The Quarterback Whisperer Read online

  And it had nothing to do with the zip that Unitas put on the ball; it was simple timing, which Unitas and Berry practiced for hours. If either the quarterback or the receiver is only slightly off in their movements, those types of plays will result in incompletions or interceptions. The receiver can’t get to his spot too soon or too late and the quarterback can’t deliver the ball to him too soon or too late. It’s an incredibly fragile formula. It demands repetition and precision and sweat.

  There have been so many other great quarterbacks in the NFL who didn’t have big-league arms. Otto Graham led the Cleveland Browns to the league championship game every year between 1946 and ’55—the Browns won seven of those games—but he was only 6'1'' and didn’t weigh 200 pounds. He was a winner, finishing his career with an astounding 105–17–4 regular-season record. He was smart too: He was one of the first quarterbacks in NFL history with enough sense to play with a face mask on his helmet.

  I met “Automatic Otto” in 2001 after a Saturday morning walkthrough practice in Cleveland. Even then, at age seventy-nine, the guy still oozed confidence. “You know, I never threw a bad pass in my life,” he told me. “Even the ones that got intercepted, in my mind, should have hit the receiver in the chest if he’d run the right pattern.” Now that’s the attitude of a winner!

  Graham had the “it” factor that most successful quarterbacks possess. The most famously confident quarterback was Joe Namath, who guaranteed the Jets would win Super Bowl III against the Colts even though New York was an 18-point underdog according to the oddsmakers in Las Vegas. He showed them, completing 17 of 28 passes for 206 yards and guiding the Jets to a 16–7 victory.

  I met Joe when I was coaching at the University of Alabama in 1981. His college coach, Bear Bryant, was being inducted into the Alabama Sports Hall of Fame, and Joe and I talked for a few minutes before the ceremony. He was the embodiment of cool. When my wife, Chris, walked over and joined our conversation, he took a long look at her, then shifted his eyes back to me. Smiling mischievously, he said, “Boy, you outkicked your coverage.”

  After Joe walked away, I asked Chris, “Would you leave me for him?”

  It took all of two heartbeats for her to respond. “Yes!” she yelled just a little too enthusiastically. But I swear, Joe invented the word “swagger” years before it became part of our everyday language. He was the ultimate Swag and that’s how he played. No risk it, no biscuit. I got my motto from Joe.

  You need to have the right persona to flourish as a quarterback in the NFL. Johnny Unitas was clean-cut and the most determined SOB on the field. Joe was “Broadway Joe” who never truly believed he was going to lose. Peyton was “the Piranha” whose never-ending pursuit of information he would use to bite his opponents.

  Another quarterback who had great skills and unique demeanor was Kenny Stabler, who went 96–49–1 as a starting NFL quarterback with the Raiders, Oilers, and Saints—a .661 winning percentage. He made plays that become so famous they took on their own names: the Holy Roller, the Sea of Hands, the Ghost to the Post. He was a swashbuckling outlaw of a quarterback; he didn’t mind having a drink or twelve with the boys after a big win. In his prime during the late 1970s with the Raiders, he was a larger-than-life figure, even though he didn’t have the strongest of arms.

  It was his attitude that was infectious. I met him in the early 1990s when I was back coaching at Alabama and was on a recruiting trip to Mobile. We bumped into each other at the Flora-Bama bar. Man, he was one cool dude. After talking to him for just a few minutes, as a band played onstage in the background, I remember thinking I would follow this guy anywhere. He lived hard and played harder—and his teammates loved him. There was no BS to the guy.

  Bottom line: About 95 percent of the successful quarterbacks in the NFL are special people, not just robots with big arms. They inspire others. They get teammates to do things they never thought possible. You want to be around that kind of quarterback. It’s hard to find people who have the grit—the physical and mental skills and the strength of character—of successful NFL quarterbacks. Sure as hell there are not many in business or academia or politics. But once you cross paths with someone like this, it sticks with you for the rest of your life.

