Inside the NFL’s First Family

by Bruce Matthews

  But one-on-one time was a different situation with the coaches. We spent so many hours together that you couldn’t help developing close relationships. I especially enjoyed getting to know an old nemesis from the Fiesta Bowl, Chet Parlavecchio, the former Penn State and NFL linebacker. The Titans coaches also held regular Bible studies that strengthened the bonds between us, and between us and the Lord. It was a great way to counteract the tremendous pressure that comes with coaching in the NFL.

  Though I didn’t get to know the players as well as I would have liked, I did already have a relationship with one player who was part of the organization for all three years I was with the Titans—my son Kevin.

  When Kevin graduated from high school, he had a few scholarship offers to play center in college. Texas A&M didn’t offer a scholarship, but he had a good feeling about the program from his visits there and decided to walk on. It’s extremely rare for a walk-on to earn a college football scholarship, so I was pretty excited when he called me after a spring practice his freshman year to say the coaches were talking about it. Kevin did beat the odds, earning that scholarship his first year and starting at center his last two years. Though he went undrafted after graduating, that Matthews stubbornness kicked in again. He made the Titans practice squad and was added to the active roster late in the season. He played three games, starting the last one against the Colts.

  We signed Kevin for the 2011 and 2012 seasons as well. During training camp in 2012, he was competing for a starting job when he suffered a concussion, missed practice time, and lost his opportunity. Kevin still played in every game and did earn that starting position for two games late in the season. Then he injured his ankle, ending his season.

  I loved having Kevin on the team, but told him he wouldn’t get any special treatment. “If you get to play, it won’t be because I’m leading the charge,” I said. “I’ll put the interests of the team first.” I know he expected nothing less. The players gave him a bad time after he called me Dad during one of our first meetings, but he handled the situation well. It might have been harder on me—it was nerve-racking for me when he played, as it always is when I’m watching one of my kids perform. I remember one game where J. J. Watt, the Texans’ three-time NFL Defensive Player of the Year, drew two holding penalties on Kevin. As a dad it was stressful to watch, but as a coach I needed to put that aside and focus on how to prevent it from happening again. All in all, I was proud of the way Kevin battled that day.

  In 2013, after the team had some injuries, we signed him again in November. He was released and re-signed several times that year, which is part of regular business for a team but always hard on the player. I respect the way Kevin handled all those ups and downs. To his credit, he was a professional throughout. He made me proud as a dad and a coach.

  The Titans went 9–7 in my first year coaching them. We missed out on the playoffs, but were in the hunt until the final week. I enjoyed the experience, but living without my family was a grind. Once again, their absence reminded me how much they meant to me and how blessed I was to have them in my life. The next year, Mikey joined his brother Jake at Texas A&M (Kevin had paved the way, so they offered football scholarships to both from the start). With Mikey off to college, it allowed Carrie, Luke, and Gwenie to join me in Nashville. Even Marilyn moved up, landing a job at Vanderbilt and leasing an apartment. I was definitely happy to be back among the people I loved.

  As a coach, I recognized more than ever that for both individual players and the organization to achieve their goals and win, everyone had to have a team-first attitude. There’s a fine line between being selfish and being a team player. During contract negotiations, there’s nothing wrong with touting your skills and accomplishments. At those moments, you need to prove your value to the team.

  When you’re talking about your coaches and teammates during the season, however, that’s another matter. While addressing the media, some guys will rip their teammates for a poor performance or talk about how they need the ball more. That’s a proven method for destroying team chemistry. Once you believe the guy next to you is interested only in himself, it becomes more tempting to adopt the same approach.

  Eddie George was a guy who understood this and handled it flawlessly. Everything that came out of his mouth was “we,” not “I.” It may not have made great copy for the media, but it was important for promoting what we wanted to accomplish as a team. Steve McNair was the same way. There were plenty of times when he could have criticized those of us on the offensive line for allowing the defense to pressure him. It didn’t happen. He just wanted to win and understood how to go about it.

  These guys had what Bill Russell, the former Boston Celtics great and eleven-time National Basketball Association champion, calls “team ego.” After he retired, Russell talked about it with a group of current NBA players: “Do you know the difference between your ego and mine?” he said. “My ego is not a personal ego, it’s a team ego. My ego demands—for myself—the success of the team. My personal achievement became my team achievement.”

  I get what Russell means. During my career, individual awards were always nice, but nothing was more fulfilling than our run to the Super Bowl in 1999. The accomplishments of the team that season were what satisfied me most.

  What goes for the players applies just as much to coaches. I’ve already talked about Buddy Ryan and the problems we had on the 1993 Oilers. That atmosphere was such a contrast with what I experienced while on the coaching staffs with the Texans and Titans. When individual ego rises above team goals, failure will soon follow. It was refreshing—but not surprising—to hear Gary Kubiak speak about his team after the Denver Broncos defeated Carolina in the fiftieth Super Bowl. He consistently deflected any praise for himself and commended his players and fellow coaches instead. When I heard that, I thought, Yeah, that’s the guy I was blessed to work with for two years.

