by Jim Trotter
Behind the scenes, people who genuinely cared about Junior the person worried about his well-being. He had hit the party scene pretty hard following his divorce, and his heavy drinking was becoming more noticeable. Liba Placek, his personal trainer, noticed this. She had great respect and admiration for Junior and was concerned he might be on a destructive path. So she asked Aaron Taylor, another client, to reach out to him.
Taylor and Junior were teammates in 1998 and ’99. Taylor was a burly offensive lineman who drank and partied as hard as Junior did. Sometimes they partied and drank together. Soon after retiring in 2000, Taylor recognized he had a drinking problem and sought treatment. He was open with friends and outsiders about his journey back to sobriety, and Placek thought he would be a good resource for Junior.
The former teammates, who hadn’t spoken in at least a couple of years, agreed to meet for sushi in Encinitas. Their conversation began with small talk about nothing in particular. Eventually Taylor began recounting what had happened to him since he hung up his shoulder pads and helmet. A smart, outwardly confident guy, he had heard the anecdotal stories of players struggling with depression and alcoholism once they left the game. But he’d been certain, he told Junior, that it was not going to be him.
“In fact, it was me,” he said.
After Taylor’s confession, Junior began to open up. He said he was getting burned out on the game and didn’t know how much longer he wanted to play. He mentioned the strain of being viewed as an ATM by family members and lamented the pressure of being pulled in so many directions. Taylor listened before responding.
“I told him, ‘Hey, if you’re struggling, or it’s different than you think it might be, or you get in a little bit of a funk, become depressed, that’s not unusual,’” he said. “At that time, it’s very hard for athletes to acknowledge their finality. We’re Supermen. We can’t think about next week’s game, let alone the next phase of our life. Everything has always been right here in front of us. The reason we perform at the level that we do is because we don’t let anything come in and distract us.”
A week or so later Junior accepted the trade to the Dolphins and signed a restructured contract.
13
Hello, South Beach
HE WAS SEATED in first-class, head tilted against the window. As the plane continued to rise while turning its nose inland, leaving behind the white caps off the coast of San Diego, Junior’s stomach was a cauldron of emotions.
He was heading to Miami, where the Dolphins had scheduled a press conference to introduce him to the local media. The thought of playing on a roster loaded with championship potential excited him. The Dolphins had six players on defense alone who had participated in the previous season’s Pro Bowl, including end Jason Taylor, who’d had a career-high 18.5 sacks in 2002; middle linebacker Zach Thomas, who was coming off his first 100-tackle season; and cornerback Patrick Surtain, whose six interceptions had been a personal best. Miami also had Ricky Williams, an All-Pro running back who had churned out a league-leading 1,853 yards and 16 touchdowns the previous year.
But even as the plane headed east, Junior’s mind was still out west. San Diego was as comfortable to him as his favorite pair of Flojos. People had sent so many supportive emails and cards after news of the trade broke that he felt like he was attending his own funeral. Instead of focusing on the negative of how things ended with the Chargers, he thought about the good times and the love the public had shown him. Tears welled in his eyes as he silently looked down at the surf breaking along the shore.
“That was probably the most emotional time that I had during the course of the trade, because I knew my life had changed,” he told the Union-Tribune. “I was starting a new chapter in my career, and it was either going to be bad or good. There was no gray area. Either I am going to win or I’m going to lose. To be put in that position in the latter part of my career, when all us old folks would love to just enjoy the years that we have left, that was tough. I was on that plane with a surgically repaired ankle and the insecurities of whether that ankle would be able to withstand the pressure of doing what I needed to do.”
When he stepped before the media in South Florida for the first time and accepted a white Dolphins jersey, with his name and the familiar “55” he had worn since college printed in aqua and trimmed in orange, he filled the room with his smile. He gave no indication that he was conflicted inside. The mask of confidence and self-assuredness was firmly in place. It was time to go to work, and he wasn’t going to show vulnerability, just as he wouldn’t allow teammates and coaches to see him receive treatment when he was injured.
He dominated the press conference like a seasoned politician, stepping over potential land mines when addressing questions about his former team and how he would fit with his new club. He was acutely aware that the Dolphins had had only one losing season in the previous 26 years and were coming off six straight seasons of at least nine victories, so he talked up their history and tradition and how he needed the Dolphins more than the Dolphins needed him. He wasn’t going to overstep his boundaries, so he publicly said he was comfortable with being a complementary player. That wasn’t true, of course.
Junior had been a role player only once in his life—his first on-field season at USC—and he had vowed to himself it would never happen again. He was accustomed to having game plans designed to stop him, not someone else. He lived to have his picture on opponents’ walls. And despite now being 34 years old, he was motivated to show that the Chargers had made a mistake. The severe ankle injury he sustained in week 3 of the previous season had limited his ability to make plays, caused him to miss three and a half games, and required off-season surgery to remove bone spurs. But now he was on the road to being fully healthy—and equally important, for the first time in his career he was going to be surrounded by elite talent.