  When you’re in the presence of someone who possesses these qualities, it’s almost like seeing a rare comet streaking through the night sky. You want to hold on to the moment for as long as you can, because you know once it’s gone, it may be years before you spot the likes of that person again.

  Parents approach me all the time asking the same question: What can I do right now to prepare my son to be an NFL quarterback? Here’s what I tell them.

  It begins with developing a work ethic. Teach him that nothing in life is handed to anyone, that anything worth achieving takes consistent effort and relentless dedication. If a boy dreams of playing quarterback in the league, then he needs to be the first to arrive at every Pop Warner practice and be the first in line for every drill. He needs to be the last to leave the field once the practice is over and he should beg his coach and teammates to stick around afterward to work on fundamentals. This is not a secret: Sustained effort toward developing and maintaining mental and physical skills is the foundation upon which success in life is built.

  I also tell parents that their son shouldn’t play only one sport, because kids need to develop all their muscles, and the best way to achieve that is by having their kid play football, basketball, soccer, baseball—as many sports as he has time for. I know that a lot of high-level college coaches won’t even look at high school quarterbacks who only play football, because there is a widespread belief in coaching circles that if a kid only focuses on football, he’ll have maxed out his potential by the time he reaches college. But if kids play multiple sports, the logic goes, their ability to grow as athletes will be far greater when they step onto a college campus. So in my view, the more sports boys play in junior high and high school the better chance they’ll have to make it to the NFL one day. And even then, they’ll have to overcome long, long odds. Remember, of the roughly 1 million kids who play high school football each year, only about 200 will ever make it onto an NFL roster. Even if you only make it as far as high school quarterback, you’ve learned to lead men. You’re a success.

  It’s also important, I tell them, to cultivate within a child at a very young age the belief that he or she is not going to fail. This has nothing to do with sports, really, but everything to do with your kid’s mental approach. How do you create that attitude in your child? By teaching the value of work and the need to be prepared. Because when your kid is as prepared as possible, he should believe—not just think—he’ll succeed. He’ll have already done more work than anyone else in that game.

  Everyone doesn’t win, but that’s not failing. And you don’t necessarily succeed right away. You might be benched, you might get kicked out of school like yours truly, and you might get hurt. The key is to always get back up and keep fighting.

  And trust me, if a boy aspires to become an NFL quarterback, the path of development usually begins around age twelve. That’s when the special kids learn how to pay “the price” it will take; how to outwork everyone else their age and understand the value of doing that as well.

  Then, as your son progresses from Pop Warner football through middle school football to early high school football, I think it’s a good idea to find a football mentor, a working coach or former successful college or pro player who can teach your son how to pass the ball, not throw it. The good quarterback tutor will tirelessly show and work him through the fundamentals of ball handling and passing. He’ll teach him footwork, balance, and throwing mechanics. He’ll explain how to manage the offense and how to read and manipulate the defense.

  But parents need to be realists. If their son is 5'8'', 145 pounds as a high school senior, he’s probably not going to be the next Tom Brady or Peyton Manning or Aaron Rodgers—no matter how much his mom and dad believe he will be. It’s not the job of
a parent to shatter the dreams of their children, certainly, but neither they nor their kids should live in a false reality. I say let kids discover their physical limitations on their own, but never, ever stop encouraging them to aspire to succeed. Succeeding isn’t being Peyton Manning; it’s being the best you can be.

  That is what I did with my son, Jake. I was coaching at Temple University at the time. One afternoon when he was eight, we were sitting in our living room in New Jersey and he said, “Dad, I’m going to play in the NFL.”

  Of course, I thought he was living in a fantasy world, but I told him that anything is possible if you work hard enough. Then I asked him if he even knew what the NFL was. “Yes, Pops!” he proclaimed. “It’s the Eagles, the Bears, the Packers, the Giants, the Steelers…” He named nearly every team in the league along with dozens of players.

  “Okay,” I told him. “But if you don’t start picking your grades up, you’re not going to play college football and you definitely won’t make it to the NFL.” Almost overnight, Jake’s grades started improving. He had his goal; his mind was set.