  It was the same working with Munch. He had a no-nonsense approach. You weren’t going to get a lot of fluff or funny one-liners out of him. He wasn’t interested in trying to look good for the media. He was all about doing what was necessary to build up the team.

  That first spring after I joined the Titans coaching staff, we drafted quarterback Jake Locker from the University of Washington with the eighth overall pick. He was a talented kid who fit the mold I’m talking about—team first. We believed he could be a leader for the franchise for years to come, and he won the starting job at the beginning of the 2012 season, but a series of injuries prevented him from reaching his potential. Thanks in part to the changes in personnel at quarterback, the team dropped to 6–10 in 2012 before going 7–9 in 2013.

  Our owner, Bud Adams, died during that 2013 season. Although I believed in Munch’s long-term plan and that the Titans were moving in the right direction, the new group calling the organization’s shots felt otherwise. They wanted him to make changes to his program that he didn’t agree with. Not surprisingly, Munch refused, saying he would only make changes that he thought were in the best interest of the team. It was another example of his integrity and the kind of person he is. Because he and the new leadership didn’t have the same vision, they parted ways. Most of the assistant coaches were dismissed as well.

  As far as I was concerned, letting Munch go was a big mistake by the Titans. Over the next two years, the team’s record dropped to 2–14 in 2014 and 3–13 in 2015.

  As Bum Phillips used to say, “There’s two kinds of coaches, them that’s fired and them that’s gonna be fired.” I was disappointed for Munch, the other coaches, and myself. But it didn’t take me long to see the silver lining for me. I had more time for my family and to see my kids play. If this was God’s plan for this season of my life, I needed to accept it.

  I’d like to coach in the NFL again. I miss the competition, the relationships, and the opportunity to share from my experience. Maybe that will happen down the line and maybe it won’t. I know that I gave it my best when I was doing it and I’m learning to
be content with that.

  19

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  LEGACY

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  The reason I’m on this earth is to serve God; to be the best husband, father, son, brother, and friend I can be; and to lead people to Christ. These are the things that matter.

  TIM BROWN

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  ONE OF MY ALL-TIME FAVORITE memories is from a Saturday in February 2007. I was driving home from a church men’s retreat when my phone rang. It was Carrie. I was in my first year of eligibility for the NFL Hall of Fame and knew that the inductees would be announced that day. “Did I get in?” I asked.

  “Yes!”

  Hearing that report was great, but what I especially enjoyed was how excited my family was. After I did a couple hours of media interviews, the phone lines cleared and I was able to call my dad.

  “Dad,” I said, “did you hear the news about the Hall of Fame?”

  “No,” he said, “did I make it in?”

  I laughed. “No, you didn’t.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “I guess I’m no longer eligible.” It was a typical Dad joke, but I knew that underneath the humor he was proud of me.

  I actually endured quite a bit of anxiety between the announcement and the induction ceremonies in August. I did not look forward to being in the spotlight for those three days in Canton, Ohio. Once I got there and stopped thinking about my reaction to everything, however, I saw how much my family, friends, and other football fans were enjoying the chance to celebrate the occasion with me. My anxiety disappeared.

  It was a thrill to sit onstage before my induction speech and listen to Munch introduce me, just as I’d done for him six years before. “Competitive,” Munch said, “is the word that best describes Bruce. His desire to be the best is unmatched. He wants to win at everything he does: a sport, a video game, even an argument. He can claim an opinion he doesn’t even believe in just to see if he can still win the argument.

  “Classic Bruce, though, is when you’re in a car with him and a song comes on the radio. He immediately yells out the name of the song and the artist. He would say, ‘Springsteen, “Glory Days,” bam.’ Even though no one else is playing this game, he’s still competing. I think that Bruce’s competitive spirit was his secret weapon and a reason why he played nineteen seasons. It kept him young at heart. He always found a way to make it fun, and it showed on the field every Sunday.”

  Munch was probably right. That combination of competitive spirit and pure enjoyment of the game kept me going. Who would have guessed where it would lead? As I said when I got up to the podium, “If someone had told me when I was a kid that one day I would play in the NFL, let alone be inducted in the Pro Football Hall of Fame, I wouldn’t have believed them.” To be part of a club that included Bart Starr, Gale Sayers, Deacon Jones, and other NFL greats I’d admired while growing up was an honor I never imagined.

  Obviously, I’m proud of my football legacy. It’s satisfying to realize that my fourteen consecutive Pro Bowls are tied for the most ever, to hold the record for games played by an offensive lineman (296), and to be a member of the NFL’s 1990s All-Decade Team. More rewarding to me is that I never missed a game in my career due to injury.

  What I value just as much are the memories of competing against the best. I had so much respect for All-Pro defensive linemen such as Bruce Smith, Too Tall Jones, Randy White, Howie Long, Reggie White, and John Randall. Those guys, as well as great team defenses like the Ravens, added a lot of stress to my life.

