Quiet Strength (32 page)

People sometimes ask if I went through a typical grief cycle and what I learned from having gone through it. I learned two primary things from our experience and from talking to countless other parents. First, there is no
typical
grief cycle, and second, it’s not something I
went
through. I’m still grieving, as is Lauren. I don’t know that I’ll ever look at this in the past tense, as something I’ve emerged from. Getting back to work certainly helped me heal, and seeing the strength of Gary Bracket and Trent Dilfer and all those other parents who reminded me that we’re not alone has certainly helped the process.

Pressing on to help others is all I can do. It’s all any of us can do. I’m certain it’s what God wants us to do, and He will use it all for good because He loves us. God’s Son died too, but God willingly allowed Christ to die on the cross so that He could restore sight to the blind, heal broken hearts, and bring His children to Him for all eternity.

God so loved the world—and He still does.

We still weren’t finished with the 2005 football season. We were the top seed, and after the bye week, we were preparing for Pittsburgh. The Steelers had beaten Cincinnati in the first round of the playoffs, and we were definitely not taking them lightly. We had beaten them during the regular season—soundly. But we had also had recent experiences in which we lost a regular-season game but beat the same team in the playoffs. We didn’t want the Steelers to do that to us.

As the game began, we realized we had reason to be concerned. The Steelers jumped out to an early lead, and we started slowly—again. Even after a dramatic comeback, we trailed late in the game, 21–18. With less than two minutes to go, we were forced to go for it on fourth down. A sack by the Steelers seemed to end our chances. Pittsburgh had the ball on our two yard line with just over a minute remaining. As the defense took the field, I told middle linebacker Gary Brackett, “We’ve got to knock the ball loose.” On the first play, Gary did just that, causing Steelers running back Jerome Bettis to fumble. Our cornerback Nick Harper caught the bouncing ball in the air and headed off toward a go-ahead touchdown, but their quarterback, Ben Roethlisberger, made a great tackle on Nick at midfield. We moved the ball but couldn’t put it in the end zone. Even so, we were in field goal range and, with Mike Vanderjagt kicking, we were sure we would be heading into overtime. With seventeen seconds left, we sent Mike out to complete the miracle comeback. He missed.

It was an unbelievable end to an unbelievable year—the most accurate kicker in history missing a field goal to end our season when we were prohibitive favorites to go to the Super Bowl. The season was over. It had been a season of heartache, both on and off the field.

In the locker room, I faced a devastated group of players. I made it clear that we couldn’t blame Mike. We had just dug ourselves too big a hole to climb out of. “And we almost
did
get out,” I told them. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see Pittsburgh win it all; they were confident and hot. We’re just going to have to be better next year. Better in what we do, better in how we play. We’re not going to change our approach. We’ll stay the course, both on and off the field.
”

Sometimes you get everything set up just right. We had worked so hard to earn a bye in the playoffs. To me that seemed even more important than the home field advantage, since winning only twice to get to the Super Bowl gave us more of an advantage than being at home. We’d had both. But having it all set up perfectly isn’t enough. We had to go out and do our job when the time came, and we hadn’t done it. So now we were going to push ahead to the next season. We were going to do what we do and see what happened.

Maybe 2006 would bring us another unforgettable season for different—
much
different—reasons.

Leaving the game plan is a sign of panic, and panic is not in our game plan.

—Chuck Noll

S
HOULD
I
COME
BACK
to coach the Colts in 2006? I spent a couple of days considering that question. After all that had happened, I wanted to make certain that I could focus and lead the team at the level the players deserved. I told Jim Irsay that although I planned to be back, I wanted to see how my mind and my spirit held up once the adrenaline of the 2005 season had worn off. And deep down inside, I wanted to show people that all the things I believed about hope and faith and dealing with heartache were more than just lip service.

