The Making of a Man

Little by little does the trick.

AESOP

I was shocked and disappointed when just a month after our loss to the Patriots in January 2002, Tampa Bay announced that it had traded four draft picks and $8 million to us for Jon Gruden. I don’t think Al Davis wanted to pay Gruden what he would probably ask for when his contract expired in a year. Jon decided it was time to go and Al let him.

In hindsight, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Gruden’s comment to the team in Foxborough that the NFL would “never let you win” was a hint. I think he’d had enough of the battles with Al and was ready to leave.

Our offensive coordinator, Bill Callahan, was named head coach. I didn’t see it as an inspiring choice, but I also felt it could have been worse. Callahan was generally a good strategy guy who unfortunately had a way of rubbing players the wrong way, sometimes talking in a condescending manner. On the other hand, he gave us continuity. We didn’t have to learn new plays and a new system. We knew we already had a good team, so big changes weren’t necessary. If we just focused on doing the little things right, victories would follow.

Success in the NFL depends on many factors. Talent, speed, physical strength, and conditioning are part of it. So are intelligence, teamwork, and confidence. What so often brings all these together, though, is consistently doing the small things that lead to positive, long-term results.

For me, for example, that meant lining up in the exact same stance for every play. When I first got to the Raiders, James Lofton showed me how he always started by holding his arms up in front of him, almost like a boxer, fists closed. It meant he was ready to do battle with or push off from a defensive back the instant the ball was snapped. I decided to adopt the same technique. It’s not that common in the NFL. Most receivers probably think it doesn’t look cool. But it meant I didn’t waste an extra half second bringing my arms up after the play started—a small thing that sometimes paid off in a big way.

One good thing the coaches did that season was to give more control of the offense to Rich Gannon. By the end of the season, they were sending four plays to the huddle, two runs and two passes, and then Rich called one of the four at the line of scrimmage. It wasn’t like an audible, where the defense usually knows we’re changing the play and can switch at the last moment to a new formation. Instead, Gannon could quickly scan how the defense was set up and choose the most effective of our four options. Because of Gannon’s experience and because he was so smart and well prepared, it worked great. It was another seemingly small decision that made us more successful.

We opened 2002 with a 31–17 victory over Seattle. Then we traveled to Pittsburgh to take on the Steelers. We discovered early in the game that when we lined up in what we called Trio Left East, with me in the slot and Jerry Rice outside, the Steelers showed before the play if they were blitzing or not. We could tell because if I went wide enough, the defender wouldn’t move with me because he wanted to stay close enough to reach the quarterback. If the Steelers showed blitz, my response was automatic. When the play started, I’d drop back a step, run a little semicircle, and Gannon would fire the ball to me in almost the exact spot where I’d started. It was good for seven or eight yards every time.

I always lined up with my feet staggered, left foot in front. For most plays, I also put my weight on my left foot. That had me in the best position to quickly accelerate for a catch or block. But on those plays that countered the Pittsburgh blitz, I shifted my weight to my back foot. I couldn’t move my body or it would tip off the defender, but by subtly transferring my weight, it gave me just a little more time to separate from the defense and make the catch.

We kept running that same formation against the Steelers and Rich kept finding me or someone else with short passes. Gannon finished with 403 yards passing. His forty-three completions, on a whopping sixty-four attempts, was an NFL record for a non-overtime game. Jerry had eleven receptions for ninety-four yards and I had seven catches for sixty-three yards. Once again, the little things added up. By winning that game 30–17 against a tough Steelers team on the road, we knew we had the potential for another big year.

We won our first four games, then hit a rough patch and lost the next four, two of them in overtime. We turned it around against Denver, stopping the Broncos 34–10. Rich set another NFL record with twenty-one consecutive completions in that game. The next week we got some revenge against the Patriots, defeating them 27–20. In that game I passed Gene Upshaw to set the record for regular season games played for the Raiders.

After a season that included ninety-one receptions for 1,165 yards, I’d been selected to my ninth Pro Bowl in 2001. Now I was thirty-six years old and in my fourteenth season—not bad considering I once thought I’d be lucky to play until I was thirty. All those little things I’d been doing over the years had added up. Going into a December 2 game against New York in front of a nationwide Monday Night Football audience, I had 996 career receptions. In the history of the NFL, only Jerry Rice and Cris Carter had more.

I made three catches in the first half, two for twenty yards, but our offense was out of sync. We trailed 10–6 when we got the ball in the third quarter and drove to New York’s thirty-two yard line.

When you dream of a historic moment like your one thousandth catch, you imagine making a leaping grab over a defender or making a spectacular move to break free in the end zone for a touchdown. That isn’t what happened for me. I ran a little slant to the middle, Rich didn’t see an open receiver to the left, and he dumped it off to me instead. I was tackled right away after a six-yard gain. But maybe that was appropriate. My success had been built just as much on being steady and doing the little things right than on making eye-popping plays.

I didn’t think anyone from my family was at the game to help me celebrate. Sherice was nearly seven months pregnant, so I knew she was home resting. But the Raiders put one over on me. They’d flown Taylor; my daughter Timon; Sherice’s mother, Joanne; my brother; all four of my sisters; and three nieces to the game. The biggest surprise was that they’d also flown out my parents. My dad always recorded my NFL games on TV, but he didn’t attend them in person. Mama had never watched me play in person at any level. In my twenty-seven years of football, this Monday night game was the only one Mama ever attended. She still didn’t like the violence and still was afraid of seeing me get hurt.