  I remember one spring when the upcoming season schedule came out and I saw we would play the Raiders. Though the game was months away, I lay in bed that night until one or two in the morning, thinking, Man, I know Howie Long’s going to jump the snap count (Howie was so good at timing the quarterback’s signals and getting into the backfield before we were ready to block him). I pictured him blowing past me time after time and sacking the quarterback. The next moment, I thought, You moron, just go to sleep. You’ll deal with Howie when the time comes.

  It could be just as bad during the season. So often, if I knew I’d be facing one of those guys on Sunday, my guts got so twisted during our Wednesday morning game prep meeting that I had to step out of the room for a minute. The feeling was close to despair. Yet, as we went over our game plan over the next couple days, I’d always calm down and feel better. By Friday I’d be confident again. That’s the kind of mental havoc the great players could create. Not that there was ever a chance to relax in the NFL. I learned quickly that if I underestimated any opponent, he was sure to ruin my day.

  Those mental anxieties were just as prevalent, if not more so, when we played the Browns during my first eleven years in the league or the Falcons during the next three. People often ask me to name the toughest player I ever faced. My answer is Bruz. The main reason is that he was a great player, but for me there was added anticipation and pressure that came from playing against family. I always looked forward to it, but I also did not want that guy to beat me.

  When I look back on my career, I also value the memories I have of so many great teammates, particularly the camaraderie we established on the offensive line. We depended on each other, performed in relative obscurity, and embraced our roles. I have good memories of every O-line guy I played with, going back to USC and even Arcadia. For me, the offensive line players and coaches epitomize what team is all about.

  Sometimes, I’m asked not only to look back on my career but also to look ahead. I see a bright future for football. The game is as popular as ever. As always, there are improvements to be made and problems to work out. The devastating impact of concussions has been debated frequently in the media. I had only a couple of documented concussions during my career, though I had my bell rung several times. The culture back in the day was if you could play, you played, no questions asked. That’s changing today, as it should, as more information about ways to make the game safer comes to light.

  I understand why some guys look at the dangers and decide to retire early. But I’ve never tried to discourage my kids from playing. Yes, football is a sometimes violent sport with inherent risks. But we take a risk just getting out of bed and walking down the street. There’s nothing like the opportunity to test your skills and will to win against the best in the world. For me and many other guys, the risk was worth it. It was a privilege to play the game.

  I’ve played or coached football for most of my life. It’s taught me about myself and about life and led to relationships and memories that I will always cherish. As much as the game means to me, however, my family means even more. They are my life.

  I’ve said plenty—probably too much—about myself in this book. Now I want to add a few words about each of my kids and give them a chance to comment on what it means to be a Matthews.

  Steven has always loved to read and is the most intellectual of our offspring. Though he played football growing up and is a passionate fan, he’s applied that competitive Matthews spirit to more constructive pursuits. He recently finished law school, an impressive achievement, and intends to practice in the Houston area.

  “One thing I appreciate a lot more today than I did growing up,” Steven says, “is being part of a big family. When I was in high school, as the oldest, it was suffocating having all my younger siblings around me. Now, I think it’s great to have so many brothers and sisters around. I have so many great memories of my family and extended family.”

  When the kids were young, Kevin was our little outdoorsman. He was always hunting snakes or squirrels and is still passionate about hunting today. He married his high school sweetheart, Amanda, and has two wonderful little boys, Weston and Sawyer. Yes, I’m a proud grandpa. As stated earlier, Kevin signed and played with the Titans in 2010. Then, in 2014, he signed a contract with the Carolina Panthers but injured his shoulder during the preseason and spent the year on injured reserve. He decided t
o move on from football and is now channeling his talent and energy into the real-estate business.

  Kevin credits his determination to walk on at Texas A&M and earn a scholarship, as well as persevere through five years in the NFL, at least in part to our family’s don’t-quit philosophy: “That was instilled in us at a young age, that you put your mind to whatever you’re doing and keep at it till it works out.”

  Now, ask any father who has girls, and you’re almost sure to hear him say there’s something special about that father-daughter relationship. Marilyn is certainly no exception for me. Carrie likes to tell the story of how I pulled aside Marilyn’s boyfriend before they went off to college and said, “I just want to let you know, if I ever hear anything about my daughter that I don’t want to hear, I am going to come up there and kick your rear end.” I feel the same way about Gwenie. I just want to protect them every way that I can.

  Marilyn enjoys watching and supporting the family’s football exploits, but becoming a big-time athlete herself has never been a priority. For example, during a YMCA league basketball game when she was nine, while everyone else ran down the court she started doing cartwheels. Marilyn is an occupational therapy assistant at the Institute for Rehabilitation and Research (TIRR) Memorial Hermann in Houston, where she works with people dealing with brain injuries. She points to our family’s love and support for each other as one of the foundations of being a Matthews. She also feels that she’s learned a thing or two from her mom and dad, which is always gratifying for a father to hear.

  “By watching how my parents lived their lives,” she says, “we learned to respect all people, to treat others the way you want to be treated, and that everyone deserves a chance.”