Quiet Strength (14 page)

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 goals 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.

Shortly thereafter, Joe Marciano, also of New Orleans contacted me. I knew Joe from my time in Kansas City and Minnesota, when we had practiced against New Orleans during training camp. I had seen firsthand how good Joe was at coaching special teams. I told Joe, however, that I was sure Jim Mora wouldn’t let him leave, especially since he had just given up Monte. Joe said that Jim would let him go if he could find a suitable replacement. He asked me to hold the position open for him, and I did.

Clyde Christensen, Charlie Williams, Tony Nathan, Chris Foerster, and Ricky Porter made up the offensive staff. I hired Mike Shula as my offensive coordinator because Mike’s offense in Chicago had always given us trouble in Minnesota. Although we were going to build up the defense first, I knew Mike would have the patience to lead the offense as we built it.

Other than Monte, I had to work a little harder to find coaches to fit our defensive scheme. I felt a little like Coach Noll, who never wanted to bring in players or coaches from other organizations because he didn’t want to have to overcome a prior way of doing things. He wanted everyone to immediately buy into the Steelers way, and he didn’t want any other influences to trickle in. That’s why, when he traded me to San Francisco, he didn’t trade for a player but rather for a draft pick. I knew exactly what I wanted to do on defense, and Monte was the perfect person to do it. I didn’t want other coaches to bring in other philosophies. I needed people who would teach what Monte wanted done.

I hired my staff with a few basic thoughts in mind. First, they had to be men of character and integrity. While I admire Christian faith, that was not a prerequisite. Integrity, however, is paramount with me. Second, they had to be good teachers; otherwise I wouldn’t consider them. I wanted men alongside me who recognized that as coaches and teachers—just like as parents—we are entrusted with the lives of others. We are responsible to help mold them into all they were created to be—as football players, teammates, role models, and productive members of society. Third, I was looking to create opportunities for African Americans who weren’t already in the NFL. Finally, I was hoping for guys who would make a long-term commitment to the Bucs.

The Buccaneers had become a way station for coaches. A coach would land in Tampa when he was looking for a job, then leave for a “better job” whenever a position became available. We needed Tampa to
become
that better job. I wanted the Buccaneers to become a place where coaches—and players—aspired to be.

Not everyone I contacted wanted to come. I spoke with Ron Brown, the receivers coach at the University of Nebraska, about joining us in Tampa. I had known Ron for years and thought he would be a perfect fit in light of his character and his coaching style and teaching philosophy. Ron asked me to give him a week to pray about my offer.

“What? Ron, I’ve got to put together a staff. I don’t know if I can wait that long.”

Ron was adamant, and I agreed to wait for him. We were both glad that he took his time. A week later, he called me back to decline. He said he would love to coach in the NFL and be a part of what we were creating in Tampa, but he believed the Lord wanted him to stay at Nebraska, where he was involved with a number of outreach opportunities.

“I know He’ll find somebody else to do His work if I go, but I really believe this is where I’m supposed to be right now.” Of course, I respected Ron’s decision and how he came to it.

Several of our college scouts recommended that I speak with Lovie Smith, the defensive backs coach from Ohio State. At the same time, they were also suggesting Rod Marinelli, the defensive line coach at Southern Cal. I had never met either one, but after interviewing them, I knew they would both be a perfect fit. I hired them both. All the qualities I was looking for—strong character, mental toughness, strength, passion, and a commitment to teaching fundamentals—were true of both Lovie and Rod.

Joe Marciano called again, asking me to continue holding the special teams job. I kept the promise intact. I wouldn’t fill it—yet—but time was becoming a factor.

Herm was still not interested in coming to Tampa. To this day, I have a written phone message from Herm that reminds me of the complete lack of urgency he felt to leave Kansas City to join me in Tampa: “Herm Edwards. Says he’ll be at home in California.”