Parcells

by Bill Parcells

  New York’s victory marked a changing of the NFL guard. In the previous five seasons, Washington and San Francisco had made it to four Super Bowls, capturing three, but this year’s Giants outscored those teams 66–3 in two playoff games. In Parcells’s postgame interview, he emphasized his punt returner’s performance, noting that Phil McConkey’s clean catches had generated a net advantage of 112 yards in field position. “More than any one player,” Parcells declared, “McConkey won that game.”

  Back in the Giants locker room, owner Wellington Mara walked in wearing a ring for the NFL’s 1956 championship and a tie clip that marked the franchise’s 1962 conference title. Like Parcells and the rest of his team, the seventy-year-old yearned for nothing more than the organization’s first Super Bowl victory. Parcells warned his giddy players that they had unfinished business, so no champagne bottles were popped ahead of the trip to Pasadena, California, to face Dan Reeves’s formidable Denver Broncos.

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  Bill Parcells relied on Al Davis for guidance in preparing for Super Bowl XXI. Davis’s Los Angeles Raiders had missed the playoffs with an 8-8 record under Tom Flores, but the Raiders boss owned three Super Bowl rings, including one as recent as 1983. Heeding Davis’s advice that year saved Parcells’s head-coaching job during his disastrous rookie stint, and in subsequent seasons Davis’s tutelage had helped shape Parcells into one of the NFL’s top coaches.

  The maverick owner, notorious for his lawsuits against the league, was unpopular in many of the NFL’s circles, including among Giants executives aligned with his nemesis, Peter Rozelle. But Parcells felt blessed by Davis’s support, and his generosity in sharing his vast knowledge. Parcells saw parallels with another consigliere, Bobby Knight: both were brilliant men often vilified by those who didn’t know them well.

  Davis recommended that Parcells prepare as much as possible before leaving New Jersey. The Raiders honcho pointed out hindrances at the Super Bowl site, which included logistics and the carnival atmosphere. He also told Parcells, “It’s a fine line. You’ve got to work like hell before you get out there, but don’t overwork your players, because a lot of Super Bowl coaches have done that, and they’ve lost.”

  Parcells adjusted his plans to achieve the balancing act while keeping the Giants a bit longer on the East Coast. He wanted to modify his team’s conditioning for weather in the high 70s to low 80s, so every other practice now included six 100-yard sprints. On alternate days the team ran 60-yard sprints. On the Wednesday ten days before the Super Bowl, Phil Simms had his worst-ever practice under Parcells, and the few passes that reached their targets were dropped. Late in the session, Parcells pulled his quarterback aside. “Listen, can you do me one favor? Can you complete one stinking pass before we finish today so I can sleep tonight?”

  Simms completed some passes, but Parcells had plenty of other worries. For one thing, he was unfamiliar with the Rose Bowl, which had been hosting bowl games in Pasadena’s warm climes since 1924. So he grilled Giants safety Herb Welch, who had played his home games there as a UCLA Bruin. Welch told Parcells that the end-zone corners were dangerously close to the stands, so receivers executing corner patterns, and defensive backs shadowing them, needed to avoid running into walls. For more stadium insight, Parcells phoned Los Angeles Rams coach John Robinson, who had guided USC from 1976 to 1982. Robinson told Parcells that the field tended to get slick, affecting footing.

  Another potential problem involved the week the team would spend in Southern California, which provided players with too many hedonistic temptations during downtime. Bobby Johnson had been toeing the line since going MIA, but Parcells “was afraid he was going to go off the reservation.” So the head coach decided to hire someone to chaperone Johnson while the team was in town.

  Parcells told the minder, “If he goes to the bathroom, you go with him. If he cashes any checks, I want to know about it.”

  On Monday, January 19, 1987, the Giants landed in Costa Mesa, south of Los Angeles, to stay at the Westin South Coast Plaza through Saturday. Then they would stay overnight at a Howard Johnson’s in Pasadena, a twenty-minute drive to the Rose Bowl. While much of the country was experiencing a cold and angry winter, Southern California was enjoying its usual balmy early-year weather. Only hours after deplaning, Johnson’s chaperone called Parcells with news about his charge.

