Junior Seau

by Jim Trotter

  Junior had never played for a head coach who was so tightly wound on a consistent basis, and Saban had never coached a superstar who was so consistently easygoing and jovial. Outsiders wondered how the two would mesh.

  “If Junior wasn’t my favorite player ever, he was close, in the top three or four,” Saban said later. “The guy was a coach’s dream. He had a great sense of humor, was really liked by his teammates, always worked hard. He was always pleasant, always joking around, and really enjoyed what he was doing and the role that he had on the team. That was a little bit different, to me. You always assume that when a guy is a really good player, maybe as good a player who has ever played his position, that he wouldn’t be pleasant, outgoing, easygoing, and getting along with everybody. But he was. He was always busting someone’s balls, especially mine.

  “Once, he took the hat that I used to wear and hid it. I also used to wear these pants that had buckles on the side, and he’d say, ‘Hey, Nick. Where’d you get those tuxedo pants? One size fits all?’ He was always on my ass about something. Always in a really funny way, always in a really fun way. I couldn’t help but crack up myself.”

  Junior’s personality was so infectious that Saban sometimes laughed even when Junior played outside the defense. Before one practice, outside linebacker Jason Taylor warned Saban that Junior liked to make a “Baby! Baby!” call in certain situations, even though no such call existed in their playbook. The call was Junior’s way of signaling that he was going to plug the B gap, so Taylor should cover for him by dropping into pass coverage and assuming Junior’s responsibilities.

  “I’m just telling you so that if he does that, you know what it is,” Taylor said.

  Sure enough, during a 9-on-7 drill, Junior saw something that told him the guard was going to pull, leaving an opening in the B gap for a split second, so he barked, “Baby! Baby!”

  Saban looked at Taylor as soon as he heard the call, and Taylor broke out laughing. Junior then burst through the B gap and made the play against the running back. On the inside Saban laughed until it hurt. But outwardly he played the role of unhappy coach.

  “What’s this ‘Baby! Baby!’ shit?” he said to Junior.

  “I knew it was a power [run], and I knew if I ran to it I could make the play,” Junior responded.

  “He was serious as hell,” Saban said. “I’m crying now, laughing so hard, telling you these stories.”

  Junior could get away with these antics because everyone knew he was committed to chasing a championship. Teammates had voted him the winner of their leadership award each of his first two seasons, and now, with his 16th season approaching, he still was moving with the urgency of an undrafted rookie trying to earn a roster spot.

  “He was the one who set the example—full gas, full out, wide open all the time,” says Seattle Seahawks defensive coordinator Dan Quinn, who was an assistant that year in Miami. “You see him and you’re like, ‘That’s it. That’s balling. That’s how you practice. That’s what it feels like and looks like.’ It was kind of cool. The guys that have those kinds of practice habits, as a coach, you appreciate that. Not everybody has that.

  “Once, he came in for OTAs [off-season training activities] after taking the red eye from San Diego and went straight to the workout. He took every rep on defense, and when we went to the cards he wanted all the scout team reps to show the guys on offense that I’ll do anything for you. We’re talking about a 12-time Pro Bowler who was nearing the end of his career. He had earned the right not to do those things, yet it didn’t matter to him. That guy got people. He recognized how to connect with his teammates. He was a real guy and was held in such high regard. Certain guys got it. He was one of them.”

  Unfortunately for Junior, his body would betray him again. Slowed by Achilles’ tendon and calf injuries throughout the year, he was placed on injured reserve in November, ending his season and raising questions about whether he would ever play again. He was under contract for another season, with a salary and bonuses that totaled $2.1 million, but Miami wasn’t going to honor the deal. Saban already was trying to infuse the roster with more youth, and Junior was now three years removed from the last time he played all 16 games in a season. The curtain was falling.

  14

  The Graduation

  FOR THE FIRST time in his professional life, Junior was on the street. Even at 37 years old, he still felt he could play at a high level, but he needed for someone to need him rather than want him. It was a subtle yet significant difference.

