A Sideline to History
The Shadow
By Art Shell
Tony Dungy and Lovie Smith will make National Football League history
next Sunday in Miami as the first two African American head coaches to
take their teams to the Super Bowl, the biggest stage there is. My own
swipe at NFL history came in 1989, in a Monday night game in the Big
Apple against the New York Jets, my first contest as head coach of the
Oakland Raiders -- and as the league's first black head coach in the
modern era.
When I was named head coach four games into the 1989 season, the team
was 1-3 and the coaching staff and team were a house divided. There was
no interview process, nothing like the carefully regulated procedure in
today's NFL -- it was just leadership by necessity. Owner Al Davis
wanted a Raider to lead the team and right the ship, period. At the
time, I was the offensive line coach and had played offensive tackle for
the Raiders during my 14-year career. The day of my first game, I knew
all of the country would tune in to see if a black man could succeed as
an NFL head coach. I knew I would be judged on that one game.
That night, I was more concerned about preparing my team to win than
about my place in sports history, but everywhere were reminders that
this wasn't just another Monday night game. When we pulled up to our
hotel, television announcer (and former Raiders coach) John Madden swung
by in his bus to shout his congratulations. And instead of my usual
pregame phone conversation with my wife, for this particular game I
fielded calls from Jesse Jackson, Tom Bradley (then the mayor of Los
Angeles) and Robert Johnson of Black Entertainment Television. It was
flattering to hear from them and to know that they were paying attention
-- but the pressure only grew.
Even before kickoff, the Jets players and coaches walked over to say
congratulations and how happy they were for that moment. It happened
like that every game that season, win or lose. Players from the other
team -- black, white, everybody -- would walk over just to say
congratulations.
That first night in New York, though, I had some pioneering company on
the field. The officiating crew came in and I realized that Johnny
Grier, the first black referee in the NFL, just happened to be working.
There we were -- the first black coach in the modern era and the first
black referee -- preparing for one regular-season matchup that would end
up meaning more than any team record or division standings.
In the first half of the game, my players were trying too hard to make
plays; the harder they tried, the more mistakes they made. At the half,
I said to them, "I know you're trying to do something extra special for
me here tonight. Don't do that. Just play the game."
Our 14-7 win -- on Eddie Anderson's 87-yard interception runback for a
touchdown -- was important because of who I represented, 42 years after
Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in baseball. The victory gave my
team confidence that the season was not lost and it gave us confidence
to win my home debut as a head coach the following week (against our
fiercest division rival, the Kansas City Chiefs). We won seven of our
last 12 games and finished the season 8-8. By virtue of the strong
showing, I was asked to continue on in my role as head coach. History or
not, winning matters.
An NFL head coach was a role I'd always wanted, but hadn't always
thought possible. Growing up in Charleston, S.C., I played football and
basketball and deeply admired the men who dedicated their lives to
coaching these sports. I wanted to earn a college degree and become a
coach like them.
After a standout career in high school, I went to Maryland State
College, now the University of Maryland-Eastern Shore, a historically
black college, at a time when the traditional big-name schools weren't
accepting black kids. If I came out of high school today, I might be
juggling offers from Clemson or the University of South Carolina, but a
black player in the 1960s had few choices. So many of the strongest
athletes went to the historically black schools; sometimes it seemed as
though there were pro scouts on our campus for every practice.
Initially, my plan was to get a college education, go back to South
Carolina, teach and become a coach. But I started receiving letters from
professional teams, and eventually was picked by the Raiders in the
third round of the 1968 draft.
I started thinking again about coaching. After practices with the
Raiders, some of the older players would run extra drills with the
younger players, and I remember one day Madden happened to be there
watching. "If you weren't playing, I would hire you on my staff," he
said, "because I think you'd make a hell of a coach one day." That
placed this idea in the back of my brain that I could coach on a
professional level, too. Al Davis already knew that I wanted to be
involved in coaching; so after I retired from playing in 1982, I began
helping to coach the players I knew best: the offensive linemen.
I ended up being the first black NFL coach in the modern era. I knew I
needed to have some success. And if I was successful, then I would open
doors for others to become successful. I also knew that black players
were happy to see a black man in a position like that because I gave
them hope that they didn't have to play the game and walk away from it.
I'm proud of the way Dungy and Smith carry themselves as coaches. They
succeeded in their own way, in their own style. Coaches don't have to
jump up and down and shout themselves hoarse to get results. The
attention should not be on the sidelines, it should be on the field.
I wonder if Tony and Lovie are talking to their teams about the history
they'll make on Sunday. I imagine that conversation will motivate their
players even more, if that's possible for a Super Bowl.
I remember the day Mr. Davis decided I would become the head coach. It
was an off day for the players. I gathered everyone together and
addressed them for the first time as their coach. All eyes were glued on
me. I began talking about the history of the Raiders. In the middle of
my speech, though, our star running back, Marcus Allen, jumped up and
interrupted me. "Man, I'm ready to play," he said.
----------
Art Shell, a former player and coach with the Oakland Raiders, is a
member of the NFL Hall of Fame.
R. J. Salvi
a.) he says "...my first contest as head coach of the
Oakland Raiders..." I guess he doesn't recognize L.A. Raiders and they're
always Oakland to him...?
b.) he says: "Coaches don't have to jump up and down and shout themselves
hoarse to get results." I'm guessing he's tired of the Gruden comparisons,
or at least criticisms of his stoic nature on the sidelines...?
It also almost seems in a roundabout way that he feels the need to prove
himself worthy as a HC and that this past season -- one he didn't broach in
this piece -- was an aberration, not reflective of his capabilities and
passion for the game. He truly is a gentleman and it's too bad it ended like
it did.
On a related note...Kiffin has a mountain in front of him and a hard sell to
the players. Fortunately, he has nothing to lose personally, but for the
future viability of this franchise, he needs to succeed.
--
RJ
"The Shadow" <mie...@bright.net> wrote in message
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