Quiet Strength

  Tom and I spent a year reading, studying, and discussing those thirteen chapters, meeting every Thursday morning for breakfast at 6 a.m. at Jerry’s Market. I often brought two-year-old Eric with me. Eric loved pancakes, and he would eat while Tom and I discussed Nehemiah. During that year, Tom told me he believed the Lord had bigger things for me and that when the time came, I would need to be a strong leader and a strong Christian. He reasoned—correctly—that when I did get a head coaching job, it would be because a change would be needed, and I would face many challenges. Through the course of our study, Tom pointed out that most of the failings of biblical leaders were spiritual rather than tactical. I needed to be prepared as much spiritually as I was in the Xs and Os.

  I learned three key truths from Nehemiah. First, Nehemiah’s opportunity came in God’s time, not his own. Second, Nehemiah diligently prepared his mind and his heart so he would be ready when God’s time arrived. Third, Nehemiah needed to be prepared to take on the problems, doubt, and adversity that would come his way both from the outside and from within.

  During my tenure in Minnesota, I increased my football knowledge, tactics, and strategies. In addition to all that Denny was exposing me to, Chris Foerster, our offensive line coach, and I often talked about big-picture things. Whenever Denny went through mock drafts with the coaches, Chris and I would spend hours afterward replaying the draft scenarios and talking about whom we would have chosen, when we would have tried to trade, and so forth. We also talked about training camp schedules, practice plans, and game management. More than anything else, we talked about how to win consistently in the NFL. I tried to force myself to think in terms of the big picture in preparation for the day when I would need to think about an entire football team, balancing short-term success and long-term stability.

  * * *

  I had had two head coaching interviews before I even went to Minnesota, although neither job was right for me. The first interview was in Philadelphia in 1986, when Buddy Ryan got the job as the Eagles head coach. The following year, 1987, I was interviewed in Green Bay for the Packers’ head coaching position. That was an interesting interview. I sat across the table from Tom Braatz, vice president of football operations for the Packers, and we talked for about two hours. Finally, I asked him what the Packers were looking for in a head coach. Without batting an eye, Tom said, “Number one, we want a guy with head coaching experience. And number two, we want a real creative offensive guy.” Since I was a defensive coach who had never been a head coach before, I obviously was not hired for the job. I wondered why I had even been invited for the interview.

  I had only two other interviews over the next eight years—in Jacksonville, when I finished second to Tom Coughlin, and again in Philadelphia, when I finished second to Ray Rhodes. I really felt as if I had been close on both, which made not getting the jobs that much more disappointing. Lauren was especially disappointed. She believed deeply in my abilities, and she was still looking for a place where she could thaw out.

  In 1993, the Vikings had the number one defense in the NFL. Although there were seven head coach openings that year, not only did I not get an interview, I never even got a phone call indicating I was on a team’s list of candidates. That was a tough pill to swallow. I began to think that if God did have a head coaching job lined up for us, it might be a fairly long wait. Lauren was probably thinking the same thing, but Tom Lamphere wasn’t. He was always quick to remind me that God had already selected the team I would be coaching. I just needed to do my current job well, keep preparing, and wait on God’s timing. I needed to trust His leadership rather than try to force an outcome I wanted.

  Two years later, after the 1995 season, there were two openings. I still had interviewed only twice during those eight years and four times overall. I didn’t know anyone at either team—the Miami Dolphins and the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. I told Lauren not to expect this to be the year that anything happened. It was well documented that Jimmy Johnson was the top choice of both clubs. Johnson had resigned from the Dallas Cowboys and would likely have his pick of the two teams. If Johnson went to Miami, Steve Spurrier from the University of Florida would be Tampa Bay’s top choice.

