by Mark Kiszla
Ask Elvis Dumervil. During six seasons working for the Broncos, he sacked the quarterback more than 60 times. Despite coming up short in his quest to reach six feet tall, Dumervil earned Pro Bowl accolades in 2009, 2011, and 2012. His lucrative contract, richly deserved, paid Dumervil $61.5 million over the course of its six-year term.
Being Doom was better than a dream.
Then, he got kicked to the curb by the Broncos.
Dumervil loved the NFL team that made him a star. His identity was tied to the Broncos, with the same deep-rooted pride that Peyton Manning believed he would be the Colts quarterback for life.
The question is: Would you take a 35 percent pay cut to keep a job you loved?
It is an unfair question. But it is the question the Broncos asked of Dumervil.
Whether you drive a bus or rush the quarterback for a living, the question can challenge the core value of any man. In America, many of us keep score through our paycheck stubs.
In the NFL, the toughest part of taking a pay cut is never the reduction in dollars. The real pain for any athlete is in choking down his pride.
Dumervil did good work for the Broncos. Then, he was told by the boss that his labor was no longer good enough to merit his $12 million annual salary.
“It’s not all about the dollars. But when it’s way out of whack? Then it’s so out of whack you’ve got to say: That [salary] can’t be it, especially when you look at the market and what’s out there now,” said Broncos executive John Elway. He had a dilemma with a salary for Dumervil that the team had carefully analyzed and deemed extravagant.
“It’s so far out of whack,” Elway concluded. “Hopefully, he realizes that.”
As a quarterback, Elway wrote his legend on save-the-day comebacks, as the scoreboard clock ticked toward disaster that could be averted only if he delivered a big play. Elway feasts on adrenaline. His heart beats slowly when chaos swirls around him. But even a football hero can have a soft underbelly. When Elway needs to make a tough call, his tummy growls.
As the hours and minutes slipped away toward 2 PM on March 15, 2013, the deadline pressure was treating Elway’s stomach like a punching bag. It was a drop-dead deadline. At the moment the clock struck 2, the Broncos would have to guarantee a salary they were not willing to pay Dumervil.
It shaped up to be an uncomfortable staring contest. An old quarterback versus a young defensive end. In the beginning, this tiff was about money. Nothing can ruin a beautiful relationship in a happy home faster than financial squabbling. But, in the end, as negotiations drag on, the disagreement becomes a matter of ego. Machismo makes it hard for either side to back down.
After losing to Baltimore in the playoffs, Elway was determined to improve the talent level of his ballclub. He wasted no time getting down to business in free agency, signing reinforcements for the offensive line, the receiving corps, the big uglys in the defensive trenches and a secondary that had been torched by Baltimore quarterback Joe Flacco.
A major remodeling project is not cheap, especially if quality parts are used. Before negotiations with Dumervil approached the eleventh hour, the Broncos handed out the money they wanted Doom to sacrifice. That money was given to cornerback Dominique Rodgers-Cromartie, defensive tackle Terrence Knighton, perennial Pro Bowl receiver Wes Welker, middle linebacker Stewart Bradley, and right guard Louis Vasquez.
Those purchases alone were a commitment of more than $45 million from the wallet of franchise owner Pat Bowlen. And here was the rub. Every last dime went into the pockets of new players, athletes who had yet to give a bead of sweat or a drop of blood to the Broncos. Dumervil had worked hard for his money, and done his work with a smile since joining the team as an unheralded, underappreciated fourth-round draft choice from the University of Louisville in 2006.
With precious little wiggle room left to negotiate under the salary cap, the Broncos needed Dumervil to take a pay cut. A major haircut, with a shave of more than $4 million off the top. How did a salary in the neighborhood of $7.5 million sound?
The 29-year-old defensive end could take it, or leave town. The NFL calendar dictated the money on his old contract would be guaranteed at 2 PM on March 15, and Elway made it obvious the Broncos were not bluffing. They would rather do without Dumervil than pay him far above market value.
If the Colts could cut Manning, then Dumervil had to understand that Elway would not hesitate to fire him.
