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Now Their Hearts Are in the Right Place
Posted: Tuesday January 19, 1999 05:45 PM
My mom always had a little crush on Dan Reeves. She liked his looks, loved his
accent and admired how he always wore a coat and tie on the sideline during
Denver Broncos games. "Doesn't he look so nice?" she'd gush. So when
they both had quadruple-bypass heart surgery the same day five weeks ago, on
Dec. 13, she felt as if they were in it
together.
At first my mom took the recovery lead, even though she was spotting him 20
years. She spent eight days in a Boulder, Colo., hospital and was released.
Reeves, in his typical double-parked way, was out of there in four and ready to
get back to his job as coach of the Atlanta Falcons, only to be readmitted two
days later with a dangerously fibrillating
heart.
My mom stewed about him. Then we watched together the day he stepped out of that
hospital the second time, weeping. It was a Reeves I'd never seen. Unlike my
mom, who would cry if you gave her a Glad bag full of dirt, the Reeves I knew
was about as sentimental as a right cross. He used to growl in triplicate, play
golf as if he were attacking the German flank and was about as popular with his
players as a lanced bunion. He made them winners, true, but you never saw
shorter postgame hugs. His quarterback with the Broncos, John Elway, grew to
hate him, drawing up plays with assistant coach Mike Shanahan behind his back,
until Reeves found out and fired Shanahan but
good.
But the Reeves on TV in December was overwhelmed by the mulligan he'd been given
on life and the flood of support he'd received. "I just had no idea that
many people cared," he said. He took a deep breath, cut his decibels in
half and broke out a wonderful smile that had some very low mileage on it. He
answered every card with his own that said, "Thanks from the bottom of my
brand new heart." By New Year's night, he was a brand new
man.
By New Year's night, my mom was dead of a heart
attack.
I wish I could say I took it bravely. I was en route to the Fiesta Bowl, got the
news on the plane, wept worse than any baby on board and took the first flight
home. I couldn't write a grocery list, much less a column. They found one in the
vault from three years ago and ran it. I think. I never even
looked.
Some guys are tougher. Miami Dolphins coach Jimmy Johnson, for instance. Two
Sundays before, his mom had died, but Johnson didn't crumble. He didn't book the
first jet home to Texas. Instead, he prepared for and then coached a Monday
night win over Denver. He worked Tuesday, too. Then, finally, he flew to the
funeral on Tuesday night and was back in Miami by Wednesday night. He wasn't
around for the viewing. His sons were. His ex-wife was. But he wasn't. He wasn't
there to comfort his sick father, either.
But Johnson paid for it. He regretted what he'd done. He couldn't sleep. He
figured out too late that you can lose a lot of games but only one mother.
Outside, his hair was still perfect, but inside he was a mess. He quit his job.
He unquit his job. He hired an assistant head coach. Somewhere in there, I hope,
he's not the same Johnson. Definitely this isn't the same Reeves. And, come to
think of it, this isn't the same
Elway.
In the off-season John's wife, Janet, had complicated surgery at the Mayo Clinic
to repair her bowel. She came home but went back into the hospital a week later
for emergency surgery when an infection put her life in jeopardy. John was
beside himself with worry, and it didn't help when, praying on his knees with
his four kids one night, one of them asked, "Dad, does Mom have
cancer?"
She didn't, and, when she finally recovered, third-and-12 didn't seem quite so
big anymore. On Sunday night, after John had won a fifth trip to the Super Bowl,
he hugged Janet and cried. "I learned there's a lot more important things
than a dang football game," John said.
"I think we both feel we got a second chance," Janet
said.
Funny, there's a lot of that going around. This spring Elway ran into Reeves at
Augusta National, and they fixed the divots in their relationship. Reeves
congratulated Elway on finally winning the Super Bowl that they never could
together. Later, after the bypass, Elway sent a warm note and a donation to the
heart
fund.
So here we are at the biggest game of the year, and to two of the principal
players it means everything and nothing at the same time. Sounds about right,
doesn't
it?
Me, I don't care who wins. All I ask is that Reeves wear a nice coat and
tie.
You never know who's
watching.
Issue date: January 25, 1999
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