  We figured the only way I might have any chance at all was if Jimmy took the Tampa Bay job, since then there would be no clear front-runner in Miami. But Jimmy signed with the Miami Dolphins, saying he had a better chance of getting to the Super Bowl with Miami’s future hall-of-fame quarterback, Dan Marino, than with Tampa’s quarterback, Trent Dilfer. A friend of mine got word that the coaches at the University of Florida were packing to move two hours south to Tampa, so I never gave the Tampa job another moment’s thought. It was time for me to start concentrating on next year’s Vikings defense, doing my level best to trust God for the future.

  * * *

  Jerry Angelo, who was the Buccaneers’ director of player personnel (and is now the general manager of the Chicago Bears), called me just before the East-West Shrine Game, a college all-star game, to see if I would be there. Rich McKay, the Buccaneers’ general manager, wanted to meet with me. I had planned to be at the game, so we arranged a meeting. I still wasn’t getting my hopes up, though, so I warned Lauren that this interview was a real long shot. I knew how disappointed she had been when my previous interviews hadn’t gone the way we wanted.

  As I arrived at the Santa Clara Marriott to meet with Rich, the little screw came out of one of the hinges on my glasses. I had never had a problem with my glasses before, so it had never occurred to me to have a backup pair. At this point, however, my glasses were in two pieces. I tried to hold the lenses in front of my eyes as I squatted down in the hotel driveway to look for the screw. I searched desperately all over the ground and finally found it—three minutes before the meeting was scheduled to begin.

  I entered the hotel and said to the bell captain, “This is an emergency: I have a screw loose.” I held up my glasses. “Do you have one of those really small screwdrivers?”

  He stared at me and then started to look around the stand for a screwdriver we both knew wasn’t there.

  I was on the verge of being late and couldn’t wait any longer. I was about to head to the meeting when the bell captain told me of a nearby optical center that could fix the glasses.

  A dilemma—should I call Rich and tell him I would be late? Or should I be on time for the meeting but not be able to see him? If Rich were to ask me to diagram a play, or if he showed me something and asked me to respond, I’d have no shot.

  I finally figured that being on time was more important than being able to see, so I headed for the meeting, all the while kicking myself for being too cheap—I mean frugal—to own a second pair of glasses. I arrived at the meeting room right on time. I wondered if I should wear the glasses, even though they would only be hanging on one ear. I’d have to hold them up with my hand—nice—but at least I’d be able to see. Or I could not wear the glasses and hope that I wouldn’t trip over a chair. Neither option was good, but at least I wasn’t late. I decided to pocket the glasses. I took some comfort in knowing that this interview was only a formality, since Steve Spurrier would be taking the job anyway.

  Rich introduced himself, and I told him this would be one of his more interesting interviews:

  “I can’t see you at all right now because, although I ordinarily wear glasses, they broke just as I arrived at the hotel.” I told Rich my story, and he commiserated with me since he also wore glasses. I finally decided to put them on, then sat through the interview with my head tilted to one side to keep the glasses from falling off. About halfway through, Rich said he wasn’t going to ask me to review anything, and I was welcome to take the glasses off. He was gracious throughout, but I felt like an idiot.

  Most of my prior interviews had gone well, but this one had not. When I reported back to Lauren, I told her I was pretty sure I had blown any slim chance I might have had at getting the job.

  “It’s just as well that Spurrier is taking this job, be
cause I have no shot,” I said. “Usually I tell you that I’m close, right? Well, I’m not close. We can forget this job.”

  The interview with Rich was enjoyable, however, because we had talked very little about football. This surprised me because Rich was John McKay’s son and had played football at Princeton. Instead, we spent almost the entire time talking about winning, developing chemistry and a winning atmosphere, and relating positively to players. During the interview, Rich asked why I believed I had come in second or third in all those other head coaching searches. I informed him that it hadn’t happened all that many times. I listed my actual interviews—a low number compared to the number of times the media had mentioned my name as a candidate. Rich was surprised.

  Three days later, I had pretty much put Tampa out of my mind when Jerry Angelo called back to arrange a second meeting between Rich and me, this time at the Senior Bowl. I began to see a faint ray of hope. Then I heard that the Gainesville coaches had stopped packing because Spurrier was undecided.

