Inside the NFL’s First Family Read online

  “The Matthewses are the First Family of Football and Bruce is their patriarch, one of just over three hundred to have a bronzed bust in Canton, Ohio, as the greatest of all time. All of us can learn from his faithful journey of commitment, character, courage, and compassion—what it takes to have a Hall of Fame family and Hall of Fame life.”

  —David Baker, president, Pro Football Hall of Fame

  “I had the honor of being a teammate with Bruce for ten years. He was the most talented and versatile offensive lineman I played with during my twenty-three-year career. The Matthews family to me is the ‘First Family’ of NFL football! It is truly amazing the talent in this one family tree. This story needs to be told, and I’m happy the sports world will get to learn more about this truly amazing family lineage. I slept better the night before games knowing that Bruce was lining up next to me!”

  —Warren Moon, NFL quarterback, inductee in the Pro Football Hall of Fame

  “In my twenty-three years of coaching in the NFL, Bruce Matthews was one of the most competitive yet humble teammates I ever had the privilege to coach. He was a warrior in the trenches on the gridiron and has always been a warrior for Christ. Join him in his family journey as he takes you inside the locker room and the life of a Hall of Fame player. Button your chin straps! . . . You’re going to love this!”

  —Les Steckel, veteran NFL coach, former president/CEO Fellowship of Christian Athletes

  “This is an honest and revealing story about the life of one of the greatest to ever play in the NFL. It is a fascinating ‘behind the scenes’ look at the NFL, as well as a personal story of overcoming life’s challenging obstacles. Whether you are a sports fan or not, you will be inspired by Bruce’s journey as a father, a husband, and a Christian. I am honored to have been a close friend of the Matthews family for over thirty years and continue to be inspired by the love and support that they have for each other and the faith that guides them all.”

  —Mike Munchak, Hall of Fame former professional American football player, offensive line coach for the Pittsburgh Steelers

  “While reading this book I could feel Bruce’s spirit and energy, which is raw and inspirational. Bruce embodies all of the qualities of what and who a man is. His strong core values and beliefs jump off of each page. Those same qualities permeated in our locker room where Bruce was a wise, loving, faith-filled, persistent, and tenacious ‘granddaddy’ role model. I knew without a doubt that for the seven of my eight years as an Oiler/Titan, I could always count on Bruce Matthews to be there, no matter what, even when injured. And I’m extremely grateful.”

  —Eddie George, NFL running back, Heisman trophy winner, inductee in the College Football Hall of Fame

  “Bruce Matthews is a winner as an NFL player, a husband, a father, and a man of God. His new book, which tells the amazing story of the Matthews family, is a winner too. If you’re looking for inspiration to be better in every aspect of your life, you need to read Inside the NFL’s First Family.”

  —Tim Brown, NFL Hall of Fame wide receiver and author of The Making of a Man

  “Inside the NFL’s First Family provides extraordinary insight into Bruce Matthews’s journey from childhood to the Pro Football Hall of Fame. The Matthews family has embodied greatness on the field for three generations. First Family shows what an important role their faith in God has played in helping them become leaders and role models who set a standard that transcends the sport that has made them so successful.”

  —John McClain, NFL writer for the Houston Chronicle and member of the Pro Football Hall of Fame committee

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  To my mom, Daisy Crowson Matthews, for being the heart and soul of my family and for offering amazing love and encouragement every day of her life

  FOREWORD

  THE AVERAGE PROFESSIONAL FOOTBALL CAREER is a brief one—just shy of seven years, according to the NFL, and half that according to the NFL Players Association. I was fortunate enough to play thirteen seasons in the NFL, and I played every game in the season six times in those thirteen years.

  Bruce Matthews played nineteen seasons as an offensive lineman in the NFL—nearly three times longer than the average player’s career. Only once in those nineteen seasons did he not play every game. For the final fourteen seasons of his glorious tenure, Bruce not only played every game, but started every game he played. In all, from 1983 through 2001, Bruce played 296 NFL games and started 292 of them; by the time he retired, no position player had ever played more.

  This is an incredible accomplishment, made even more so by the fact that Bruce played every position along the line during his nearly two decades of NFL excellence, and was never less than exceptional at any position and in any game. If there was any question regarding his sustained greatness, the following will quickly silence that debate. He was a nine-time first-team All-Pro, and went to fourteen straight Pro Bowls—nine at guard and five at center. Only one other man has ever made fourteen straight Pro Bowls, and that’s Merlin Olsen, the Hall of Fame defensive tackle who spent his entire career with the Los Angeles Rams.

  Two hundred ninety-six NFL games; figure an average of sixty plays per game, and that’s on the low end. So that’s 17,760 NFL plays over the course of a career, and that’s just the games. Unlike today, players practiced in full pads, with hitting several times a week during the season. Pick a number of plays per practice and multiply that over Bruce’s nineteen-year career.

  Those are the numbers, and that’s a lot of football, all of it performed at an exceptionally high level. But that shouldn’t be surprising, considering the family heritage Bruce brought to the field: His father, Clay, played four NFL seasons during the 1950s, and Bruce was preceded into the NFL by his older brother, Clay Jr.