“These are the deals that wrench your gut,” said Elway on the eve of a deadline. Elway pulled out his cell phone and gave it a glance for messages. He had Dumervil’s fate in his hands. Elway stood in team headquarters, one floor above the Broncos locker room, in the executive offices where sentiment must be shoved aside and decisions are made that impact the life of an athlete.
Dumervil had benefited from the inexperience of former Broncos coach Josh McDaniels, who rewarded one of the league’s fiercest pass-rushers with a hefty contract in 2010. But Doom’s leverage was gone, because the deal was no longer worth much more than the paper on which that contract had been printed.
Fans love the fact that unlike the NBA, where a point guard gets paid whether he deserves the money or not, the NFL limits guaranteed money to its athletes. In practice, however, it allows pro football teams to make players pay for management’s budgetary mistakes.
“As an ex-player, I hate to see that,” Elway admitted. “I hated to see that happen to a teammate. And I hate having to do it in the position I’m in now. But I’ve got to do what’s best for this football team.”
The hammer in the tool belt of any builder of an NFL franchise is public opinion. For fans, football is a lifelong labor of love. For a player, football is a short career that could be ended by one fluke injury.
Players are blessed with a job many fans would do for free. But it is a job. And many fans do not get it. So what we have here is failure to communicate. Without a second thought of reflection, die-hard Broncomaniacs questioned Dumervil’s loyalty to the city and dedication to a championship cause, all because Doom showed the temerity to put his personal financial welfare above what pleased Denver fans.
“It isn’t just about the money. We also know what Elvis brings to the team and what his leadership means,” Elway said. “But, at a certain point, you have to make a decision, one way or another. Is it worth doing X and losing Y?”
It was on Dumervil to capitulate. Was that fair? Hell, no. Is that life in the NFL? Lord, yes.
For years to come, the words “March 15th” might sound like a curse coming out of Elway’s mouth. It was not among the brighter days in Broncos history, but it surely will be remembered as one of the more bizarre melodramas ever to play out at Dove Valley.
The Denver career of Dumervil ended not on the field, but at Kinko’s in South Florida. A $30 million deal fell apart because of a $750 piece of office equipment.
Dumervil has beaten Pro Bowl offensive tackles to the quarterback. But his effort to get back on the Broncos roster after a messy contract squabble was blocked by a fax machine.
Yes, a fax machine.
At 2 PM on March 15, the Broncos cut Dumervil because he was unable to get his signature on a contract worth $30 million to the team’s Dove Valley headquarters on time.
We are a nation of procrastinators. We are late with the rent, late to admit our mistakes, late for our own funerals.
But Dumervil took so long to make up his mind that by the time he hit the transmit button on a fax machine in Florida, it was too late and his procrastinating derriere was being sent out of Colorado forever.
When the Broncos finally received the signature page of Dumervil’s contract, the clock flashed 2:06 PM. Six minutes and a second earlier, a fuming Elway had officially cut one of the team’s best defensive players. The Broncos felt as if they had no other choice.
When the clock struck 2, NFL regulations would have required the terms of the defensive end’s old, overpriced contract to take effect. Without a new document to ship to the lea
gue office, Denver saw cutting Dumervil as less unsavory than paying him a guaranteed salary of $12 million for 2013.
In a world where a smartphone can light the fireplace in your hearth from halfway across the country or issue the airline ticket to fly you home, Dumervil was done in by old, dumb technology. A fax fiasco spelled doom for him.
All week long, Elway had been whispering sweet nothings in Dumervil’s ear: Stay in Denver. Chase a Super Bowl ring with the Broncos.
Better yet, those words of encouragement were backed with cold, hard cash.
In the end, the Broncos offered Dumervil a 2013 salary of $8 million. Sure, it was a 33 percent pay cut. But it was a nicer salary than prized defensive end Cliff Avril received when signing as a free agent with Seattle earlier in the same month, when players discovered it was a buyers’ market.
Late on that fateful Friday morning in March, the Broncos issued Dumervil an ultimatum, in the friendliest way possible: Negotiating was done. The deal would get no sweeter. The team needed a final answer no later than 1 PM, in order for the paperwork to be filed with the league office ahead of the deadline.