  I bought a second pair of glasses.

  * * *

  Before my second meeting with Rich, I read an article by Hubert Mizell, longtime columnist of the St. Petersburg Times. According to his inside sources, I wasn’t being considered seriously among the candidates for the Bucs job. I was only a “minority interview,” brought in to demonstrate the Bucs’ commitment to diversity.

  I was crushed. Nobody had more inside sources in Tampa than Hubert Mizell. I found myself questioning God’s plan and timing.

  However, I still had a glimmer of hope. Not only had Rich and I developed a good rapport, but Jerry, whom I had known only casually before this process, was calling me every two or three days to tell me not to worry about what I might be hearing or reading. He said the Buccaneers were simply being very diligent and weren’t conducting the search through the media.

  I met with Rich again at the Senior Bowl in Mobile, Alabama. We met for dinner at Roussos Restaurant, and we still didn’t talk many football specifics. Instead, Rich began asking me about the Buccaneers’ current players. We didn’t get into too much detail but instead talked generally about how I thought certain players might fit into my plans for the club.

  I returned to Minnesota and Lauren. The next day at the office, I couldn’t focus on the simplest of tasks because of my excitement over the possibility in Tampa. Lauren seemed to be having the same problem at home.

  Jerry called two days later. “Rich needs to know the name of your agent.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “He wants to begin discussing a contract.” I hung up and contacted Ray Anderson, who represented Denny Green and Ty Willingham. I asked Ray to contact Rich. Then I went home to tell Lauren that things looked promising.

  “You’d better not be kidding me, Tony! You’d better not be kidding me!” Lauren had been on this roller coaster before, when I had interviewed in Jacksonville and their president had called me to say I was one of the last two candidates. She didn’t want to get her hopes up unless it was a sure thing, especially on days like this one, when it was twenty degrees below zero outside. I swore Lauren to secrecy for a couple of days until Ray could work things out with Rich.

  The team flew us to Tampa so we could meet with the Glazers, the Bucs’ owners. They made arrangements for us to stay at the Tampa Airport Marriott, where Rich said he would meet us. As Lauren walked off the plane and into that warm Jetway, I could tell from her gait and the angle of her shoulders that she already didn’t want to return to Minnesota—ever—except to get Tiara, Jamie, and Eric.

  Rich met us in the hotel lobby. As we stepped onto the elevator to head to the parking garage, some cameramen spotted us, and the chase was on. Once we were buckled in, Rich sped off, winding through the parking garage and out of the airport, driving like he was in Starsky and Hutch. He used the back streets of Tampa, and by the time we arrived at Bern’s Steak House, Rich had left the press far behind. Or so we thought.

  Even on an ordinary night, Bern’s is an experience unlike any other. The restaurant has red velvet walls with gold trim, which added to the storybook feeling of the evening. We had a great meal and an enjoyable conversation with the Glazers. I wanted to be sure they knew how important my faith was to me. Given that they were Jewish, I wasn’t sure how that would be received. As it turned out, the Glazers were wonderful people of faith. They seemed accepting, open, and welcoming of my approach to coaching, faith, and life. As we wrapped up our three-hour dinner and headed upstairs to Bern’s famous dessert room, someone suggested we turn on the television.

  The station we turned to was broadcasting live from outside of Bern’s. About five hundred people appeared in the background of the camera shot from Bern’s parking lot.

  Then I heard the reporter. “We believe that Rich McKay is inside with the new coach of the Buccaneers, and we’re waiting for them to come out.”

  It was a surreal experience to watch our situation unfold on television.

  A moment later, Mr. Glazer said, “Let’s go out. Don’t you think we should introduce them to the next coach of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers?”

  It was official. Lauren was finally done with Minnesota winters. We were headed to sunny Tampa, Florida.