  When Johnson arrived in Big Blue’s locker room, he was instructed to see Parcells before changing. The receiver walked into the head coach’s office.

  “Did you just cash a check?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  Parcells ignored the question. “How much was it?”

  “Five thousand dollars.”

  “What’d you do with it?”

  “I bought a camcorder. I want to record what’s happening at the Super Bowl.”

  “Go get it.”

  Johnson retrieved the camcorder, and the receipt for $3,238, from his locker stall. Parcells demanded the balance. The startled receiver emptied his wallet, handing his coach almost $1,800. Parcells explained to Johnson that he would get his money back at the week’s end. Then the head coach called the chaperone into his office and handed over Johnson’s money.

  “Give him $100 a day. That’s it.”

  Parcells explains his dictatorial approach: “You think I’m going to go to my owner or the GM with all that bullshit? You think I’m going to consult with them? If I don’t just monitor him, it’s not going to happen. We’re going to the Super Bowl, and I’ve got this nonsense to deal with.”

  Later on that first day in California, Parcells conducted one of his lengthiest and most intense practices of the season. The rest of the week went relatively smoothly, as every Giants player avoided trouble. Big Blue’s spirited practices went injury-free, and Simms looked his sharpest all season. In a Friday session two days before the game he threw so many consecutive completions that teammates lost count. The warm climate seemed to enhance Simms’s accuracy, allowing him to grip the ball more tightly than usual and toss the pigskin precisely wherever he wanted it to go.

  At one point, Parcells made an unprecedented request. “Hey, Phil, this is too much. Save some for the game.”

  Late in the week, the taskmaster decided to adjust Big Blue’s offensive game plan to gain the advantage of surprise. Instead of establishing the run, the Giants intended to pass aggressively early. If Simms struck quickly with play-action throws, it would minimize a Denver pass rush led by Pro Bowl defensive end Rulon Jones. Parcells knew that Denver’s swarming linebackers, including stars Karl Mecklenburg and Tom Jackson, were intent on stopping Joe Morris, who thrived behind the punishing blocks of fullback Maurice Carthon. Assuming that New York could establish a healthy lead, the offense could then revert to its identity of controlling the clock through methodical running.

  On Saturday morning, Parcells declined to have the Giants practice at the Rose Bowl. Big Blue’s last loss had occurred on October 19, 1986, at Seattle. The day before the 17–12 setback, which snapped a five-game streak, New York had practiced at the Kingdome. The Giants’ only other loss had come in their season opener versus Dallas at Texas Stadium, where the Giants had also practiced the day before. The superstitious head coach detected a pattern that he refused to extend.

  On waking at 5:30 a.m. the morning of Super Bowl XXI, Bill Parcells trudged to his hotel window, staring at the morning haze while thinking about the weather. The detailed forecast included a kickoff temperature of 77 degrees and the sun’s location at the scheduled start of 3:13 p.m. Parcells didn’t want Big Blue’s receivers looking into the sun during the first quarter. Wind was going to be a factor, but Parcells wondered how his team would be affected by a potentially slick gridiron and end-zone corners close to the stands.

  He contemplated wearing a suit and tie for the game, but decided to dress as he usually did: white sneakers, navy slacks, and a white dress shirt under a gray sweater with “GIANTS” in blue lettering.

  On road games, Parce
lls shared a cab to the stadium with trainer Ronnie Barnes, perhaps his closest friend in the Giants organization. The previous night Parcells had asked Barnes to meet him at the hotel’s coffee shop for breakfast at 7:30 a.m. Barnes knew the ex–Air Force coach expected him to get there several minutes beforehand, so when Parcells arrived at the spot at 7 a.m., Barnes was already there, reading the Los Angeles Times sports section. Parcells ordered a cheese Danish, his only meal before the game. Barnes read aloud a passage from a sports column by Jim Murray, comparing the Giants to a motorcycle gang, which made Parcells smile.

  Barnes asked, “You nervous?”

  Parcells replied, “I’m just worried about Elway.”

  The rifle-armed, fleet-footed quarterback was coming off another prolific season. Elway led the Broncos to an 11-5 mark before they peaked in the playoffs. With Denver down by a touchdown late in the AFC Championship at Cleveland, Elway, already renowned for his fourth-quarter comebacks, delivered an iconic performance. In “The Drive,” the Stanford graduate engineered a riveting 98-yard drive to tie the score with 37 seconds left. An encore performance in overtime led to Rich Karlis’s game-winning field goal.

