Quiet Strength by Tony Dungy, Nathan Whitaker

wanted me to go.
     
    I had really enjoyed my time in Pittsburgh. More than being the best team in the NFL, the Steelers were a great organization in which to grow up as a player and a person and, as it turned out, to grow in my faith.
    Art Rooney, the Steelers’ owner, was unlike any other owner I would ever meet again. If people were visiting the club and he was around, they would have no idea that he owned the team. He didn’t put on airs or expect recognition. He walked to work every day from his home near downtown Pittsburgh, and even when the neighborhood changed for the worse, he refused to move out.
    I only played for the Steelers for two years and was never more than a backup when I was there. But when I was traded, Mr. Rooney wrote a letter to my parents, telling them how much he had enjoyed my playing for him and his getting to meet them when they came to games. He wrote that I had been a big part of their Super Bowl win and asked them to continue to come back to Steelers games any time they were in the area.
    Mr. Rooney saw everyone who came through his organization as one of his kids. Everything about the Steelers was first-class and all about integrity. In that respect, Mr. Rooney set the tone for the entire organization. He cultivated an environment of caring and closeness, and Chuck Noll reinforced that with his coaching.
    With those benefits, however, came responsibility. When new guys arrived, Mr. Rooney always brought them in and explained that they were now Steelers and that they were going to win and have a great time. But then he would continue. “We have a great group of guys here. But you have to understand that this is Pittsburgh. It’s a tight-knit community, and you are now Pittsburgh Steelers. Wherever you go, you’re going to represent us as a team and as a community, so govern yourselves accordingly.”
    He was the most supportive man I could imagine. When we won, he would come into the locker room and shake everyone’s hand until he had moved all the way through the ranks. When we lost, he’d come into the locker room and sit down and talk with us for a while. He was even known to give cigars to Joe Greene and other guys who smoked them and to shoot the breeze with Terry Bradshaw about horses.
    It had been a privilege to play for Mr. Rooney, and I knew I would miss my time in Pittsburgh.
    I played the 1979 season in San Francisco. In the meantime, the Steelers represented Pittsburgh just fine on the field, doing the ordinary things better than anyone else and winning their fourth Super Bowl in six years.
     
    In San Francisco, we went 2–14. We opened the year with a seven-game losing streak, beat Atlanta, and then ended our second long streak of the year—six consecutive losses—by drilling the Buccaneers 23–7.
    While San Francisco was a different environment from Pittsburgh, it was no less valuable for my career development. It was Bill Walsh’s first year as head coach, and he was beginning to lay the foundation for the Super Bowl teams he would eventually field there. Joe Montana was in his rookie season at quarterback, and other pieces were being added in order to build the team. Years later, I would often draw on Coach Walsh’s teachings as I tried to build the Buccaneers.
    Even a 2–14 team wouldn’t have me, though, and I was traded before the 1980 season to the New York Giants. I was traded along with Mike Hogan in exchange for Ray Rhodes and Jimmy Robinson, a trade that would soon launch several coaching careers. Within a couple of seasons, Ray and Jimmy were out of the league as players and into coaching.
    As for me, I lasted for most of training camp with the Giants before being released. Three teams in two years. The end of the line for me as an NFL player had obviously arrived. Now I had to figure out what I wanted to do next.
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    Giants head coach Ray Perkins spoke to me as I was leaving training camp in New York.
    “Tony, you’re very smart, and you have a good