Doom said no.
Through his agent, Marty Magid, the Broncos’ last, best offer was rejected at 1 PM. The team began drawing up termination papers and discussing life after Dumervil.
Twenty-five minutes later, Doom changed his mind. It was a classic case of big-decision remorse. He instructed his agent to contact the team with the good news: Doom wanted back on the Broncos.
At 1:25 PM, team executives were surprised and delighted to hear Dumervil would sign the contract after all. But the game became beat the clock. All the paperwork needed to be filed within 35 minutes.
The complicating factor? Magid was in Philadelphia. Dumervil was in Miami. Elway was in Colorado.
Everybody got beat by logistics.
As hearts raced faster, the fax machine bonked. The contract stalled somewhere between South Beach and the Rocky Mountains. Dumervil tried to send the fax. His intentions were good. His transmission was bad.
At 1:55 PM, the Broncos pulled the plug on the deal. Putting it politely, the team was miffed.
Within the next testy 24 hours, Dumervil fired Magid, leaving little doubt where blame for the fax fiasco was dumped. The shaken football star hired Tom Condon, whose list of NFL clients reads like a Who’s Who list of players.
But any technology-literate fifth grader could have given Dumervil all the advice he really needed for free: Never fax. Scan and e-mail. It is faster. And less expensive. About $30 million less expensive.
It is a tribute to both Dumervil and Elway that a fax machine did not shred their relationship. After cooling down and recovering from the shock, the team and the player both approached the league office to inquire if the fax faux pas could be forgiven, so the agreement between the two parties could be honored. It sounded like a reasonable solution. But the NFL decided against giving the Broncos special consideration. The answer was no.
From the instant the appeal was denied, try as Elway and Dumervil might to patch things up, it was a losing proposition.
While the Broncos had saved considerable out-of-pocket expenses by cutting Dumervil, the action also forced the team to take a $4.89 million hit against the salary cap for 2013. And perhaps that was the worst damage done by the fax machine. The fax fiasco put a major ding in Denver’s ability to acquire more talent for another Super Bowl run. Trust was broken. If I wrecked your car yesterday, you might forgive me today. But are you going to let me take it for another spin tomorrow? Only if you are a saint. Or a fool.
So, in the end, it came as zero surprise that Dumervil and the Broncos were unable to repair their fractured relationship. The only slap-in-the-face shocker was where Dumervil landed on the NFL map.
For the second time in barely more than two months, Baltimore beat Denver in the end. Dumervil signed with the Ravens, agreeing to a five-year, $35 million contract on March 24. But the devilish detail was his salary for 2013 of $8.5 million. That was $500,000 more than the Broncos’ best offer. Guess everything has a price, including a man’s pride.
Keeping with his nature, Dumervil did his very best to be gracious as he glanced back at Colorado in his rearview mirror. When introduced by Baltimore, Dumervil said: “At the end of the day, there was no ill will or hard feelings. I just felt it was a time to change scenery.”
Pro football players might be rich and famous, but they are not really so different from you or me. Everybody needs to feel wanted. The same as Manning before him, Dumervil was stupefied and mortified that the Broncos actually cut him. The same as Manning before him, Dumervil sought refuge in an NFL city that felt comfortable. The linebacker coach of the Ravens is Don “Wink” Martindale, who not so coincidentally worked for the Broncos in 2009, when Dumervil switched positions from defensive end to outside linebacker in a 3-4 scheme and recorded 17 sacks during the breakout season of his pro career.
Bitterness converted to positive energy can propel a jilted football player toward redemption. When Doom joined the Ravens, the honesty leaked from the corners of his smile. “I never intended to leave Denver, but things happen,” Dumervil said, before delivering his real farewell shot at the Broncos: “I have a chip on my shoulder. I may have a brick wall now.”
No act of loyalty goes unpunished in the NFL.
In New England, the connection between Tom Brady and Wes Welker was far stronger than the more than 500 throws and receptions between them. They were best friends forever. When Welker teased Brady for his lack of running ability, the tall, dark, and handsome quarterback cursed and the feisty 5-foot, 9-inch slot receiver laughed. When Brady vacationed with wife Gisele Bündchen in Costa Rica, his little buddy was invited along to hang out on the beach.