Lauren and I prayed about it a lot before the playoff game against Pittsburgh. After that, I was sure I wanted to come back, and Lauren wanted me to as well. We felt it was the right thing to do for our family. I wasn’t ready to give up coaching yet, and we needed to press on if we could. Within a week following the end of the season, I told Jim I was sure I’d be able to do it. I was coming back for 2006.

There had been remarkable similarities between my first few years in Indianapolis and Tampa. Both teams had shown improvement, both had stretches of great play, both had reached the playoffs … and both teams had ended year after year with disappointing playoff losses. Just as the Bucs hadn’t been able to get past Philly, the Colts had come up short against their nemesis, New England. The Glazers’ response was understandable, and it’s really the norm in the
NFL
. They decided to make a coaching change in hopes that something new and different would get the team over that hump. Jim Irsay’s response was to stand by me. He never lost his belief that we could do it. Both strategies produced the same result the following season. I don’t know what the lesson is in that, but I loved Jim’s approach. With all the disappointment of the previous year, I really needed the support of my bosses, and it was great to know that he and Bill Polian were solidly behind me.

I remained convinced that we didn’t need to change the way we did things. In the meantime, however, we were hearing talk from the experts that our “window of opportunity had closed,” that we would never win the big one. This time, I fought the urge to do what we had done in Tampa—making short-term changes in an effort to get over an imaginary barrier. We had been putting ourselves in a position to succeed every year; we just needed to play up to our potential in the postseason. But even though I knew this, I also knew it would be a hard sell when so many people were telling our players differently.

During the off-season, we lost about 40 percent of our offense when running back Edgerrin James decided to sign with Arizona. The media saw this as the latest and clearest sign of the apocalypse—the Colts were finished. Inside the building, however, we were comfortable because we had Dominic Rhodes. We also believed that in time, Joseph Addai, our new first-round draft pick, could fill the position Edgerrin had handled for six years.

Mike Vanderjagt was a free agent as well, and he signed with Dallas. Ironically, we signed Adam Vinatieri from our archrival, the Patriots, to replace him. That miss against Pittsburgh had been Mike’s last kick for the Colts, and unfortunately, even though he made so many big kicks for us, he’ll probably be remembered for the one he missed.

Throughout the off-season, Lauren and I continued to work through our own feelings of loss and grief. Grieving parents and counseling pastors had told us that the death of a child can wreak havoc on even the best of marriages, but we were bound and determined that this wouldn’t happen to us. Having said that, we quickly realized why losing a child is so hard on a marriage. No two people grieve in the same way or recover at the same rate. I don’t think Lauren had very many good days at all during those first few months, and when she
would
finally have one, I would be having a bad day. And different things sent each of us into tailspins. Things that bothered her didn’t always have the same effect on me, while some things that tore me up weren’t a big deal to her. But gradually, we began to have some more normal days—together. Eventually, we began to return to the days when we could just talk and interact as husband and wife.

Eric and Tiara seemed to be healing a little more each day as well. Jordan and Jade talked about Jamie the most, often asking where he was and when they would see him again. This gave us plenty of opportunities to talk about heaven and God’s gift of salvation. Although their young minds couldn’t understand why Jamie wouldn’t be coming back to see us, they could understand the concept of a beautiful place and a God who loves them.

In spite of our pain over losing Jamie, Lauren and I understood that we needed to keep living. In the summer of 2006, we went ahead with our prior plans and adopted Justin. When I see my in-laws, now in their eighties with a high schooler and middle schooler at home, I’m sure that I’m seeing my future.

Justin was born while Lauren, Tiara, Jordan, and Jade were in Pennsylvania visiting Lauren’s family. Eric and I were in Indianapolis as the team finished its off-season workouts, and we were just about to join the family in Pittsburgh when we got the call that Justin had arrived in the world.

“Tony, just go by the hospital, pick him up, and bring him to us.” Lauren tried to make it sound routine, like it was the kind of thing people do every day. She couldn’t fool me.