  In the process, I had once again learned a valuable lesson. God’s plans don’t always follow human logic. I was finally a head coach, but it had happened in a setting and through a process that had made me believe I had no chance. We often can’t see what God is doing in our lives, but God sees the whole picture and His plan for us clearly.

  Chapter Eight: Building the Faculty

  Good teachers help all their students earn an A.

  —Dr. Wil Dungy

  HEAD COACH of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. I couldn’t believe I’d actually gotten the job. I was especially humbled when I thought about all the times I had fallen short and all the other African American coaches who had gone before me but had never gotten this chance. I realized that the one thing I could do to help them—and the coaches who followed behind us—was to win. Actions speak louder than words. Winning would create greater potential for change than talk alone.

  When I arrived in Tampa in 1996, the Buccaneers hadn’t been particularly successful on the field. I hoped that losing history would make the players more receptive to my new ideas. And despite that history, I was convinced we would win right away.

  My first order of business was to assemble a coaching staff. The prior year’s Buccaneers staff included some terrific coaches, and I was tempted to have some of them stay on. I was good friends with George Stewart, the Buccaneers special teams coach, and I really wanted to keep him. But while the Bucs were deciding on me, George had accepted a job with San Francisco. At that point, I decided to start fresh with an entirely new staff. The Buccaneers weren’t just any club that I had the chance to rebuild. This was one of the least successful franchises in professional sports. While it pained me to do it, I let the assistant coaches go. I was thankful that those guys quickly found jobs elsewhere. I believe they understood.

  * * *

  Herm Edwards had left coaching and was scouting for the Chiefs, evaluating players from around the league. He was convinced that his best bet for advancement in the NFL was to continue on his current path in personnel and hope to become a general manager someday. But I knew how much he loved coaching, and when I was named head coach of the Bucs, I immediately turned to Herm, thinking we would form a natural partnership. I wanted him to be my assistant head coach and to coach the defensive backs. He was a good teacher of fundamentals. Even more than that, he knew how to work hard, and he knew how to win. To my surprise, however, Herm wasn’t interested. At least not right away.

  At first glance, Herm and I seem to be almost polar opposites. He is emotional and talkative, while I’m more analytical and reserved. But he was exactly the type of guy that I wanted for that staff. I wanted teachers more than tacticians, smart coaches who were driven to accomplish our goals and could get those g
oals across. I also wanted coaches like Herm who would encourage players to maximize their talents. This was a group of players that was going to require a great deal of quality instruction and encouragement. While I was in Pittsburgh observing Coach Noll, I had learned that you need all types of personalities on a staff. The last thing I should do was surround myself with fifteen clones of me. Herm certainly met that requirement.

  At the core, however, Herm and I are actually very much alike. We’re both old-school types. We came into the league in the same way—as undrafted free agents. We learned to focus on fundamentals and making sure things are done the right way. Herm is a mentally tough guy whose father was in the military. In addition, he is expressive, animated, and a great motivator. Most important, he has the same personal values that I have. I knew he would be a perfect complement to my coaching style. He would also help me turn around the mind-set of our team; he had done it before. The Eagles had been struggling when Herm began playing for them, but over time, they became winners. That’s what we had to do in Tampa—change a culture, in a team and in a city, that had been losing for a long time.

  But no matter what I did to persuade him, Herm wasn’t ready to leave Kansas City. I interviewed other guys and tried to keep an open mind. None was quite the right fit. In the meantime, I continued to build the rest of my staff.

  Monte Kiffin and I had been on the Vikings defensive staff together during my first three seasons in Minnesota. Monte had left in 1995 to become defensive coordinator for the New Orleans Saints. Jim Mora, the head coach of the Saints at the time, got along well with Monte, and Monte’s defense had performed very well. I interviewed Jim Haslett, whom Monte had tutored in New Orleans, but Jim didn’t want to leave New Orleans for family reasons. When Jim Haslett decided to stay, Jim Mora gave me permission to hire Monte as my defensive coordinator. I still don’t know how that happened.