Quiet Strength (37 page)

People expect that winning the Super Bowl would be the bigger high, but for me this day was it. To
finally
win a conference championship. To know that we would
finally
have the experience of playing in a Super Bowl. And to have done it right there, at home in Indianapolis in front of our Colts fans. What a game. What a victory. What a feeling.

Confetti was everywhere—in the air, in our hair, on our clothes. Lauren and I stood on the podium with other Colts, watching the trophy presentation. All over the field I could see our coaches and their wives, our players and their kids, our staff and their families.
“We’re going to the Super Bowl.”
Unbelievable.

No one had left the stadium yet. I know. I checked the corners.

Standing on the podium, I had about two minutes to think. So full of emotion, I was having trouble grasping our achievement. I thought of how we had lost to the Patriots to end our season in 2004. And 2003. Losing 41–0 and not being in-your-face enough. Cleaning out my office in Tampa, wondering if I’d ever coach again. Not getting any interviews in 1993. Being traded from the Steelers to the worst team in football. Lauren. My children. My parents. Jamie.

A long journey.

The Lord had made this journey so awesome, even with all of its disappointments. It was incredibly emotional, thinking about all we’d come through together.

For me, it wasn’t even the Super Bowl itself that was uppermost in my mind. It was the thought of the journey and the way we had persevered through it all. Not giving up. Staying the course. The phone calls from Chuck Noll and Dick Vermeil saying, “Don’t throw in the towel on what you believe in.”

Coach Noll had always told me, “Being stubborn is a virtue when you’re right; it’s only a character flaw when you’re wrong.”

Through all those years, I had believed that the principles I was holding to were right, that the way I wanted to build a team and win was good. So many people had told me I couldn’t get where I wanted to go while doing it the way I thought it should be done. Through it all, however, I had stuck to my principles—and getting to that point with my team was deeply rewarding.

On the podium, CBS broadcaster Jim Nantz asked me how we were able to come back and win the game.

“We have a great group of guys who are very unified,” I said. “But I think God orchestrated this in such a way that we can’t take credit for it. We just want to thank Him for giving us the strength to persevere.”

Then he asked me what I thought about facing my close friend Lovie Smith in the Super Bowl.

“I’m so proud that Lovie is taking the Bears to the Super Bowl as well,” I said. “And meeting him there will make that game extra special. But this moment is about us: the Colts and the fans in Indianapolis.”

Indianapolis was wired, and so were we. Thirty of us went to dinner, and the restaurant stayed open for us until four in the morning. We sat there together, our extended family—children and all—talking and laughing, enjoying the moment and all that it meant.

Some people say it’s a letdown to finally reach a destination, but for us, reaching the Super Bowl was even more exhilarating than I had anticipated. That may be because it hadn’t really been my focus. All along, my focus had been on doing things the way I thought was right—walking where I felt the Lord was guiding. Sure, I absolutely wanted to reach the Super Bowl, but I always tried to keep that goal in its proper place in my life. With the Lord beside me, I felt certain that whatever was supposed to happen was going to happen. He didn’t call me to be successful in the world’s eyes; He called me to be
faithful
.

I was bound and determined to stay with our schedule. On Monday, the day after the AFC Championship Game, the coaches met to watch our game film as we always did. On Tuesday, we put together our game plan. On Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, we reviewed our game plan with the players. It was work as usual. Then I gave everybody the weekend off. I didn’t want anyone to be at the Colts facility on Saturday or Sunday. Jordan and Jade had weekend basketball games at the YMCA, so we took those in as a family. It was the first weekend off for our team in more than three months.

Three Colts players—Adam Vinatieri, Anthony McFarland, and Ricky Proehl—had all been to the Super Bowl before, so I asked them to address the team before we left for Miami. They each did a great job setting the expectation level for our team—going to the Super Bowl was fun and an unforgettable experience, but the point of the game was to win.

We flew to Miami on Monday night. Some members of the media were upset that we hadn’t traveled there on Sunday. But I wanted our players to enjoy some family time—holding off the media hype as long as possible.