  After I got fired as head coach at Temple in December 1988, I was hired to coach the running backs with the Kansas City Chiefs. We placed Jake in a junior high school in Missouri that happened to be predominantly white. At fourteen he stood 5'7'' and weighed 140 pounds. He played quarterback and safety. He was a good player, but it wasn’t like he was on a path to becoming a blue-chip recruit.

  In 1993, I became the offensive coordinator at Mississippi State. Jake moved to a new, mostly black high school in Starkville, Mississippi, and played on a high school team that featured two future first-round draft picks. One evening Jake, then a sophomore, came home from practice and told me, “Dad, I think I need to learn how to kick. These dudes are soooooo fast.” From that moment, he spent hours each day working on kicking and punting.

  He was something of a natural at both. He had taken karate lessons starting at age five. My rule was, when you sign up, you go full-term. Even if you don’t like it, you finish what you started and you don’t stop until the lessons are over. Jake agreed, and I went to as many of his practices and tournaments as I could.

  One evening a year later, I walked into our house and asked six-year-old Jake to show me what he had learned that day at karate. And in an eye blink, that little squirt kicked my feet out from under me and I landed hard on my back. I muttered in a whisper, “Good shit, son.” He killed me. By age eight, he could do leg splits.

  I think karate really helped him with his kicking, because he had developed so much flexibility. Jake later earned a kicking scholarship to the University of Alabama–Birmingham, and in 2001 he made the roster of the Buffalo Bills. He achieved his dream; he became an NFL player—at 5'10'' and 200 pounds. Jake didn’t last the season with the Bills, his only NFL team, but he had reached his personal summit. It was the journey that was important, not the fact that he didn’t stay in the league for long. He willed himself into becoming an NFL player, and it was a testament to his determination that he made it. That was the life lesson takeaway—and what made me as his father so damn proud.

  How did he do it? It sure as hell wasn’t genetics. He did it because he played multiple sports as a kid—along with karate, he excelled at soccer as a boy, which ended up helping him when he later focused on becoming a kicker—and because he had an internal motor that never stopped red-lining.

  Those are some of the primary attributes that Jake acquired and all the great NFL QBs have in common. One other vital trait they all shared? They simply outworked everyone else.

  What sets Bruce apart is that he can get you to do things you didn’t think you were necessarily capable of. And it’s all because he really cares about you and, in return, you want to make him proud.

  –KELLY HOLCOMB

  CHAPTER 4

  KELLY HOLCOMB

  There is nothing more gratifying in coaching than helping a player reach his potential. Oh yeah, getting there can be a helluva process: sometimes short and sweet, sometimes long and agonizing. But when potential is finally and fully realized, the experience is really special, like how an artist must feel when all the various individual brushstrokes on the canvas merge to form a beautiful painting.

  That is why one of the favorite days of my career was January 5, 2003—a snowy afternoon in Pittsburgh that remains as vivid to me as any game in my career. This was a day all the brushstrokes of effort came together for Kelly Holcomb.

  I was the offensive coordinator for the Cleveland Browns. In the second quarter of our final regular-season game against the Atlanta Falcons, our starting quarterback, Tim Couch, broke his leg. It was a devastating injury for the team and for Tim. A former number one overall draft choice, Tim had been playing well. He had put us on the verge of making the playoffs for the first time in nine years. Yet all season the Cleveland fans were rough on him—it seemed like they booed him even when he threw completions. But I’ll tell you, Tim Couch was not a bust. His body became busted, but he was no bust. There’s a big difference.

  After Tim went down in that last game, our backup, Kelly Holcomb, replaced him. Kelly hadn’t played in over two months, but he threw a late touchdown pass to Kevin Johnson to give us the lead, and we won the game 24–16. We made the playoffs as a wild card. Our opponent in the first round: the Pittsburgh Steelers.