  Barnes scoffed at Parcells’s concerns. “Hell, we’re going to chase John Elway out into the parking lot before it’s over.”

  Offensive coordinator Ron Erhardt entered the restaurant. The night before, Erhardt had held a quarterbacks’ meeting, and Parcells wanted to know how things went.

  “Phil’s ready. He’s glad we’re gonna come out throwing.”

  “He’d better be.”

  Parcells asked about backup Jeff Rutledge.

  “You know you never have to worry about Rutledge.”

  At 7:30 a.m., Parcells and Barnes headed outside to hail a cab. Parcells turned to Erhardt, who had coached North Dakota State with great success for seven years.

  “Well, it’s just like the North Dakota State–Augustana game, right?”

  Erhardt, nicknamed “Fargo” after the state’s largest city, smiled.

  “I think it’s a little bigger than that.”

  The cab carrying Parcells and Barnes got within a block of the Rose Bowl, where a security guard refused to let the vehicle go any farther without the proper pass. Unable to find it, Barnes raised his voice in annoyance, and the guard responded in kind. Attempting to defuse the situation, Parcells leaned over and poked his head out the window.

  Smiling, he announced, “I’m Bill Parcells, the Giants coach.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Parcells, exasperated, said, “Hey, I’m the coach of this team.”

  The NFL Coach of the Year and Barnes were forced to walk the rest of the way. After entering the stadium, Parcells made a beeline to the gridiron. Living up to its reputation, the field was immaculate, early-morning sun sparkling on emerald grass. As he scanned the stadium, Parcells was thinking that just one section could swallow Hastings College’s home stadium, with its two thousand seats. “And it wasn’t full all the time,” he says. But when Parcells walked into the locker room assigned to the Giants, he was surprised at its modest size, and drabness.

  Joe Morris, in gray sweats, was the first player to walk in.

  Parcells looked at him. “You’re not ready to go, are you?”

  Morris matched the sarcasm. “Not at all. No, sir, not me.”

  Parcells pulled up a stool next to Morris’s, and the two spoke for half an hour without mentioning the game. Morris shifted the conversation to football, but only to reminisce about his high school career, which included a failed stint at quarterback. Finally, Parcells said, “We’re going to come out throwing. We want to loosen them up right at the start.”

  Morris nodded as Parcells went on. “But we’re eventually going to get around to you. And you know I’ve been on your ass all week about goal-line plays and short-yardage stuff. When we get there, you’re going to get the damn ball. And I want you to protect it. Don’t let them take momentum.”

  Parcells’s demeanor, though still commanding, was the loosest that Morris had ever seen. The tailback was used to seeing his head coach jittery leading up to games, pacing the locker room, holding a coffee cup. But here, just hours before the biggest game of his life, Parcells seemed focused yet carefree. And his Giants players, favored to beat Dan Reeves’s Broncos, took his cue. The atmosphere was relaxed, as if everyone was readying for a scrimmage.

  Phil Simms recalls, “Bill had a lot of great sayings. One of them was, ‘You can’t be afraid to go down in flames.’ It’s so true. You can’t be afraid of losing, and we were definitely not afraid of losing that day.”

  Lawrence Taylor liked getting to the stadium later than most teammates. The linebacker had a habit of appearing detached initially, growing more engaged and boisterous as kickoff neared. By the time the Giants took the field, Taylor was usually their most animated player. After arriving at noon, Taylor lay on his back as if to sleep in the bustling locker room, but his eyes stayed open. Parcells smiled at the sight. The linebacker winked back, increasing the coach’s self-assurance.

  The 101,063 spectators divided the bright stadium into seas of blue and orange as Giants and Broncos supporters wore their team colors. Parcells instructed Phil McConkey to go with his home-game ritual of waving a large white-and-blue towel to rouse spectators before the opening kickoff. In the section of the Rose Bowl dominated by Giants fans, Judy Parcells sat with her three daughters, one son-in-law, three sisters, and their parents. Not far from the group were some ex-teammates from Wichita. Parcells’s special guest was former Hastings coach Dean Pryor, who in 1964 gave Big Blue’s leader his first job in the profession.

