I remember reading a story. It was, if I'm not mistaken, in Reader's Digest. It was about a vacation you took to Maine right after the perfect season of 1972.
You went to a movie theater, and the few people who were in the theater looked at you and your wife and applauded when you came in. You told someone that you didn't want any special recognition. As the story went, one of the people in the theater said something to the effect of, "I don't know who the heck you are, buddy. They wouldn't start the movie until ten people were in the theater. You two make ten." I think I was eight or nine when I read that. It's a great indicator of something very specific that I want you to know:
You have positively affected the lives of, quite literally, millions of people who you have never met by the way you have lived your life and coached a team. It must have been overwhelming in 1972, and that gaffe in the Maine theater was a wonderful illustration of the need for humility and a reminder that we are all, in the end...just human. That being said, there are stories. Everyone one this board over thirty probably has one. You inspired multiple generations of Miami Dolphins fans. You showed them toughness, grit, intelligence, and integrity. And you showed them a coaching acumen second to none.
You showed my Dad. He followed the Dolphins from their inception. He and his brother followed every move you made from the time you got hired as Miami's head coach; you were hired within weeks of my birth. He followed you through cancer, watching every game. The last recording I have of him is his preview of the Chiefs/Dolphins playoff game in 1971. He watched Super Bowl VI from his hospital bed, rooting every minute. He lived much longer than he should have, and was a huge fan of your team. He never got to see you lift the Lombardi trophy.
The Dolphins didn't lose for almost a year and a half after he passed.
My Uncle and my Mom taught me about you. You were an inspiration. My Mom, my sister and I moved away to New Jersey. I kept every bit of Dolphins stuff I had. I did a 7th grade report on the Dolphins, smack in the middle of Eagles country. I told every single person there about the perfect season, and I wrote on the chalkboard what Bum Phillips said about you: ""He can take his'n and beat your'n and take your'n and beat his'n."
High School. A friend told me that "If the Dolphins won Super Bowl XIX that Don Shula should come to New Jersey and carry you out on his shoulders." I was that much of a pain in the ass.
College. Working in Manhattan. Watching you at the end of your career. As always, handled with dignity and grace.
I proposed to my wife at Baltimore's Inner Harbor. We ate afterward at Shula's at the Sheraton. I showed her the pictures, trying to express what the team and you meant to the city.
That restaurant is gone now, and I am growing old. I'm older than you were when you won your last Super Bowl. I have a son. He's taking an obliging interest in the Dolphins, and when I show him memorabilia, he asks me "Who's that?"
I tell him, "That's Don Shula. And he was a great coach." What really freaks me out is that I tried to sway him to the Dolphins, but he's a little stubborn. He takes after someone. And every week this year, he kept asking me something. "Hey, Dad. Did the Panthers win again?" And I'd tell him, "Yes, they did." And he'd get excited. What was great is that I knew...somewhere...you did too. There's always a special place in our hearts for our sons.
I'm glad you get to share this postseason with your son. And I'm glad I'll get to watch it with mine. And I'm glad to have been a Dolphins fan...because of you. So thank you, Don Shula. From the bottom of my heart. There are countless people with countless stories, who you have affected without even meeting them.
You, sir, are a winner on and off the field. And you always have been.
You went to a movie theater, and the few people who were in the theater looked at you and your wife and applauded when you came in. You told someone that you didn't want any special recognition. As the story went, one of the people in the theater said something to the effect of, "I don't know who the heck you are, buddy. They wouldn't start the movie until ten people were in the theater. You two make ten." I think I was eight or nine when I read that. It's a great indicator of something very specific that I want you to know:
You have positively affected the lives of, quite literally, millions of people who you have never met by the way you have lived your life and coached a team. It must have been overwhelming in 1972, and that gaffe in the Maine theater was a wonderful illustration of the need for humility and a reminder that we are all, in the end...just human. That being said, there are stories. Everyone one this board over thirty probably has one. You inspired multiple generations of Miami Dolphins fans. You showed them toughness, grit, intelligence, and integrity. And you showed them a coaching acumen second to none.
You showed my Dad. He followed the Dolphins from their inception. He and his brother followed every move you made from the time you got hired as Miami's head coach; you were hired within weeks of my birth. He followed you through cancer, watching every game. The last recording I have of him is his preview of the Chiefs/Dolphins playoff game in 1971. He watched Super Bowl VI from his hospital bed, rooting every minute. He lived much longer than he should have, and was a huge fan of your team. He never got to see you lift the Lombardi trophy.
The Dolphins didn't lose for almost a year and a half after he passed.
My Uncle and my Mom taught me about you. You were an inspiration. My Mom, my sister and I moved away to New Jersey. I kept every bit of Dolphins stuff I had. I did a 7th grade report on the Dolphins, smack in the middle of Eagles country. I told every single person there about the perfect season, and I wrote on the chalkboard what Bum Phillips said about you: ""He can take his'n and beat your'n and take your'n and beat his'n."
High School. A friend told me that "If the Dolphins won Super Bowl XIX that Don Shula should come to New Jersey and carry you out on his shoulders." I was that much of a pain in the ass.
College. Working in Manhattan. Watching you at the end of your career. As always, handled with dignity and grace.
I proposed to my wife at Baltimore's Inner Harbor. We ate afterward at Shula's at the Sheraton. I showed her the pictures, trying to express what the team and you meant to the city.
That restaurant is gone now, and I am growing old. I'm older than you were when you won your last Super Bowl. I have a son. He's taking an obliging interest in the Dolphins, and when I show him memorabilia, he asks me "Who's that?"
I tell him, "That's Don Shula. And he was a great coach." What really freaks me out is that I tried to sway him to the Dolphins, but he's a little stubborn. He takes after someone. And every week this year, he kept asking me something. "Hey, Dad. Did the Panthers win again?" And I'd tell him, "Yes, they did." And he'd get excited. What was great is that I knew...somewhere...you did too. There's always a special place in our hearts for our sons.
I'm glad you get to share this postseason with your son. And I'm glad I'll get to watch it with mine. And I'm glad to have been a Dolphins fan...because of you. So thank you, Don Shula. From the bottom of my heart. There are countless people with countless stories, who you have affected without even meeting them.
You, sir, are a winner on and off the field. And you always have been.
