Difference maker
INDIANAPOLIS - Engulfed by grief thicker than any fog, Colts coach Tony Dungy did not lose sight of his purpose. Within hours of learning of the suicide of his 18-year-old son, James, in December 2005, Dungy and his wife, Lauren, consented to have their son's eyes harvested for donation in Tampa.
The cornea-transplant recipients - a man in his 50s whose body had rejected a previous transplant and a man in his 30s who had a thinning cornea - are unaware of their donor's identity, and their names remain unknown to the Dungys.
Anonymity is the hallmark of the Lions Eye Institute for Transplant and Research in Tampa, a nonprofit organization that coordinated the transplants. Jason Woody, the institute's executive director and chief executive, said both recipients live in the Tampa area, which is roughly a four-hour drive from Dolphin Stadium near Miami, where Dungy and the Indianapolis Colts will meet the Chicago Bears on Feb. 4 in Super Bowl XLI.
"I'm looking at the recipients' reports right now, and they both are doing fine," Woody said in a telephone interview. He added: "If they end up watching the game, guess what. They're watching the individual who made the difference in their lives."
That is what Dungy does. Quietly, courteously, he makes a difference. In 1996, after securing his first NFL head-coaching job, with Tampa Bay, Dungy gave Lovie Smith his first job in the NFL, as an assistant in charge of the Buccaneers' linebackers.
A decade later, Dungy, 51, and the Bears' Smith, 48, are the first black head coaches in the Super Bowl. Three other assistants from Dungy's Tampa Bay staff are head coaches: Mike Tomlin in Pittsburgh, Rod Marinelli in Green Bay and Herman Edwards in Kansas City.
With little fanfare, Dungy has joined the pantheon of top coaches. The spotlight that he never sought is now his shadow. He may not invite the attention, but it is hard to imagine Dungy not being able to handle it considering what he has been through.
His grace in the face of his son's death earned him legions of admirers. He still receives bags of mail at the Colts' training facility from strangers who relate to his loss. The correspondence means a lot to Dungy.
And yet nobody wants to be defined by a loss, especially one as personal as the death of a child. Dungy's discomfort this week in addressing off-the-field questions was evident with his carefully worded answers and body language.
"I think God gives you tests to see if you're going to stay true to what you believe and stay faithful," Dungy said, "and for me that's what it was. I think it was really a test."
He was asked when he knew he would be all right after James' death.
"I still don't know that I'm going to be OK," Dungy replied. "At some point, it was just time to move forward."
A man who puts his faith ahead of football, Dungy is as sincere and unpretentious as a handwritten thank-you note. In the national sports conversation, he stands out like a pause.
"He's very prayerful and meditative in the way he carries himself," the Colts' owner, Jim Irsay, said, adding: "He doesn't get overwhelmed with micromanaging. He doesn't get overwhelmed with things he can't control."
Dungy learned early that he could control only so much. He chose the University of Minnesota because it was one of the few universities that would allow for the possibility of a black quarterback.
After going undrafted, Dungy signed with the Pittsburgh Steelers and was converted into a defensive player. He won a ring as a backup safety with the Steelers in Super Bowl XIII. Once he turned his energies to coaching, he toiled as an assistant in the NFL for 15 seasons before getting his big break.
He guided the Buccaneers to four postseason appearances in six seasons, but was fired in January 2002 after they lost to the Philadelphia Eagles in the playoffs for the second consecutive season. The Colts were in the market for a head coach to replace the elder Jim Mora in the wake of a 6-10 season.
Irsay liked Dungy's defensive background and looked at his low-key personality as a huge plus. He saw Dungy as the perfect counterbalance to quarterback Peyton Manning, who can be excitable to the point of implosion.
"It's about matching energies when you choose a head coach," Irsay said. He added, "I felt Tony's energy would have a calming effect on Peyton, and, no question, I think it has."
The first time Irsay and Dungy spoke, their conversation lasted two hours. Dungy recalled that Irsay had said, "I don't care what it costs; you're going to be the coach of this team." To which Dungy replied, "It's not going to be about money."
Within days the Colts and Dungy agreed to a five-year, $13 million deal.
The Colts finished 10-6 in 2002 and lost in the first round of the playoffs against the Jets. Meanwhile, the Tampa Bay team that had been groomed by Dungy won the Super Bowl under Jon Gruden.
Ronde Barber, a defensive back with the Buccaneers since 1997, said in a telephone interview: "Some people will say Tony didn't have that 'it' thing to get us over the top. I don't think any of us bought into that."
Barber added: "I believe it's not because he left that we won the championship the next year. It just happened that that's when we hit our stride."
Dungy needed five seasons to mold the Colts into American Football Conference champions. To be sure, visions of the Super Bowl danced through their heads in 2005 when they started 13-0. But four days after their first defeat, at home against San Diego, James Dungy was found dead in his apartment in Tampa.
The Colts traveled to Seattle without Dungy, their spiritual leader, and lost, 28-13. Three days later, the players listened to Dungy during a church service in Tampa. That day he addressed, not for the first or last time, the importance of expressing love for your children without reservation or delay.
"When you give the eulogy at your son's funeral," Colts defensive end Dwight Freeney said, "and you stand up there and still try to teach people life lessons when your heart is breaking, that's the sign of an amazing man."
A year later, Dungy addressed an audience under dramatically different circumstances. On Sunday at the RCA Dome, after the Colts' 38-34 come-from-behind victory against the New England Patriots, Dungy hugged his wife and thanked his players, the organization and the fans as if his fingerprints weren't all over the championship trophy in his hands.
"Just to see him out there, with all the things that man has gone through in the last year, it was really special," said Rocky Boiman, a fifth-year linebacker who is in his first season with the Colts. He added, "That was one of the best things I got out of it, being able to contribute to a win for a guy like that."
Dungy is a civilized man in a coarse profession. He doesn't berate his players or stalk the sideline. He doesn't spew profanity or chew tobacco. In his own understated way, Dungy uses football to show his players how to manage the game of life.
"He has stuck to his cause and taught his ethics the way he feels and it's gotten him to the Super Bowl," Colts tight end Dallas Clark said. "It's great. He hasn't had to change. He's done it his way."
It would be just like Dungy to leave Dolphin Stadium after the Super Bowl and keep on walking. There was speculation that he would retire at the end of last season to spend more time with Lauren and their four surviving children. He was noncommittal this week when asked if he was considering calling it quits.
"It's something I haven't thought a whole lot about," Dungy said. He added, "We'll see what happens."
Dungy has the most victories of any NFL coach since 1999, with a record of 90-38, but the bottom line is not what defines him.
His life has been about opening people's eyes so they may see talent and not skin color; spirituality and not celebrity; integrity and not self-interest. He has helped a lot of people see more clearly.