In Junior’s 13 seasons in San Diego, only seven of the Chargers’ 101 defensive starters during that time reached the Pro Bowl, with Leslie O’Neal being the only one to make more than two trips. Lee Williams, Ryan McNeil, Marcellus Wiley, and Donnie Edwards appeared in one Pro Bowl each while they were teammates with Junior; Rodney Harrison and Gill Byrd appeared in two each. O’Neal played in five during that time.
Junior felt challenged in a way he had not felt since his sophomore season at USC. This was the first time since that year that people doubted him. When he was a rookie in the NFL, everyone had assumed he could play because he was coming off a 19-sack season with the Trojans. But now he was 34, coming off an injury-slowed season. He had to make a positive impression as quickly as possible. So that off-season he increased his workouts and altered his diet, dropping 15 pounds to regain some of his quickness.
He looked the part in practice, but not in the early preseason, when people kept waiting for big plays that didn’t materialize. In the regular-season opener, against Houston, he had seven tackles and no sacks or tackles for loss. The next week, against the Jets, he had five tackles and no tackles for loss. In week 3, against Buffalo, he had only four tackles, but did manage his first sack. He clearly was struggling to find his way, just as the Chargers were having problems adjusting to his absence.
They moved talented middle linebacker Donnie Edwards into Junior’s weak-side spot, left second-year pro Ben Leber on the strong side, and made Zeke Moreno a full-time starter for the first time in his career, shifting him into the middle after two years as Junior’s backup. The microscope they played under magnified their struggles in three areas:
Chemistry: “When you have a group of guys who’ve played with each other for a certain amount of years, that helps, that builds the trust,” Moreno told the San Diego Union-Tribune. “Without even thinking about it, you know that ‘I’ve got to do this because he’s going to do that.’ You’re able to just worry about your job because you know the players alongside you are going to make their plays. I think when Junior and some of the [former] players were here, they had started to build that. They knew
what each other was thinking and what guys were going to do. We’re just starting to build that. We thought by going away to Carson [California, for training camp] we’d build that chemistry by just working together, but it takes time. We’re getting there—the trust is there. Now we’ve just got to keep executing our assignments.”
Play-calling: “Last year we had a certain defense in which Junior was pretty much a rush guy,” Edwards said. “He was very effective jumping into gaps, so we had a defense where he was able to do that. This year we really haven’t run it that much. That’s one of the big changes.”
Leadership: “You look at it right at the outset, and you lose his energy,” said Leber, a second-year starter. “I’m not looking at it as just a linebacker corps, I’m looking at it as a total defense. You lose the energy, you lose the charisma that I think no one really thought about. You were just like, ‘It’s just Junior,’ and you went along with it. But he really pulled guys along. That’s why he was such a good leader, because guys just were attracted to him and wanted to please him and emulate him. When he left, we lost a little bit of that.”
Both sides began to find their legs after a month, however, setting up Junior’s week 7 return to San Diego, this time as a Dolphin. He had literally been counting down to the game since the moment he signed with Miami. A digital clock in his restaurant showed the hours, minutes, and seconds until kickoff. He knew it was likely to be his only on-field chance to say good-bye to the fans who had supported him since high school.
The week started bizarrely when LaDainian Tomlinson arrived for work in a “55” Dolphins jersey to honor Junior. The move did not sit well with some people in the organization because Junior was now the “enemy,” regardless of how Tomlinson felt about him personally. Tomlinson became so angry about management second-guessing his gesture that he left the building without addressing the media, a move that was out of character for him.
“What I wanted to get out of it was just paying some honor to Junior, not only [for] what he meant to me, but what he meant to the game and his dedication to the game,” Tomlinson said later. “That’s a lot of stuff that’s missing today in football. You’ve got to respect people who have done a lot for the game. It’s not about Junior going to Miami. It’s no different from me wearing a Bo Jackson or a Joe Montana jersey. It’s what they’ve done for the game. A lot of times people get caught up in, ‘What are people going to say?’ It’s not about that. It’s about giving the respect to a guy who has meant so much to the game and so much to me as a player.”
The week got even stranger two days later when Junior wore a Chargers “21” Tomlinson jersey to work and suggested the best way to slow down the Pro Bowl runner was to feed him watermelon and fried chicken and have him “keep eating.” Because Tomlinson is African American, the comment created a controversy across the sporting map. Seemingly the only ones who did not have a problem with it were the individuals involved and the friends who knew them.
Junior had that type of sense of humor. When the Chargers used him at tight end with fellow Polynesian Alfred Pupunu, he suggested the coaches call it their “Coconuts” package. When coaches would spend too much time practicing plays at the Pro Bowl, he would bark out, “Let’s go, [So-and-So]. Ten-thirty tee time.”
The reality was that Junior and Tomlinson ate fried chicken together on most Fridays during the season. “I’m sorry you guys took it that way,” Junior said to the Miami media. “I should have realized. It was an oversight on my part. I’m sorry it came out that way.”
“I wasn’t offended at all,” Tomlinson told San Diego reporters. “You just have to know Junior.”
