"I love you, man."
But perhaps the root of it all was the emotional meeting between two dear friends, Sam Wyche and Bill Walsh, moments after Walsh's 49ers had overcome Wyche's Bengals in the final seconds of Super Bowl XXIII at Miami. Wyche and his team had done everything in their power to win that game, neutralizing Joe Montana and Walsh's offense for three-plus quarters, abandoning their hurry-up offense in favor of a clock-devouring grind-it-out approach that came within one first down of the championship. And then Sam Wyche had to watch as it all was taken away by players coached by his close friend, his mentor, the man whom he knew, more than anyone, held the keys to the kingdom of fleeting success on a football field.
Walsh was near collapse as he embraced the younger man at midfield. He'd coached him when Wyche was a quarterback with the Bengals. He'd hired him as his quarterbacks coach almost the moment he took over with the 49ers. He'd groomed him for success and then seen him achieve that success with his old team, Walsh's old team, too. Now he leaned on his friend for support, emotionally exhausted; "I love you," he blurted out. "I love you, too," Sam Wyche whispered, his arms around his coach. That's the kind of man Sam Wyche was, not just gracious, but noble in defeat.
What kind of man was Sam Wyche, who passed away yesterday at 74? Consider: a man of accomplishments, a man who coached in and almost won a Super Bowl, a man whose face and voice were known to millions on television as he broadcast NFL games, this same man volunteered as a substitute teacher and assistant-- yes, assistant-- football coach at his local high school in Pickens, S.C., in the 2000s. Sam Wyche, who nearly broke down when he broke the news to his team that one of their players, fullback Stanley Wilson, had to be suspended (and ultimately was banned from the NFL) for repeated cocaine abuse-- the night before Super Bowl XXIII. Sam Wyche, who on sleepless nights, his mind filled with X's and O's and tendencies, drove through downtown Cincinnati, stopping his car to talk football with the homeless. Sam Wyche, who donated his speaking engagement fees to those same homeless. Sam Wyche, a good old Georgia boy who loved his adopted hometown of Cincinnati and its people so much he passionately edified them, even as he chastised them, in a memorable public rant that will live forever on YouTube.
Bringing it home: Sam Wyche is indelibly associated with Bill Walsh and the rise of the 49ers. As a rookie quarterback he played for QB coach Walsh on Paul Brown's Cincinnati team for three years, as Walsh developed the offensive theories that would make him a legend. After his career had ended, Walsh tapped him to be the 49ers' quarterbacks coach in 1979; thus Sam Wyche was Joe Montana's first NFL position coach. He was relaying plays to Joe from the sideline in that glorious year of 1981, and he was one of Walsh's two top men in Super Bowl XVI as their offense and Chuck Studley's tough defense beat their former team, the Bengals.
He was well-equipped when he took the Cincinnati job three years later, and he built a winner in five. He was an innovator; his use of the "two-minute offense" throughout the game evoked cries of "Cheater!" from a few NFL rivals, comical as that may seem to fans today. Ironically, one of those, Marv Levy of Buffalo, was so offended by the strategy that he stole it for his own use, dubbed it the "K-Gun," and went to four straight Super Bowls with it. And Wyche's tactic of crowding the huddle with extra men to confuse the defense until just before the snap was so effective, the NFL outlawed the practice. He was never afraid to look foolish in pursuit of his ideas, and he was always ready to give others the credit. We can look to a class act like Boomer Esiason, his quarterback in Cincinnati, for just one example of Sam Wyche's influence on a young man.
The world needs more like Sam Wyche, especially now that we've lost the original. Prayers to his family and all those mourning with us this morning.
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