  Desire and the demand for achievement are the chords that sound throughout Bruce’s career, but over and above that is the call of family. I had the great honor of sharing the field with Bruce six times during my career. I was flattered when Bruce asked me to write this foreword.

  That he would ask me to write for him was quite an honor to bestow on an old opponent. But then I considered that, despite our roles as opponents, we also shared a very particular bond beyond competition.

  Football runs in the Matthews’ family, just as it now does in mine. I’ve already mentioned Bruce’s father and older brother, and I can well imagine the enormous pride Bruce felt as he followed in their footsteps, determined to live up to their standards. Reading about how Bruce and Clay felt the two dozen times they faced one another, I’m glad I never had that issue. I’d like to think I was one of Bruce’s most challenging opponents, but I know—as has been the case in our family on the infrequent Sundays my two sons line up against each other—that Bruce’s toughest opponent was his older brother Clay.

  Bruce and I have been blessed to see our sons play at the game’s highest level. He’s seen sons Kevin and Jake play in the NFL, as I’ve seen my two oldest, Chris and Kyle, join me as an NFL pro. And after all, what does a man want but to carve a path for his family and leave a legacy for his children? Certainly Bruce and all the Matthews have done that. Football to me is about family, and throughout the NFL’s history there have been many legacy players: brothers, sons, nephews. With all due respect to those other families, through multiple generations over multiple decades, the Matthews could well b
e the first family of football.

  When my middle son Kyle was headed to the draft, there were two players I referred to him over and over as players to emulate, both of them Hall of Famers: former Oilers player Mike Munchak and, of course, Bruce. They were the absolute best. I saw a lot of those two great players in Kyle from a physical standpoint, but to Kyle these were just two faceless names until one of his pre-draft trips took him to Tennessee where Mike was the head coach and Bruce was the offensive line coach. I was excited for Kyle to meet them, and he was excited to get the opportunity to meet these two men who I cited over and over for their greatness.

  You could make the case that, because of his adaptability, Bruce is the most versatile, dominant player who has ever played offensive line. He essentially carved out his own category of excellence. In this salary-cap era, I cannot imagine what a player with his unique skill set—the potential to be a Pro Bowler at any offensive line position—would be worth.

  But in the end, the greatest compliment one player can give another is also the simplest. Bruce played the game the way it is supposed to be played: with athleticism, with strength, and most of all, with respect. I hope you enjoy the story he lays out in the following pages. If he writes as well as he played, you’re in for a Hall of Fame treat.

  —Howie Long

  PROLOGUE

  IN 1983, ON THE DAY before Halloween, thousands of fans dressed in orange and brown filed into Cleveland Municipal Stadium for the Browns’ National Football League contest against the Houston Oilers. Cleveland fans were known to be rabid, but for most followers of the NFL this was far from the game of the week. The Browns had lost three straight and were 4–4. The Oilers were still seeking their first victory after eight tries. Injuries had sidelined Cleveland’s quarterback, former MVP Brian Sipe, and Houston’s star running back, Earl Campbell. It was the kind of game most media commentators passed over when they previewed the upcoming week.

  But for me, the story was different. I could not have been more pumped up. You see, I was the starting right guard for the Oilers.

  My excitement wasn’t because I thought I had a chance to finally earn my first professional victory. And it wasn’t because I was a star-struck rookie, though I still had moments when I couldn’t believe I’d actually arrived on football’s biggest stage.

  No, I was thrilled for only one reason—for my first time as a pro, I was about to do battle with my big brother.

  Not many families can say they’ve had more than one member play professional football, but that fall I’d become the third Matthews to enter the NFL fray. My dad, Clay Matthews, started what’s become a family tradition when he took the field as an offensive tackle for the San Francisco 49ers back in 1950. It was the first of four NFL seasons, which were interrupted by two years of military service. My older brother, Clay Jr., raised our family’s NFL profile when he joined the Browns as a first-round draft pick in 1978, quickly becoming a star linebacker and launching what would become an amazing career. By the time I arrived, I just hoped to uphold the family name.

  Actually, I intended to do a bit more than that. If there’s anything that rivals the love and pride the Matthews family feel for each other, it’s our competitive spirit. We live to compete.

  I’d looked up to and competed against Clay—or “Bruz” as I’ve called him since my older sister referred to him as her “bruzzer” as a child—for as long as I could remember. Football, basketball, baseball, Ping-Pong, video games, it didn’t matter. We were always going at it. The problem for me was that Bruz was an excellent athlete and five years older, and no way was he going to let me win. We might be playing two-on-two “knee football” on the carpet in our house with my brothers Brad and Ray. It was all good fun with easy tackles, unless the game got close. Then Bruz imposed his will physically and made sure his side won. Or it might be one of our ferocious one-on-one hoops battles in our driveway. Bruz typically gave me room to shoot early in games. But if it was game point and I had the ball, his defense clamped down. Trying to drive against Bruz was like hitting a steel post. It was all I could do to get off a half-court hook shot.

  We played a lot of basketball as I grew up, but from elementary school through junior high through high school, I never won a single game of hoops against my brother. He just refused to lose.