Tuesday is the big media day, when coaches and players handle interviews for television, radio, and other news outlets. On Wednesday, we started practicing with an eye on the Bears. I didn’t want our guys to think anything superhuman would be required. Again, I tried to stick to our routine. Regardless of the stakes, I said that we didn’t need more than three days to get ready for a game. Do what we do—as much as possible, anyway, in the Super Bowl environment.

Our players and coaches were able to bring family and friends to our last walk-through practice at the Dolphins facility on Saturday—to take pictures, see the field, and just enjoy that experience. We anticipated that each player would bring his dad or a brother; we ended up filling
seven
charter buses. I had the privilege of bringing a couple of my high school coaches, including Coach Driscoll, and my brother, Linden, and my brothers-in-law, Loren and Wesley. It was a surprisingly emotional time for a number of us and our guests. My dad would have enjoyed it. Actually, I’m sure he did.

On Saturday night, I addressed the team as I usually did. Calmly.

“Tomorrow night, there is going to be a storm in Dolphin Stadium,” I told them. “We might get off to a slow start and have to claw our way back, but we can do it. We will do it. Do what we do. Don’t panic. Stay the course.

“Remember New England? They overwhelmed us with a tsunami of points in that second quarter. We trailed for fifty-nine minutes in that game, but in the final minute, we showed everyone it was our time. Once again, it’s our time. I believe God has prepared the leaders of our team for this time. Over the last four years, starting in 2003, we have had the most wins in football, yet each season has ended in disappointment. Until this one.

“Guys, it is
our
time.”

I shared with them what had gone through my mind, standing on the podium in Indianapolis after that game. “We have not traveled an easy road, as a team or as individuals. But we have never wavered in our beliefs. Our perseverance put us on this doorstep.

“
It is our time.
Let’s go win a championship.”

On Sunday morning, Clyde and I went out for our usual hour-long walk. But two factors conspired to throw us off our routine. First, we were having a good time reminiscing about all the coaches and players in Tampa and Indianapolis we had known over the years. Some memories made us laugh; others made us more reflective. We were so caught up in the stories, we weren’t paying much attention to where we were going. Added to that, we had switched hotels on Saturday night to a “getaway” hotel in order to escape the madness of the regular hotel. As best as we could figure later, we took a left when we needed to go right. Our one-hour walk lasted almost three.

During that extra time, I gave some thought to my postgame comments, win or lose.

The Super Bowl is great, but it’s not the greatest thing. My focus over the two weeks leading up to the Super Bowl was Matthew 16:26, in which Jesus asks, “And what do you benefit if you gain the whole world but lose your own soul?” Our guys could gain all the accolades and success of this world yet lose touch with their priorities, their principles, and the God who loves them. I knew that if my faith was that central to me, giving me such hope and joy and peace, it would be irresponsible for me
not
to share it on possibly the biggest platform I would have in my life. I had used every opportunity I could to do just that in the two weeks leading up to the Super Bowl. I believe that was one of the reasons the Lord had allowed me to be the head coach there that week.

I also thought about what it meant for me to be one of the first two African American head coaches in the Super Bowl. This was going to be a historic game, and I was so glad to share the honor with Lovie, who coaches the same way I do and shares the same values. We didn’t want the focus to be on us individually, but we also knew how meaningful the game would be to black America. So many had coached in the league before me, yet so few had gotten the opportunity to be a head coach. Times had definitely improved across the league and in society, yet I still felt a burden to do more—to continue to do all I could do to level the playing field for everyone. I knew Lovie Smith echoed that.

Some of my daughter’s professors at Spelman College told Tiara before the game, “This is why we marched on Selma. To see your dad standing up there.” And all those who had gone before me in other walks of life—like my dad—paved the way for me and for those who will come after me.

I wanted to win so I could open people’s eyes to the fact that skin color doesn’t matter and to give other guys a chance when I could. I was proud of my accomplishments, but they weren’t mine alone. I was pleased that children from every segment of society—some with hope, some without—might see that you can overcome society’s racial limitations. Maybe now they would believe in themselves—and the God who created them—to reach for the dreams they held in their hearts.

