s our angel.

“As hard as it’s going to be at times when he’s no longer here, Andrew has touched the lives of millions of people. And as hard as it’s going to be if and when that day comes, as good as he’s going now, we’re going to enjoy Andrew--every minute of him. If and when that time comes to do all the mourning. . . . I don’t want people coming to our house now feeling sorry for us, or him or anyone else. Let’s just enjoy Andrew.”

But how much can one family endure? Rypien’s wife, Annette, is recovering from recent major surgery for cervical cancer.

“She also had gall stones and was suffering from endometriosis, giving her the trifecta,” says Rypien, who was keeping the extent of his wife’s illness from the public so he could shield his two other youngsters from being further traumatized. But he is more open now that he has received positive medical reports.

“It was terrible, but terrible for Annette because she’s been here every minute for Andrew, and the good mother she is, she didn’t want to be away from him.

“Her prognosis is good now and they got it before it spread, but we were a little nervous there because the doctors said another month or two and her chances would have been slim, if any. It is strange, because emotionally you’re high for the good prognosis with Annette, but then drained by the bad prognosis for Andrew. You can’t say they balance each other because that’s ridiculous.

“I’ve been so blessed to have someone like Annette; she won’t leave Andrew now to have a cup of coffee. That’s the beauty of Annette, and we vowed from the very beginning that we would not let this split us up. We’ve been to the hospitals and we have seen what cancer in children has done to families, and not everyone makes it together.”

A little more than a year ago, the Rypiens had a healthy handful in Andrew, who just turning 2 before suffering a terrorizing seizure that would only be a harbinger of the trying days ahead.

At first, after surgery and a plan for recovery, the Rypiens were able to tell their 7- and 9-year-old daughters with confidence that Andrew would be all right.

There were a series of chemotherapy treatments in the hospital, and then home care, with blue tubes running into one side of Andrew’s chest, red tubes on the other side, the tubes flushed nightly by mom or dad and then filled again with medicine. There was one more chemo treatment after Christmas, and that ravaged Andrew, along with an accompanying case of flu, almost ending his life.

There were more tests while Rypien played backup quarterback for the Rams. There was more surgery and then radiation seeds were planted in Andrew’s head. The seeds ran their 87-day course, effectively cleaning up the tumor bed on the left front side of Andrew’s brain. The victory lifted everyone’s spirits.

“I was flying to Atlanta for three days at a time to work out and then going home three days to take the girls to softball practices and such,” says Rypien. “Everything was looking good and then Andrew suffered a seizure.”

Despite undergoing surgery only weeks earlier, and still unable to move with much conviction, Annette painfully sprang into action, holding her son while her husband drove frantically to the hospital. Andrew was then flown by helicopter to a nearby Spokane hospital.

“When we saw the nurse--it was July 2--she told us the doctor would talk to us and we knew right then,” says Rypien. “He said the tumor had come back three times as bad as before, and we knew if that happened that was probably it. It was pressing on the cerebral artery, and to try and go in there would mean cutting from his eye to the back of his neck, risking permanent paralysis with no guarantee that they would get any or all of the tumor.

“There were no guarantees that he would even come through surgery, and I’ll be damned, I wasn’t going to lose my son on the operating table. We just could not put him through any more excruciating experiences. Nobody should have to undergo major surgery, let alone as much as he has, before his fourth Christmas.”

When the Rypiens walked out of the hospital last month, they did so knowing the pressure inside their son’s head would increase, the fluids and growing tumor probably combining to cause devastation without further means of rescue.

They have an influential friend in Washington, who has been talking to senators and health officials who might be privy to medicines not yet ready for the market that might help Andrew. But they said their primary objective now is to maintain Andrew’s quality of life without introducing any more pain.

“The longer we can keep Andrew going,” Rypien says, and he stops, warning an energetic Andrew to watch his fingers, lest they get pinched. “Listen, every day we wait to get a phone call or hear something new they’ve discovered, but we know that’s unrealistic.”

The Falcons would still like Rypien to play football, and they allowed him to keep $200,000 of his signing bonus, although he never got into uniform. But for now, Rypien says, “that’s so far on the back burner, it’s not even burning. It’s so secondary. . . .