The sideshows soon became afterthoughts. Something far more serious was taking place. Devastating wildfires were racing through San Diego County, destroying more than 2,000 homes that sat in their path. The air was so thick with smoke—and city services were so overworked—that local officials and league executives agreed that it would be best to move the game. They settled on Sun Devil Stadium in Tempe, Arizona.
“Moving the game is very disappointing to everyone, but obviously for the safety of everyone it’s probably the best decision to make,” Junior said. “Right now, our prayers are with the San Diego residents and everyone that’s affected by it. The game of football is secondary right now.”
Junior and the Dolphins did not play that way, however. They led 10–3 after one quarter, 24–3 at the half, and 26–10 when it was over. Miami’s defense was stifling, allowing San Diego to convert on just three of 14 third downs and none of its two fourth downs and permitting the Chargers to score only one touchdown on four possessions in the red zone. Surtain intercepted two passes, Thomas another, and the defense sacked Drew Brees six times. Junior had just four tackles but was presented with the game ball afterward.
“That was the hardest game I’ve had to play, and I think that goes for everyone, the Chargers included,” Junior said. “The players there did a great job by blocking things out and coming out here and performing on the field.”
When asked about playing against his former team, he said: “Those are my guys. Some of the guys I raised, some of the guys I shared a lot of years with. There’s a coaching staff which I respect and an organization which I love. That’s my city, that’s my home, and it always will be.”
Many of the same qualities that made him so special to his teammates in San Diego had carried over to Miami. He wasted no time in earning their respect. He even was allowed to address the players before breaking the huddle at the end of practice. As in San Diego, he had the guys form a tight circle and raise an arm to form a human umbrella. Then he would chant, “One-two-three,” and everyone would say, “Work!”
“Leadership can’t be fabricated,” Junior said. “If it is fabricated and rehearsed, you can’t fool the guys in the locker room. So when you talk about leadership, it comes with performance. Leadership comes with consistency. During the course of this year, hopefully everything will be where it needs to be, and when I want to be vocal or when I need to tell someone an adjustment, I can be able to do that. That is only done through trust. Trust is earned. Respect is earned.”
He had earned their trust and respect, but could he get the Dolphins over the postseason hump? He struggled early in the year with a hamstring injury that caused him to miss a game, and late in the season he was slowed by a shoulder injury. In between, the Dolphins learned that playing with Junior meant they would have to adjust to him, rather than the other way around.
For instance, there was a time when he lined up in the slot and was supposed to shadow wide receiver Wayne Chrebet down the field. But Junior detected something before the snap of the ball and chose to rush the passer instead. That meant Chrebet was left to run free, which theoretically could lead to an easy score for the Jets. But Junior didn’t care because he had already done the math in his head.
He knew quarterback Chad Pennington’s first read would be to the opposite side of the field, away from Chrebet. He also deduced that he could get to Pennington, one of the game’s savvier signal-callers, before Pennington realized what was going on, which Junior did, for an eight-yard sack.
“He’d take some really big gambles,” linebacker Channing Crowder told NFL.com. “But he made 12 Pro Bowls, so clearly it worked out more often than it didn’t!”
Junior’s first year in Miami was solid, and overall the defense was outstanding, allowing an average of just 16.3 points a game, nearly a field goal less than the previous season and the third-fewest in the league. Unfortunately for the Dolphins, the offense wasn’t nearly as good, which resulted in the Dolphins missing the playoffs despite a 10–6 record. It was the first time in 12 years that a team failed to qualify for the postseason after winning at least 10 games.
The next year Junior felt as if he were back in San Diego as dysfunction wrapped its tentacles around the organization. Williams, their star running back, retired just before the start of the season because of concerns that he would be suspe
nded for a failed drug test. Wannstedt, the coach who helped sell Junior on the Dolphins, resigned after losing eight of nine to start the year. (The Dolphins would finish 4–12 for their first losing season since 1988.) And Junior, who was playing much better in his second season in South Florida, missed the final eight games after sustaining a torn pectoral while attempting to make a tackle on November 1 against the Jets. As if all that weren’t bad enough, the Chargers were finally looking like a legitimate threat, finishing 12–4 and winning the AFC West in only their second season without him.
Junior’s career was at a crossroads. He had missed more games (nine) in his last two seasons than he had in his first 13 seasons (eight). He also was going to be 36 at the start of the 2005 season. The NFL is a cruel place. Rarely is there room for a 36-year-old linebacker whose body appears to be breaking down. But new coach Nick Saban, who two years earlier had won a national title at LSU, wanted the veteran around. And Junior wanted to continue playing. The deal was consummated when he agreed to a hefty pay cut.
“I’m not here for the money,” Junior said. “I’m not here for the glory. I’m not here for all the cheers and being labeled a football player. I’m here for one reason, and that’s to win, to feel what goes on when you bring a whole group together and you’re able to rejoice at the end of the day.”
Junior was Junior when he hit the field for workouts. He was going to get in his work, but he also was going to have fun, even if it came at the expense of his new head coach. From the outside their personalities couldn’t have been more different: Junior was playful, welcoming, and always looking to laugh and smile; Saban was stern, distant, and often looked as if he were suffering from heartburn.