“What? Does that seem like a good idea?” Lauren’s plan seemed like a good idea to her, but I wasn’t so sure.

“Of course it does. It makes perfect sense.” Lauren’s calm demeanor is tough to counter, especially when she couples facts with logic. I was valiant, but I could feel defeat right around the corner.

“But he’s a brand-new baby. What if he cries or something? What do I do?”

“He’ll need three things: to eat, to be changed, and to sleep. He’ll probably sleep all the way, anyway. Just put him in the car seat and start driving. And if he doesn’t sleep all the way here, I’m sure a fifty-year-old father of five and his fourteen-year-old son can figure it out.”

Wily mothers and their logic. I’m glad Mark Merrill didn’t post a transcript of that conversation on the Web site of All Pro Dad.

By the way, I’m embarrassed to say that it wasn’t the last time we discussed the plan. I must have called Lauren back five times, trying to convince her to fly home and help me.

Justin slept the entire drive.

At the 2006 training camp, I explained our strategy to the players.

“We’re going to be fine,” I said, “as long as we
think
we’re fine. If we don’t, we’re going to have problems. We’re going to do what we do. Stay the course. Our biggest temptation will be to think we need to do something different.”

That year, my word picture for the players was from a story Denny Green had shared with me about quarterback Joe Montana.

Joe had been with the San Francisco 49ers for a number of years, helping them win several Super Bowls. Year after year, the team ran head coach Bill Walsh’s same offense. At the beginning of each season, Bill installed the offense the exact same way, with the plays installed in the same order. The first play he installed—every year—was “22 Z In.” Joe Montana could run “22 Z In” in his sleep.

When Paul Hackett became offensive coordinator for the 49ers, he installed “22 Z In” just as Bill Walsh instructed him. Paul realized that Joe knew more about “22 Z In” than he did, but when the meeting was over, Paul saw that Joe had taken three pages of notes. He’d documented exactly how Paul wanted to run the play, as well as all of the basics of “22 Z In” and its details. That’s what a professional does.

“That’s what
we
need to do this season,” I told the Colts. “You’ll think you’ve heard it all before, but you can’t get mentally lazy. We have to stay sharp and continue to work to improve—all through camp and all through the season. We are going to do the same things over and over—that’s how we are going to win.”

Then I ran through the same list of goals I use every training camp:

• Top 5 in the
NFL
in giveaway/takeaway ratio

• Top 5 in the
NFL
in fewest penalties

• Top 5 in overall special teams

• Make big plays

• Don’t give up big plays

I talked about what we had done in 2005—things we had done well and areas where we could improve. Then I gave them a copy of an article I had read in the
Houston Chronicle.
They had often heard me paraphrase Matthew 16:26, my favorite Bible verse: “What good is it to gain the whole world but lose your soul?” To me, one of the implications of that verse is that Christ not only promises us eternal life but also a life that’s more abundant here and now. But according to the
Houston Chronicle
article, many
NFL
players weren’t finding that abundant life as evidenced by the following statistics:

• Sixty-five percent of
NFL
players leave the game with permanent injuries.

• Twenty-five percent of
NFL
players report financial difficulties within the first year of retirement.

• Fifty percent of failed
NFL
marriages occur in the first year after retirement.

• Seventy-eight percent of
NFL
players are unemployed, bankrupt, or divorced within two years of retirement.

• The suicide rate for retired
NFL
players is six times greater than the national average.

“Guys, please keep this in mind: football is a temporary job. We are going to do everything we can to win, but we’re not going to ruin the rest of our lives over football.”

Then I gave them a handout I’ve given every team that I’ve coached, entitled “Five Things That May Get You in
USA
Today
.” I had listed the five things in large print to grab their attention:

1.
ALCOHOL
OR
ILLEGAL
DRUGS

2.
BEING
OUT
AFTER
1:00 A.M.

3.
DRIVING
MORE
THAN
20
MPH
OVER
THE
SPEED
LIMIT