“When you think of dependability, you think of Wes,” Brady told the Boston Globe.
Welker was a quarterback’s best friend. And New England coach Bill Belichick treated Welker like a dog.
The Patriots Way is sustained excellence built on disposable parts. Whenever Welker hinted at his desire for a contract commensurate to his production, Belichick shot him the evil eye, and Brady’s BFF backed down. In 2011, when Welker should have made a stink with a holdout, he instead made peace by accepting a franchise tag worth $9.5 million. He was New England’s patsy. The team seemed to believe Welker did not have the stones to leave.
Well, the Patriots were wrong. Welker busted coverage, and grabbed a two-year, $12 million offer to join the Broncos on March 13, two days before Dumervil was cut. Elway might be 52 years old and walk on an artificial left knee, but with one bold move, Old No. 7 proved he can still beat the snot out of Brady.
A month earlier, Brady had agreed to a contract extension with New England with the specific goal of allowing the Pats to maintain a strong supporting cast in return for the veteran quarterback’s charitable act of taking less than market value for his services during the waning years of a Hall of Fame career. When the team let Welker walk over what amounted to chump change by NFL standards, Brady felt as if he had been “pierced in the heart,” according to Michael Silver of Yahoo! Sports.
“That was definitely the hardest part, leaving Tom,” Welker admitted, as he was being fitted for a Broncos jersey at age 31.
Working the middle of the field as a slot receiver should qualify for hazardous duty pay in the NFL. For six seasons in New England, when Welker removed his uniform at the end of games, his back often resembled one giant ink-blot test, black and blue from the bruises. So I asked Welker: To be a slot receiver, do you need to be tough, or crazy? “Both,” he replied. “I think you have to have a little something about you.”
That tough little bastard had worn out his welcome in New England. It is toughness the Broncos needed, to such an extent that when Welker was introduced to the Denver media, coach John Fox stood at the side of the room and applauded.
While pounding his palms together, Fox caught my eye and I laughed, tickled by the coach’s spontane
ous, genuine, childlike enthusiasm. “Hey, Kiz,” Foxy said later. “Why were you killing me when I clapped for Welker? I didn’t know you were supposed to be quiet at a press conference. So I applauded. Heck, I’m happy to see him. I’m happy we’ve got him.”
In the NFL, they always applaud on your way in the door.
But, in the NFL, even stardom fails to provide sanctuary.
Loyalty is often a one-way street.
Manning gave Indianapolis 11 seasons of quarterback played with Pro Bowl excellence. The Broncos got three Pro Bowl seasons from Dumervil. Every year from 2008 to 2012, Welker did not stop running precision routes until he got to Pro Bowl.
Three players. And those three stars have 20 appearances at the Pro Bowl among them. Yet, at the end of the day, what Manning, Dumervil, and Welker did for their NFL employers was deemed not quite good enough to merit their big salaries.
Remind me: Who has the commitment issues in this league?
Whether your name is Manning, Dumervil, or Welker, somebody’s career gets blown up every day in the Not For Long.
Boom.
Chapter 18
Never Take a Knee
The words were not only barked with authority at the line of scrimmage as Peyton Manning awaited the snap of the football, they also definitively described his first year in Denver:
“Hurry! Hurry!”
Stop and smell the roses? At times, Manning was so obsessed with giving the team its $18 million worth, you wondered if the quarterback even noticed the snowcapped majesty of the Rocky Mountains that overlook the team’s practice facility. Early in his debut campaign with the Broncos, Manning was asked which of Colorado’s many splendid tourist attractions he had crossed off his do-list. Garden of the Gods? The Denver Mint? “Sorry,” Manning said, “I can’t help you there.” His whole world was the playbook, the film room, and the huddle.
In fact, after leading the Broncos on 78 scoring drives in 17 games, Manning sheepishly admitted a Pro Bowl quarterback can be lost and utterly without a clue when he is behind the wheel while running errands in Denver, even after more than 12 months as a Colorado resident.