I was also thrilled for older generations who thought they might never see the day that an African American would ever hold up the Lombardi Trophy. I hoped they would cherish the moment as if it were their dream, whether the winning coach ended up being Lovie or me.

It had also been a great week in terms of some of the other values that Lovie and I shared. Athletes in Action had approached us about taking out a full-page ad in
USA Today
on our faith. An individual was willing to donate the funds for the ad if we would do it. Lovie readily agreed with me, and AIA also set up a Web site that contained the ad content. That site received thousands of hits on the first day it went public.

In some ways,
I thought,
it’s just football.
At the same time, I knew it was a landmark, another step in our nation’s history, and a memorable day for black Americans.

But as excited as I was about Lovie’s presence at the Super Bowl and the joint appearances we had made all week, once the game began, I never had a second thought about Lovie being on the other sideline.

An actual storm hit early in the day on Sunday, and the rain began to fall. It poured all day, making ours the first Super Bowl ever played in the rain. All in all, it was definitely a unique moment in NFL history.

Even the pregame introductions were special as we waited in the tunnel. Being introduced as “the AFC Champions, the Indianapolis Colts,” was a powerful moment for me.

People sometimes ask me who my bodyguard is with me at big games; it’s my brother-in-law, Lauren’s twin, Loren—not to be confused with my sister Lauren. The same Loren who had trembled with supressed excitement on the sidelines in 1997 in Detroit.

Even though wireless headsets have been used for years, Loren, my “bodyguard,” stood by my side at the Super Bowl as the football storm hit us on the opening kickoff. Devin Hester of the Bears returned the kickoff for a touchdown. One play and we were down 7–0. Just like Bethel Johnson. Would I never learn? Actually, I would. We didn’t kick the ball to Hester again that night.

Once again, we were off to a slow start, which continued for a while on offense. Then safety Bob Sanders changed the feeling on our sideline with a huge hit on Bears running back Cedric Benson, a hit that knocked the ball loose—win the giveaway/takeaway battle, remember?—and changed the momentum of the game.

We scored to tie the game, and then the Bears scored their final touchdown of the game, all in the second quarter. We led 16–14 by halftime, in spite of the fact that Adam Vinatieri shocked us all by missing his first field goal of the postseason. We felt good heading into the locker room with a lead, even though we hadn’t played mistake-free football. And we would never trail again. We just kept plugging away, staying with our plan. Doing what we do.

Our defense was playing really well, but we couldn’t put the game out of reach for a while. We were leading 22–17 early in the fourth quarter, when Kelvin Hayden intercepted a pass from Bears quarterback Rex Grossman and returned it for a touchdown and a 29–17 lead. When Bob Sanders intercepted a pass on the next series, it continued the ongoing theme of the postseason in which our defense, rather than our offense, was making the big plays for us. Time was growing short for Chicago, and we still held a two-score lead.

Later in the fourth quarter, we again chose to have Dominic Rhodes run the ball to run down the clock and ice the game. This time, however, unlike the divisional playoff game in Baltimore, I chose not to kick the field goal on fourth down. I was convinced that our defense would stop them and certain they wouldn’t score twice, and I was determined not to give the Bears any other opportunities to score.

When the clock showed a minute remaining and I knew the Bears couldn’t score twice, I began to think about how the whole journey had unfolded. I thought about how it wouldn’t have been possible without my parents and how much fun it would have been to have them there. I thought about Mr. Rocquemore and the older guys in my neighborhood who looked out for me and kept me on the right track because they thought that I could “do something” with my athleticism. I thought about my Steelers teammates and Coach Noll and all the things I had learned from him. I thought about Tom Lamphere, talking about what it would take to lead a group of men well. And I thought about Jim Irsay and that fifteen-minute phone monologue five years earlier, just when I was thinking God was moving me out of football. Jim had been so sure we could win it all and that I was the person to coach his team.