  He waited for the right phone call, but when March morphed into April . . . and April turned into May . . . and May lapsed into June and still he’d received no credible call, Junior sensed he was staring at the finish line. For the first time he began to seriously consider life without the Sunday spotlight. Taylor, his former teammate in San Diego, recognized this and reached out to him, just as he had done three years earlier before Junior was traded to Miami.

  The two met at an Italian restaurant in Oceanside. Taylor quickly realized that while things were changing in Junior’s professional life, the former All-Pro was still going as hard as ever in his personal life with the drinking and partying.

  “I brought him a book from a 12-step alcohol rehab program and just wrote something to him inside of it,” Taylor said. “I didn’t think he was ready, even though he indicated he was, but I could sense he was curious. He just wasn’t ready to really jump in, so I gave him that book and that was about it.”

  Typical of their relationship, Junior went off the grid after that get-together. They’d text each other and agree to have dinner or lunch, but Junior wouldn’t respond when Taylor tried to finalize a place or time.

  Another person reaching out to Junior was Jim Steeg, though for different reasons. Steeg was the executive vice president and chief operating officer of the Chargers, and he wanted Junior to end his career as a ceremonial Charger. So shortly after Junior was cut by the Dolphins, Steeg phoned Bette Hoffman, the director of Junior’s foundation, and expressed interest in having a retirement ceremony at Chargers Park, during which Junior would sign a one-day contract.

  Steeg, who had joined the franchise in 2004, was disturbed that a number of marquee alumni had distanced themselves from the organization after leaving it. The list included tight end Kellen Winslow, who resented being portrayed as a malingerer at the end of his career while trying to overcome an injury; defensive end Fred Dean, who was traded to San Francisco because the team didn’t want to pay him like the dominant player that he was; wide receiver John Jefferson, the most popular player on the roster, who was dealt to Green Bay after he held out for more money; safety Rodney Harrison, who was released and characterized as old and unable to run after playing most of his final season in San Diego with a 30 percent tear of the groin; and all-star quarterback Jack Kemp, who was claimed by Buffalo for a paltry $100 because the Chargers didn’t know the waiver rules. Offensive tackle Ron Mix left on good terms, but former owner Gene Klein unretired Mix’s jersey number when Mix returned to the league and signed with the Raiders, a hated division rival.

  Steeg believed that honoring Junior might serve as balm for whatever wounds were still open. When he got the call from Hoffman that Junior was likely to retire, Steeg began formulating a plan to bring home the native son. He even contacted some of the franchise’s past greats and asked them to attend the news conference. The Chargers also brought in kids from the Oceanside Boys & Girls Club, which was close to Junior’s heart because he had spent countless hours there as a youngster and felt a kinship with the kids.

  “All Junior wanted to do was help the poor kids in Oceanside,” said Mary, his sister.

  Ronnie Lott saw this in Junior as well. Lott was an All-America safety at USC who went on to become a Hall of Fame player. He and Junior grew close over the years because of their USC allegiance and the fact that they played the game the same way: all out. Over the years he was struck by Junior’s intensity on the field and compassion off
of it.

  “We all break down when we see something that’s not right in life, and growing up the way he grew up—there were a lot of things that he knew weren’t right for his people and for his community and the kids in it,” said Lott. “We would talk about it, and he was emotional that kids didn’t get certain things. He was always in pursuit of helping somebody have something that he didn’t have at that age. That brought a lot of joy to him, and at the same time probably brought some pain—the pain of just acknowledging the things that he went through growing up. It was tough.”

  When Junior arrived at the team’s Murphy Canyon training facility for the ceremony, the weather was hot and windy. He stopped and spoke to the kids from his hometown, and then he delivered a passionate speech to the Chargers players after they concluded practice. He worked himself into such a lather that the club had to give him a pair of shorts and a T-shirt so that his suit and dress shirt could be put in a dryer before the ceremony began.

  Junior hung out in team president Dean Spanos’s office in the meantime. It was their first serious discussion since he had been traded, and it felt good to close the door on some of the painful past. The two then headed downstairs, where the press conference was to be held outdoors beneath a large white tent, with 400 guests looking on. There were blue-and-gold tablecloths, matching balloons, and hugs and smiles everywhere.