“Andrew has taught us so much in his short time here. It’s all about family now, and the family enjoying everything. The video camera has been going since that day in early July.”

The Rypiens had one more difficult assignment, taking their two daughters aside to talk about what was going to happen to Andrew in the coming weeks. “This is your brother and every time you say good night to your brother. . . . Well, they were pretty broke up by it,” says Rypien. “They needed to kiss their brother good night and not think, ‘Uh, that’s my brother.’ They needed to tell him how much they loved him, so in their minds there could be some closure down the road.

“My dad died of a heart attack when he was 52, and I remember golfing with him and he was playing terribly and we were in a rush and trying to play through the group in front of us. [I remember] thinking later, ‘That was the last time I was with him and how could I have left it like that?’ That’s why I want the girls, even if their brother’s swinging a bat and belting them, and as much as they would like to wring his neck, [to] kiss him and mean it.”

Aunts and uncles visit, and like Daddy Tigger, they come wearing costumes of Andrew’s favorite characters, which became emblazoned on his mind after a five-day trip to DisneyWorld. And while the family no longer can venture far from home, it cannot keep Andrew from demanding visits almost every other day to the local Chuck E. Cheese, to be hugged by the big furry cartoon character.

“You look at Andrew and he’s just fine,” says Rypien. “I see him and I’m looking at an amazing little guy, who has already done things they said he could not do. I’m the optimist, and I always say if and when instead of when. . . . I talk about high school, what he’s going to do in a few years and playing golf together. . . . It’s just hard to let go.”

As rambunctious as any other 3-year-old, Andrew is much bigger than most, and his father had plans on his growing up to be a 50-goal scorer in hockey. But steroids he has taken to relieve the pressure in his brain have impacted his behavior, making him ornery at times, and now with a laugh Rypien says, “He might be better suited to being one of those 300-minutes-in-the-penalty-box players; he might make Dave Schultz look like a saint.

“But he’s the best little kid, you know. I just love him.”

Until Saturday night, Andrew was holding up well, despite the growth of the tumor in his head. But then he shouted out an “owey,” requiring medication for the mounting pressure in his head and a sure sign of stinging pain, because throughout this process he has shown a toughness and willingness to accept so much without complaint.

His right cheek has been impacted by the tumor’s pressure, and there’s concern that it might affect his eyesight, but the Rypiens refuse to dwell on the “what ifs?” preferring the enjoyment of the minute at hand.

“I think Boomer Esiason said it once. We’re probably the only people in this world who think we can take a 2-14 team and take it to the Super Bowl the next year,” Rypien says. “It’s just our nature as athletes, so I see Andrew on his good days and I start thinking, ‘Maybe the tumor has stopped growing.’ Annette is more a realist. Just give her the facts, what are the percentages? I hear that and I just want to leave the room.”

From the outset, the Rypiens were told that youngsters stricken with such a brain tumor could expect to live no more than five years, but then there were stories of exceptions.

And that was all Rypien needed to hear.

“It was an uphill battle, but if there was one who made it, then Andrew could too,” he says. “And I can’t tell you how good it felt this past May when we felt we had it licked. Then it comes back--sending a chill down your spine.”

There has been so little time for the Rypiens to gather their thoughts, as anyone who has ever tried to keep up with a 3-year-old would know. For the most part, he said, “We’re always tired. When we do get the occasion to be alone, we do a little grieving.

“It’s the nature of this tumor to grow quickly, but maybe it’s stopped or stagnated. Here we are five weeks later and he’s going strong. We can hope and we can pray.”

And in the background Andrew is running and jumping, and carrying on like any other 3-year-old dynamo.

“We don’t look at Andrew’s situation as anything bad,” says Rypien. “The gifts of faith and prayer keep us going, and in turn, Andrew going. We ask God, ‘If this is Your will, so be it. But if not, find a way to give our Andrew a chance like anyone else.’

“Recently, when Andrew began waking up in the middle of the night, he asked us if there was someone else in there with him. It’s something we heard about from other kids stricken with cancer, and now it’s happening to Andrew. One young girl asked her mother, ‘don’t you see her?’

“It’s pretty neat, like there are angels in the room to take him away, or telling him they are not ready yet. With a lot of prayers, maybe they will wait a little longer.”