He coached at other colleges, in Canada, in the NFL. He was fired by the Chiefs—a move the late Lamar Hunt, the owner, often called his biggest mistake. Maybe people don't know that Levy was special teams coach for the 1972 Super Bowl Redskins. Those Redskins lost to the undefeated Dolphins, his first bit of Super Bowl pain.
There would be much more. For four straight years, from 1990 to '93, he coached the Bills to the Super Bowl. That team is memorable for its no-huddle offense and for an attacking defense led by Hall of Fame end Bruce Smith. "It's unheard of, to go to four straight Super Bowls," Frannie says.
Marv looks at Frannie and nods. "That team had great character," he says. The Bills, of course, lost all four Super Bowls.
I mention to him that people will stop and take notice when they see that Marv Levy has written about the fixing of a Super Bowl. He nods. "But I can't emphasize this enough," he says with a writer's earnest concern. "I want this book to have literary value. Please include that. Literary value."
Between the Lies, which will be published Sept. 1 by Ascend Books, follows an honorable Los Angeles sportswriter named Mel Herbert—what other football coach would make his hero an honorable sportswriter?—who tries to report the Super Bowl fix story. There's also a love story, various inside football tidbits and quirky character names that Levy loved inventing—movie mogul and team owner Cedric B. Medill, quarterback Q.T. Pye, a cheerleader named Angela (Yum Yum) Baklava and, yes, a quarterback named Kelly James, whom Levy concedes might have been inspired by Bills quarterback Jim Kelly.
"All my life, I've been writing things down," Levy says. "Plotlines. Character names. I would put them in a folder. I always knew that at some point in my life I wanted to write."
Levy is 86 years old, and he seems blissfully happy. He runs every day. He dines out with Frannie just about every night. They travel together. They spend time with their granddaughter, Angela. Marv, who published a memoir, Where Else Would You Rather Be? in 2004, now has time to write. When I ask if he watches football anymore, he shrugs. "I watch some," he says. "But I don't follow it like I did."
I tell him that this must be the happiest life he could imagine, and he smiles and nods.
"So," I ask, "does it really make any difference now that you didn't win the Super Bowl?"
"Oh, yes," he says without hesitation. "I would be much happier if we had won one, two, three or all four of them."