They pushed on.
With their hearts broken and their worlds shattered, they still showed up to do a job that had become significantly less important, yet, at the same time, seemed more necessary than ever.
Maybe it was the need for a diversion. Maybe it was the need to fulfill a responsibility to others who were counting on them. Maybe it was the need to do something to honor the memory of a loved one who had, so suddenly and unexpectedly, passed away.
Probably, it was all of the above that has driven NFL players and, most recently, a coach, to take part in a game soon after being hit with personal tragedy.
Overcoming personal tragedy
Joe Jurevicius
On Jan. 13, 2003, the morning after the
Tampa Bay Buccaneers beat the San Francisco
49ers in
an NFC divisional-round playoff game, Jurevicius and his wife, Meagan, celebrated the birth of their first child, Michael. However, their joy quickly turned to anguish when doctors informed them that Michael was born with sialidosis, a neurodegenerative disease, and likely wouldn't live beyond 72 hours. Jurevicius wound up playing the following week as the
Buccaneers faced the
Philadelphia Eagles in the NFC Championship Game. He caught a 71-yard pass to set up a touchdown on the way to
Tampa Bay's 27-10 victory. He also caught four passes for 78 yards in the
Buccaneers' 48-21 rout of the
Oakland Raiders in
Super Bowl XXXVII. Michael died two months later.
Brett Favre
On Dec. 21, 2003, a day before the
Green Bay Packers were to face the
Raiders on
Monday Night Football, Irvin Favre, father of the then-
Packers quarterback, died of a heart attack while driving near his son's home of Kiln, Miss. Brett, who was already with the team in Oakland, decided to play, despite losing not only a parent but a close friend and the man who had coached him in high school. He wound up having the game of his life, throwing for 399 yards and four touchdowns to lead the
Packers to
a 41-7 victory.
Matt Bryant
On Sept. 24, 2008, four days before the
Buccaneers were to face the
Packers, Tryson Bryant, three-month-old son of the Tampa Bay kicker and his wife, Melissa, died in his sleep. The funeral was three days later in Bryant's native Texas, and the Bucs were prepared to have another kicker fill in temporarily. However, Bryant returned to Tampa right after the funeral and, the next day, was perfect on three field-goals and three extra-point attempts in
the Bucs' 30-21 triumph.
On Oct. 8, three days before the Cincinnati Bengals were to face the Baltimore Ravens in a key AFC North showdown, Vikki Zimmer, 50-year-old wife of Bengals defensive coordinator Mike Zimmer, died of unknown causes. Several Bengal players viewed her as the "team mom," a role she happily filled with a son working as an assistant coach for the New Orleans Saints and a daughter away at college. Despite the shock and devastation of losing his wife of 27 years, Zimmer decided to make the trip to Baltimore and his defense wound up playing a major role in a 17-14 victory, the Bengals' biggest in four years.
Zimmer's experience was not unlike situations that had befallen players Joe Jurevicius, Brett Favre and Matt Bryant in recent years (see box). The professional highs these men had at such personal low points can be attributed to multiple factors, not the least of which is their respective talent.
Jurevicius was a good receiver whose career included two Super Bowl appearances. Favre is one of the greatest quarterbacks in NFL history. Bryant was a dependable kicker in the NFL for seven seasons (he was cut by the Buccaneers after a hamstring injury early in training camp didn't allow him to compete, and he has since joined the United Football League's Florida Tuskers).
Since joining the Bengals' coaching staff in 2008, Zimmer has been largely responsible for a vast improvement in the team's defense. In '08, the Bengals finished 12th in the league in total defense, their best ranking since 2001 (ninth). After five games this year, they are 17th, but have played a vital role in Cincinnati's 4-1 start.
Still, other factors were clearly at work when these men carried their heavy hearts to the stadium.
"There's a tremendous amount of energy that's generated from grief," said Dr. Kevin Elko, a noted sports psychologist and performance consultant to several NFL teams. "It is a very powerful, powerful energy, and the mind is looking for something to do with that energy."
For the most part, members of a football team are conditioned to work together and to support each other. It is a mentality that has been hammered into their brains from their earliest exposure to the sport.
When one of them is hurting, they're all hurting. And they'll do whatever they can, including finding a higher competitive gear, to help the player or coach in need.
"The biggest thing is that there's strength in numbers," said Jurevicius, whose son was born with a fatal disease during the 2002 postseason and died two months after Jurevicius played in Super Bowl XXXVII. "Even though people are going through certain tragedies in their life, you know in the game of football that you've got a bunch of other guys and some coaches that are going to be there for you. I just happened to have some very good guys who not only were great football players but were better human beings.
"There's a loyalty that goes on when you put all that work in. What happened in Cincinnati, I think all those guys realized, at some point, they either have gone through or will go through some type of tragedy and they rallied around the coach. Obviously, they played a hell of a game last week and they were able to give (his wife) a present. It wasn't even for him, it was for her."
In the week after his son's birth, Jurevicius spent the majority of his time at the hospital with his wife. He didn't practice. He did go to the Buccaneers' facility one day to try to study some videotape, but he broke down and couldn't concentrate. Then-coach Jon Gruden ordered him to go back to the hospital.