  On that Sunday in Cleveland, however, I figured it was time to start a new tradition. I admired my brother, but I was ready for some revenge.

  The buildup had started earlier that week. On Wednesday, I sat with the offense in a meeting room not far from our home field, Houston’s Astrodome. We were going over the game plan and figuring out how to neutralize the Browns’ playmakers. “Bruce’s brother is obviously the outstanding player on their defense,” said Kay Dalton, our offensive coordinator. “We’ve got to take care of him.” I loved hearing that. I hoped no one was watching me right then because I had a big smile on my face.

  When the projector went on and showed film of the Browns in action, I had trouble focusing. My instinct was to watch Bruz. I saw him make tackles and break up plays all over the field. Then I thought, Oh yeah, I’ve got to watch who I’m playing against. It took me a few years to learn to put aside the fan side of me.

  I was definitely struggling with my inner fan the day of the game. I’d been rooting for my brother and the Browns ever since he’d joined them. Cleveland’s stadium was massive, with seating for eighty-thousand people. Nearly seventy thousand showed up to watch our game. This was in the days before team jerseys were common attire for home fans, yet when I scanned the huge crowd I was surprised and moved by how many Clay Matthews number fifty-seven uniforms filled the arena. Also in the crowd, sitting together, were my wife, Carrie, and Bruz’s wife, Leslie. Standing on that field for the first time as a player and surveying the scene was an experience I’d never forget.

  Cleveland’s stadium sat right next to Lake Erie and could attract some nasty weather, but that afternoon it was a reasonable forty-six degrees at kickoff. On the game’s opening drive, the Browns advanced to our nineteen-yard line. Then our defense held and the Browns kicked a field goal.

  In the huddle before our first offensive play, our quarterback, Gifford Nielsen, called for a short pass. After we broke the huddle and I stepped toward the line of scrimmage, I was still struggling with my emotions. Oh man, that’s my brother over there. There’s Chip Banks and Tom Cousineau. I know all these guys. Then I shook my head and got into my three-point stance between center David Carter and tackle Harvey Salem. It was time for business.

  After a couple of first downs, our opening drive stalled. But our second drive was more successful, as Nielsen hit Mike Renfro with a nineteen-yard pass to the end zone for a touchdown.

  We still led 7–3 when we got the ball back for our third drive of the game, now early in the second quarter. One of the plays in vogue then was the counter trey, which John Riggins and the Washington Redskins had employed so successfully during the previous Super Bowl. The counter trey was a misdirection running play. Our running back would take a step to the right, as though the play were going that way. Meanwhile, the right tackle and I pulled out of our normal position and sprinted left to block opponents on the other side of the field. After his fake, our running back followed behind us.

  We had the counter trey in our game plan against the Browns. It was a big deal for me because my assignment on the play was to take out Bruz. I couldn’t wait. When we’d talked about it earlier, Kay Dalton said to me, “You can’t take it easy on your brother.”

  “Heck, no,” I said. “I’m going to light him up.”

  Just before that third drive, Dalton had pulled me aside on the sideline. “We’re going to run the counter trey at your brother.”

  All right, I thought. Here we go. After all those years of Bruz being the big brother and having his way with me, I’m getting my payback right here.

  I was so keyed up I barely remember Nielsen calling the play—“Jab thirty-seven”—in the
huddle. “Relax,” I told myself. “You’ve run this play before. Treat him like any other player. Just make sure you show him there’s a new kid in town.”

  The play began just the way it was supposed to. Our running back feinted right while Harvey Salem and I pulled left. Bruz saw what was happening from his position at right outside linebacker and moved in, just as I expected. I ran at him full bore, aiming my forehead at his temple. I braced for what I knew would be a violent collision. Our helmets would crash together like a couple of butting rams. I was going for a knockout block that would open a huge hole for the running back behind me.

  Except that isn’t what happened. Bruz sidestepped me like a hummingbird dodging a charging bull. I whiffed. Instead of me laying my brother out, Bruz stuffed our runner, Donnie Craft, after a minimal gain.

  I don’t think Bruz even knew it was me trying to block him until after the play was over. He figured it out, though, when he looked back and saw me slowly rising from the ground. I’d done a face-plant into the turf. Back in the day, the so-called grass at Cleveland Municipal Stadium was so sparse, the groundskeepers spray-painted everything green to make it look like grass. I was getting up while trying to remove green sand from my face mask.

  “Hey,” Bruz said when he saw me, a grin on his face. “Open your eyes next time.”

  That was my introduction to playing against my brother in the NFL.

  It got worse. We led 19–13 in the third quarter, but the Browns kicked a pair of field goals in the fourth quarter to tie us, the last one with forty-nine seconds left. The game went to overtime. In the extra period, Cleveland safety Mike Whitwell intercepted one of our passes and returned it to our twenty-yard line.

  Bruz must have been feeling pretty good at that point, because he ran over to me after the play and bumped me with his shoulder. It wasn’t that hard a hit, but it was enough to draw the attention of one of the officials. He reached for the yellow flag in his back pocket, apparently to call a penalty on Bruz.