  When Junior took the mic, it was as if church was now in session. He didn’t give a speech as much as he gave a sermon. “Live for today, work for tomorrow, pray for the rest,” he told everyone. He tried to wipe away the sweat on his face with a thick white towel, but it didn’t do any good. Within no time he had sweated through his dress shirt and suit jacket again.

  The media peppered him with questions about retirement, but he refused to use the word, saying instead that he was “graduating” to the next phase of his life. He even declined to identify what that phase would be, though he claimed to be ready for it.

  But later that night, at a small private party at his restaurant, he revealed to a handful of close friends that a comeback might be in the works. He was seated at a patio table outside his restaurant. Music flowed through the speaker system, and the moon provided much of the light.

  “The Patriots called,” he said.

  “It had been in the works for 24 hours maybe,” said Marvin Demoff, his agent. “Junior waited and waited because he wanted to play, but the phone wasn’t ringing, and I had too much respect for him to call 31 other teams and say, ‘Do you want Junior Seau?’ I said, ‘Let’s wait and see if there’s something out there.’ Then there was a call. Scott Pioli called me.”

  Pioli was a senior executive with the Patriots and the right hand to head coach Bill Belichick.

  “There was a linebacker that the Patriots thought they were going to get from the Dallas Cowboys that never transpired,” Demoff said. “So they called me about Junior. The Patriots—like any team when they want someone—were pretty good sellers. We talked about Junior coming there, and Junior talked to Belichick the day before the press conference. Junior went through with it because there was no guarantee a deal would get done.”

  For a while it appeared like the talks would collapse. Pioli was offering less than what Junior was seeking. And though the difference was “significantly” less than $100,000, Junior was firm on the number he wanted. That was when Belichick stepped in, agreed to the figure, and closed the deal.

  “I always got a kick out of Belichick wanting to be the kingmaker,” Demoff said. “Junior felt great because Bill really wanted him.”

  “There were teams that wanted me, maybe at leadership for the locker room, or a plug-in linebacker, sparingly, but there wasn’t a team that needed me,” Junior said. “A call came, and it was Bill Belichick, and the words he used on the phone were the reason why I’m here. He said to me, ‘I have a position for you. This year.’ Those were his words. That’s a team, a coach, that’s a locker room that needed my service, and I was willing to do it.”

  The Patriots had won three of the previous five Super Bowls and were poised to make another run with some tweaking and good health. But first they needed to upgrade at wide receiver, where former Super Bowl MVP Deion Branch was holding out in a contract dispute. They also needed to add depth at inside linebacker, where injuries and ineffective play had become a concern. Starter Tedy Bruschi was sidelined with a wrist injury, and no one had stepped in to fill the void. In fact, the Pats contacted Demoff the week after being gashed for an average of nearly six yards a carry and 196 yards rushing overall in a preseason-opening loss to the Atlanta Falcons.

  Belichick knew a healthy Junior could help. At six feet, three inches, and 250 pounds, the savvy veteran possessed the size, temperament, and instincts to slow opposing ball-carriers. Plus, Belichick had always admired Junior’s game from afar. In 1994, while coaching the Browns, he told reporters that Junior was “the best defensive player we’ve faced—I’d say by a pretty good margin.”

  Four days after his “graduation” ceremony, Junior signed a contract with the Patriots. As much as he tried to convince himself he was prepared for retirement, he wasn’t. There was nothing that could fill the competitive void—or pay as handsomely.

  The Patriots had provided him with an unexpected gift when they called, because now he would have a chance to fill the gaping hole on his résumé: no championships. The Patriots were so good that they didn’t hope to win; they expected to win. There was an athletic arrogance about them that Junior admired and respected. It had now been 11 years since he last appeared in a playoff.