Two days before the NFC title game, Jurevicius, his wife, other family members, and even the doctors collectively decided he should make the trip to Philadelphia. Jurevicius missed the team's chartered flight that left later that day, but he caught a ride the next night on another chartered flight the Buccaneers had arranged for sponsors to attend the game. He was given the last five rows of the plane to himself.
"They wouldn't let anybody back there," Jurevicius recalled. "I just cried the whole flight to Philly. But I felt I needed to do it. I was always brought up a 'team guy,' and I felt that I had an obligation to the team and I had an obligation to my family. And after my wife basically told me that they'd be okay, then I took off."
Jurevicius arrived about 10 o'clock at night. Gruden had already finished the team meeting. Jurevicius was handed a playbook, which he would study that night at the Buccaneers' hotel. Lacking the detailed preparation he normally has before a game, he relied mostly on adrenaline.
"You have all the pent-up aggression," Jurevicius said. "You're sad, you're mad, and then you find this way to channel it. And it just so happened that I had football and I had a great team in Tampa Bay that helped me kind of channel all that stuff toward something positive."
He didn't take part in any of the wild celebration in the Buccaneers' dressing room. The team was heading to its first Super Bowl, yet Jurevicius' thoughts were elsewhere. He borrowed a reporter's cell phone, and stepped out onto the field, away from the chaos, to call his wife. "You go about your business," Jurevicius said. "Just be professional, and as soon I left work, I went back to being a family guy."
After Jurevicius and the rest of the Buccaneers returned from San Diego, site of Super Bowl XXXVII, he convinced his wife to join him for the celebration with fans at Raymond James Stadium. For Meagan, who would later have two healthy daughters (Caroline, 5, and Ava, 2), it amounted to an "hour-long escape" from the hospital.
Favre's father died on Dec. 21, 2003, a day before Favre and the Green Bay Packers were scheduled to play a Monday night game in Oakland. After Favre's unforgettable night against the Raiders, in which he threw for 399 yards and four touchdowns, he told reporters, "I knew that my dad would have wanted me to play. I love him so much, and I love this game. It's meant a great deal to me, to my dad, to my family, and I didn't expect this kind of performance. But I know he was watching tonight."
Bryant was torn about what to do after his son Tryson's death last September. As the only kicker on the roster, he knew it wouldn't be easy for the Buccaneers to replace him at that stage of the season. One of his concerns was forcing the Bucs to release a player at another position to make room for his temporary replacement.
When he decided he would suit up for the game, the Buccaneers provided a private jet that carried him from Texas to Tampa right after the funeral. During a team meeting that night, Gruden told Bryant, "Thank you for being here for us." Later, Gruden said, "He needed football, he needed his teammates, he needed the fans. He needed some kind of, I just think, distraction to just get away from all of the horrible nightmares that he and his wife are going through."
Gruden and then-Buccaneers general manager Bruce Allen had made it known that if Bryant missed every kick he tried, they would not hold it against him. However, Bryant would have held it against himself. His goal was to honor his son's memory, and he worried that he might do just the opposite with a poor performance because he was distracted and not fully prepared to play.
"I didn't want to hurt (the rest of the team)," said Bryant, who has a 3-year-old son, Tre', and four stepchildren. "But if I did bad, it would be (said), 'Well, it was because of what happened to his son.' And the main thing I didn't want was Tryson's name to be associated with anything that was negative."
With the exception of the few seconds he spent executing each kick -- almost robotically doing what his body has done countless times -- Bryant admitted that he was not mentally connected with the game. "I was on cruise control," he said. "Physically, I had nothing. I was on fumes. I was numb."
After Zimmer found his wife's lifeless body at their home, he spent the night at the home of Bengals coach Marvin Lewis. The next day, he arrived at work, where he made arrangements for the funeral that took place earlier this week. He was consoled by fellow coaches, players, and other club employees.
On Saturday, he arrived at the Bengals' team hotel in Baltimore with his son (whose Saints team had a bye), his daughter, and his father. The next day, he followed a fairly normal routine, riding over to the stadium on the team bus with the other coaches. After arriving, Zimmer, though clearly dealing with his emotions, took time to explain to NFL.com senior writer Steve Wyche how the Bengals would counter the Ravens' max protections and projected early shots downfield.
Zimmer showed complete focus on the sideline, communicating with players and calling plays as normal. After the Bengals' stunning victory, he changed and did not speak with reporters and, before departing, stopped and showed appreciation to the many people who reached out to him. The players demonstrated their support with their play.
"There's no doubt about it, they all got involved," said Dr. Elko, who recently authored a book entitled "Touchdown!: Achieving Your Greatness on the Playing Field of Business (and Life)."
"It's easier to think these guys, because you watch them do a nasty hit, don't have a heart. They have a heart bigger than all outdoors. When something bad happens to someone on the team, it means something to them because we all want to be part of a community. And being part of it means, 'I care.'"
For the players and coaches who experienced triumph in the face of personal tragedy, caring for the ones they've lost is what allowed them to push on. It also is what allows them to look back with no regrets.
"The only thing I would change about the story is that my kid was here," Jurevicius said. "But he's not, and that's the reality of life. It's just one of those things where, I would hope that he'd look down and just say, 'My old man did the right thing. I know he loved me … and still loves me.'"