  Kelly had been with me in Indianapolis from 1998 to 2000. When I first saw him play against the Vikings the year before I joined the Colts staff, he was atrocious. He didn’t know where to go with the ball, had trouble reading defenses, and generally looked totally bewildered, like he couldn’t find his ass with two hands and a search warrant. I feared he was a lost cause.

  But I loved Kelly’s competitive fire—and the fact he had a chip the size of a boulder on his shoulder, just like me. There were plenty of times in my career when I thought I had it all together and I got a bit cocky, a little nonchalant. Kelly was like that too.

  He came into our first quarterbacks meeting in Indianapolis along with Peyton Manning. I looked at Kelly and was shocked—he didn’t even have a notebook, for godsakes! Peyton had five. “Where’s your notebook?” I asked. He didn’t have a good answer. But he learned how to prepare simply by watching Peyton and emulating his actions.

  It wasn’t long before Kelly started staying at the facility with Peyton to review plays and defenses into the evening hours. Peyton made other quarterbacks want to be as prepared as he was. Hey, sometimes peer pressure can be positive. Kelly picked up on that.

  Every Friday before practice we all played what we called “the Goal Post Game.” One of us would stand at the five-yard line and try to hit the goalpost; the other two would stand underneath the goalpost and try to catch it after it bounced off. Then they would move back to the 10-yard line, the 15, the 20, and finally the 25.

  Peyton was so accurate that he’d hit the goalpost dead on almost every time, so the ball would drop straight down, making it easy to catch. If you caught the ball, it meant the throwing quarterback lost five points.

  Kelly was almost as accurate, but his balls usually veered off to the left or right after hitting the post. Peyton rarely beat Kelly in this game, because he was so damn precise with his throws. But Kelly’s accuracy improved dramatically in short order. He could hit the goalpost almost every time from every distance.

  In games, however, he struggled with deep balls. He just didn’t have the proper touch. But again, Peyton’s work ethic rubbed off on him. He worked like a maniac on his fundamentals. We really stressed shuffling around in the pocket to avoid the rush, resetting his feet, then throwing the ball down the field with accuracy. To replicate a game situation at practices, I’d have three defenders run at him. Then we had three managers ten to twenty yards downfield, spread out at the numbers to the sideline. While Kelly avoided the rush, I would yell, “Ball!” as I pointed at one of the managers, indicating for him to put his hands up. At that moment Kelly had to reset his feet and immediately thr
ow to the manager who had his arms extended. This replicated a game environment. Every day, every practice, he improved.

  I always like to have a backup quarterback who knows my system. The solid backup is another coach in the meeting room and on the field. Remember, quarterbacks will ask their fellow quarterbacks more questions than they’ll ever ask their own coaches. It’s just like in school—students are more likely to ask other students questions before raising their hand to ask the teacher. So when I was hired by the Browns in 2001, I insisted to our general manager that we sign Kelly, who was then a free agent. When I got the green light to get Kelly, I immediately called him. He was in his car driving to Cincinnati and he told me he was on his way to signing a contract with the Bengals. “Damn it, you better turn left off the highway instead of right and come to Cleveland,” I said. “Remember, you’re in this league because of me.”

  I hated to pull that card on him, but he ended up turning left and drove to Cleveland. We signed him the next day.

  It was important to me to have Kelly on our roster, because he and I had built the one thing that is more important between a coach and player than anything else: trust. It’s so hard to establish that in the NFL. It’s done through the work you do together, the hours you spend side by side doing the drills and watching film. It’s a lot like a golfer and his swing coach. There are so many minute aspects of a golf swing that need to be perfect for a golfer to play at his best. It’s the same thing with a coach and his quarterback. Both must work long and hard on mechanics so they become automatic mentally and second nature physically for the QB, because he has so many other things to worry about when on the field. Mastered mechanics—footwork, dropbacks, looking off defenders, ball grip, arm swing, and touch, for example—free a quarterback to think about how the defense is lining up, what his hot read is going to be, and what protection he needs to call. The QB must be concerned about these bigger things, not whether or not the ball is going to come out of his hand cleanly.