flashed that broad smile of his and then laughed as he decided the question was funnier than he first thought. He looked at the wiry, twenty-four-year-old Steeler in front of him and spoke thoughtfully. “I’ve been playing baseball for a long time, Tony. When I look over in your locker room on game day, I can’t believe how tight everybody is. As for me, every time I’ve ever heard the umpire get ready to start a game, he always says, ‘Play ball!’ I’ve never once heard him say, ‘Work ball!’ I think that’s something you football guys have forgotten.”
I filed that away, not realizing how often I would draw on that thought later when I had teams of my own to guide through a pregame setting.
I had gained those eight pounds by lifting and running and preparing in ways I had never had to as a quarterback. I was headed into the 1978 training camp with a year of playing defense under my belt. I was still watching as much film as possible and absorbing everything I could from Woody Widenhofer and the guys on the defense. Physically and mentally, I knew it was going to be a much better year for me.
But then I started dragging a little, feeling a little tired as camp approached. I headed over to camp a couple of days early, and the team doctor checked me out. Mononucleosis. If you had known me and my dating habits back then, you’d know that mono isn’t always the kissing disease. I was focused on my career as much as anything, but I was also pretty shy. I did know a few girls, and I enjoyed being around them, but before I got too involved with someone, I wanted to be sure she was someone I could see myself marrying. Because of that, I never really had a serious girlfriend. I was probably looking for someone like my mom. Up to then, I hadn’t found her.
The doctor put me on antibiotics, just in case I had some other infection in addition to mono, and told me he would check on me every few days. I would be allowed to take the field when my white blood cell count dropped back to normal levels.
I started to improve quickly, but day after day … after day after day … my white blood cell count was still too high. After missing three weeks (preseason lasted just about forever back then), I was really frustrated and was getting difficult to be around.
Late one evening in our room, I told Donnie Shell, “I don’t know that I’m going to make this team. By the time I get back, my conditioning level will be down, and there are other new guys who are looking to do what I did last year—take somebody’s spot. This is just not going according to plan.”
“Tony, I think you’re at a crossroads,” Donnie said. “You know what life is all about. You profess to be a Christian, and you tell everybody that God has first place in your life. Now, when your career looks like it’s teetering, we’re getting a chance to see what
really
is in first place for you.”
I thought about that all day and then came back to the conversation with Donnie.
“You’re probably right,” I told him. “I feel like I’ve been learning from you guys and growing, and I’m feeling better about my faith and thinking that I trust the Lord. I’m trying to understand what you guys have. But all of a sudden, I come to a crisis point, and I begin to panic. My thoughts turn to ‘What am
I
going to do?’”
Donnie paused and measured me squarely. “All the Lord is trying to do is find out what’s in first place in your life, and right now, it looks like football is.” I immediately knew Donnie was right, and I felt convicted. I think that was the point at which I really began to understand what it means to be a Christian, and I began making an effort to start changing and growing as a person. It was the first time I was able to look at football as something that God was allowing me to do, not something that should define me. I couldn’t take my identity from this sport; I had to consciously make sure that God was in first place.
I filed that away, not realizing how often I would draw on that thought later when I had teams of my own to guide through a pregame setting.
I had gained those eight pounds by lifting and running and preparing in ways I had never had to as a quarterback. I was headed into the 1978 training camp with a year of playing defense under my belt. I was still watching as much film as possible and absorbing everything I could from Woody Widenhofer and the guys on the defense. Physically and mentally, I knew it was going to be a much better year for me.
But then I started dragging a little, feeling a little tired as camp approached. I headed over to camp a couple of days early, and the team doctor checked me out. Mononucleosis. If you had known me and my dating habits back then, you’d know that mono isn’t always the kissing disease. I was focused on my career as much as anything, but I was also pretty shy. I did know a few girls, and I enjoyed being around them, but before I got too involved with someone, I wanted to be sure she was someone I could see myself marrying. Because of that, I never really had a serious girlfriend. I was probably looking for someone like my mom. Up to then, I hadn’t found her.
The doctor put me on antibiotics, just in case I had some other infection in addition to mono, and told me he would check on me every few days. I would be allowed to take the field when my white blood cell count dropped back to normal levels.
I started to improve quickly, but day after day … after day after day … my white blood cell count was still too high. After missing three weeks (preseason lasted just about forever back then), I was really frustrated and was getting difficult to be around.
Late one evening in our room, I told Donnie Shell, “I don’t know that I’m going to make this team. By the time I get back, my conditioning level will be down, and there are other new guys who are looking to do what I did last year—take somebody’s spot. This is just not going according to plan.”
“Tony, I think you’re at a crossroads,” Donnie said. “You know what life is all about. You profess to be a Christian, and you tell everybody that God has first place in your life. Now, when your career looks like it’s teetering, we’re getting a chance to see what
really
is in first place for you.”
I thought about that all day and then came back to the conversation with Donnie.
“You’re probably right,” I told him. “I feel like I’ve been learning from you guys and growing, and I’m feeling better about my faith and thinking that I trust the Lord. I’m trying to understand what you guys have. But all of a sudden, I come to a crisis point, and I begin to panic. My thoughts turn to ‘What am
I
going to do?’”
Donnie paused and measured me squarely. “All the Lord is trying to do is find out what’s in first place in your life, and right now, it looks like football is.” I immediately knew Donnie was right, and I felt convicted. I think that was the point at which I really began to understand what it means to be a Christian, and I began making an effort to start changing and growing as a person. It was the first time I was able to look at football as something that God was allowing me to do, not something that should define me. I couldn’t take my identity from this sport; I had to consciously make sure that God was in first place.
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