  “We recognized that he fit in right away,” said Bruschi, who was sidelined when Junior arrived yet played in all but one game during the season. “I feel like he had never experienced a program like ours before—or a group or a team like ours before. He would always talk about the amazing humility on the team. You couldn’t have a locker room that was more accomplished; most of us had won three Super Bowls. But we felt like none of our roles was more important than the guy next to us. Junior recognized that right away.”

  Dean Pees was in his first year as New England’s defensive coordinator when Junior arrived. The two instantly connected beyond football because Junior was older than many of the other players and therefore could discuss certain life experiences with Pees, who had 20 years on his new pupil. Junior also was just learning to play the ukulele, and Pees was a guitar man, so they shared a common interest in music.

  Junior was not physically dominant at this point in his career, but he made up for the lost step with a high football IQ. That knowledge was a double-edged sword, though, because while it allowed him to be productive, it also led him sometimes to be out of position because he’d attempt to make plays outside of the defense.

  On one particular third-and-long situation, Pees called for a three-deep zone with a four-man rush. Junior, the middle linebacker, was supposed to drop 10 to 12 yards and cover the hook zone. Instead, he rushed the passer and got the sack.

  When the play ended, Belichick turned to Pees and asked what play he had called. Pees made up a name to protect Junior. He called it “Mike Robber,” or something to that effect. Junior was laughing as he came off the field.

  “You’re killing me. You’re killing me,” Pees said, laughing himself.

  Over time the two came to an understanding: Pees stopped making calls that required Junior to drop into coverage, instead allowing him to improvise along the line as the fifth rusher in passing situations. In return, Junior agreed to be more disciplined in other situations.

  “It was kind of like, ‘You give me this, and I’ll give you that,’” said Pees. “I used to call him ‘gangster,’ because he was known to change the defense from the call I made during the game. But we kind of negotiated a deal where, ‘I’ll give you enough freelance plays if you give me enough discipline plays and be where I need you to be.’ It worked out great.

  “If it’s a rookie who improvises, that’s a different deal. You
haven’t earned the right. But with Junior, there was always some logic to what he was doing. He knew something from watching film, or he saw something that was a giveaway. It was never one of those things where, ‘I’m just going to do what I want to do.’ He was doing it because he felt like he knew what he was doing and it was going to help the play. Once in a while it didn’t, but you’ve got to live with those. I loved the guy.”

  Junior did not perform like someone ready for retirement. He started 10 of 11 games and led the team in tackles in three of them. In another game, he finished second in tackles. Equally important was that the Patriots held all but two of their opponents to less than 100 yards rushing in games he started and finished. He and Bruschi complemented each other well because they were experienced—Junior was in his 17th season, Bruschi in his 11th—and both had intelligence to go with their instincts. That allowed them to adjust to each other on the fly.

  “There were a lot of times I knew Junior would take chances,” Bruschi said. “He would tell me he felt something or saw something, and I would give him the freedom to keep playing the way he was playing because I knew the defense well enough to where I could make a call to adjust a defensive lineman to what Junior wanted to do, or I could adjust my alignment or responsibility based on what he was going to do. For instance, if I’m a linebacker in a 3-4 defense on the right side, and I know Junior is going to attack the A gap because he feels it’s a backfield set that he should attack, and I see him cross my face to the A gap, I know that if the play goes to the left he’s now backside and I need to go over a couple of gaps because he has that A gap covered. He would say, ‘Broo Broo, cover me,’ and I knew what he meant. I’d play off of him, and I had no problem doing it because I really respected him as one of the great linebackers of my generation.”

  Then it happened. Again.

  With just under nine minutes to play in the second quarter of a November 26 game against visiting Chicago, Junior dove low and attempted to wrap the legs of running back Cedric Benson from behind. When he landed awkwardly on his right arm, the radius and ulna bones in his forearm snapped, ending his season. It was a major disappointment for Junior and a considerable loss for the Patriots’ run defense, which surrendered a season-high 153 yards that day and allowed 100 yards or more in four of its final five games. In fact, the Patriots’ last three opponents averaged 4.8, 6.5, and 5.4 yards per rush; the league average was 4.1 that year.