  When the Giants trotted onto the field for the introductions, Phil McConkey sprinted over and leaped in front of the Parcells section while waving a white hand towel. The blue-clad spectators roared, making the Giants feel more at home.

  Judy Parcells blocked out all the pageantry and players massing on the field to zero in on her husband. “All I could see was Bill,” she recalls. “And I was trying to feel what he was feeling.”

  During the coin toss Parcells maintained his habit of standing at the edge of the 50-yard line. Just as he had in the NFC Championship game, he sent only Harry Carson out for the ritual, while his opponents again used several players. Someone bumped him, and when the coach turned, he saw Neil Diamond, who was about to sing the national anthem, acting jittery.

  Parcells said to the singer, “Tell you what, Neil. I’ll go out there and sing the national anthem, and you coach these guys the rest of the day.”

  Diamond smiled. “Bill, you know I’m from Brooklyn, right?”

  Parcells nodded.

  “I hope you beat the hell out of them.”

  Parcells felt even more at home.

  Moments after the national anthem, Raul Allegre boomed the kickoff as the metropolis-sized gathering, one of the largest-ever at a football game, clamored in anticipation. Elway wasted no time living up to his billing. The fourth-year maestro orchestrated a well-executed drive that set up a 48-yard Rich Karlis field goal to open the scoring and tie Jan Stenerud’s Super Bowl record for distance. Simms responded by leading a 78-yard drive, punctuated with a six-yard pass to tight end Zeke Mowatt that put New York up, 7–3.

  In Elway’s next turn, he completed several short throws to drive deep into Giants territory. And on third-and-goal from the 4, Denver’s clever play call, a quarterback draw from a spread formation, reclaimed the lead, 10–7. It was the first touchdown against Big Blue in the postseason.

  Simms, however, continued to match Elway’s sizzling throws, as if the passers had dipped their right hands into boiling water to see who would pull out first. Both quarterbacks were perfect in the first quarter, with all thirteen passes resulting in completions. The first misfire didn’t come until the second quarter, and then only because wideout Phil McConkey slipped after being nudged by a defender.

  Big Blue’s topsy-turvy approach on offense, passing to set up the run, caugh
t Denver off guard. On the eleven Giants first downs before intermission, Simms threw nine times and completed every one while getting excellent protection. As usual, Elway was at his most dangerous outside the pocket. He scrambled while connecting on long pinpoint passes, sometimes heaved across his body, which repeatedly put his team in scoring position. Nonetheless, Denver missed opportunities. In the second quarter, Elway led a drive to New York’s 1-yard line for a first down. A touchdown seemed inevitable as Elway scrambled on a run-pass option, but Lawrence Taylor burst out of the end zone and dropped Elway for a one-yard loss. On the next play, Harry Carson stuffed fullback Gerald Wilhite’s run up the middle for no gain. Denver kept its jumbo-sized offensive set, suggesting another rush play, but just before the snap Carl Banks recalled that in their regular-season matchup the Broncos had scored on a pitchout near the goal line.

  When Elway tossed the ball left, behind the line, to tailback Sammy Winder, Banks pounced, joined a second later by Carson and cornerback Perry Williams, forcing a four-yard loss. Further deflating the Broncos, Karlis whiffed on the 23-yard field goal attempt, pulling it left to set polar-opposite records in the Super Bowl with the shortest miss. More important, the meltdown kept the score at 10–7, leaving Dan Reeves looking glum.

  On their next possession the Broncos found themselves in their own end zone, where George Martin sacked Elway for a safety that made the score 10–9. Elway had used a shotgun snap on third-and-12 at Denver’s 13, but he failed to find any receivers by the time Martin beat right tackle Ken Lanier.

  With less than a minute left in the first half of play, Karlis missed another short field goal, this time from 34 yards, giving the Giants a lift as they went into halftime down only one point, the slimmest margin in Super Bowl annals. Throughout New York’s magical season the third quarter had been the team’s best period, a trend the Giants intended to maintain here on football’s biggest stage. At halftime, Parcells urged his team to attack, although with discipline.