They stopped the game after my catch, and while players and staff congratulated me, they drove Mama, Dad, Timon, and Joanne onto the field in a golf cart. As you can imagine, it really got emotional for me when I saw Mama. I hugged everybody, then walked to that big Raiders shield in the middle of the field. I waved to the crowd with the football I’d just caught. I wanted to thank them for all the support over the years. The roar they gave me back was amazing. I had to wipe away the tears as I walked off the field.

The break in the action must have helped us. We scored on a twenty-six-yard touchdown pass to Jerry Rice on the very next play.

Later in that contest, which we won 26–20, I went over fourteen thousand receiving yards for my career and passed my old teammate James Lofton to rank number two all-time, again behind Jerry. I had come a long way from the playground at Mount Auburn Elementary where I’d first played the game.

An author and congressman named Bruce Barton once wrote, “Sometimes when I consider what tremendous consequences come from little things, I am tempted to think there are no little things.”¹ I believe he’s right. By themselves, the small things we do every day to make life better for ourselves and the people around us don’t seem to amount to much. But when we apply them consistently over days, weeks, months, and years, the effect is powerful.

One of the things I’m most proud of about my NFL career is that other than my second year, when I had the knee injury, the only practice I missed was a single day in 2001 when my father had heart surgery. In my sixteen years with the Raiders, I missed just one game, in 1992 after a hamstring injury. Even then, I still made every practice that week. I could have played if they’d let me.

Would it have been a major news event if I’d sat out a practice to rest sometime during my career? No. In most people’s eyes, one practice is a small thing. But I was committed to doing those small things right, each and every time. When you start putting them together year after year, you get excellence and consistency.

Success in the business world depends just as much on mastering the little things. In fact, that’s exactly the advice my father gave me when I first moved into the shoe business. “Dad,” I told him, “we’ve got this deal going where we’re going to make three million a month.”

“Mm hm,” he said. “You know, you don’t need to worry about making the big money. Just make the little money. If you make enough of the little money, guess what? It adds up to the big money.”

Three months later, I saw his point more clearly. “Hey,” my dad said, “what happened to that deal y’all had?”

“Well,” I said, “it didn’t pan out.”

“Oh, okay,” he said. He waited a moment. I squirmed a little because I knew what was coming. Finally, he got to it. “Did I tell you that you don’t need to go after the big money? Just keep making the little money.” I listened closer this time because I realized he was right. My dad, in fact, put us in touch with one of our best clients, a firm that never placed big shoe orders but consistently made small ones. Dad would ask me, “How’s Roberts Ready to Wear doing?”

“Great,” I’d say. “They bought 250 pairs of shoes this month.”

“And how’s that other big deal doing?”

I’d shake my head and my dad would just laugh.

Consistency in the little things is also incredibly important to a marriage and family. You can’t be wishy washy. You’ve got to say what you do and do what you say, time after time. Sherice knows me well enough that if she takes a call from someone inviting me to an event where alcohol is going to be a major feature, she tells the caller I won’t be coming. She doesn’t have to ask me because I’ve been consistent about that throughout our years together.

If you’re a parent, you better believe your kids are looking for you to be consistent. They’ll call you on it in an instant if you’re not. Our daughter Timon is fifteen. Like me, she’s quiet. She’s also smart and athletically gifted. And like a lot of kids in their early teens, she has a full schedule of activities. It would be easy for us to let her skip Sunday or Wednesday church once in a while to accommodate everything else she’s doing. It would be just a “little thing.” But we don’t do that. Unless someone is seriously ill, we’re always there as a family. Consistency in the little things, particularly when it relates to God, is important to me as a father.

The small things are vital to a thriving spiritual life. Sherice is especially good about making time daily for Bible reading and prayer. When I’m consistently talking with God and studying His Word, I definitely notice the difference in my life. Taking even five or ten minutes every day to connect with God will keep your relationship with Him going.

The way we pay attention to the little things tells a lot about our character and commitment to following the Lord. In the Bible, Jesus says, “Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much” (Luke 16:10). In the context of the passage, He was talking about how we handle money, but His point also applies to more than that. If we honor God in small ways, He’s more likely to bless us with greater opportunities to bless Him in large ways. That’s when life really gets exciting. Today, I believe that’s a big reason He allowed me so much success in the NFL. I’m still trying to use that blessing to honor Him.

The Raiders finished the 2002 season with an 11-5 record, winning seven of the last eight games. In many ways it was a year of triumph for us. Our offense led the league in total yardage, and our defense was sixth in points allowed. Rich Gannon had an incredible year and was named the NFL’s Most Valuable Player. Charlie Garner totaled 962 rushing yards and another 941 receiving yards. Jerry Rice, forty years old at the end of the season, made ninety-two catches for 1,211 yards and was named to his thirteenth Pro Bowl. I was second on the team with eighty-one receptions and 930 yards, breaking my streak of nine consecutive years with over a thousand yards.

We opened against the Jets in the playoffs. They stayed with us in the first half, battling to a 10–10 tie. But our defense stepped up in the second half. They shut out New York while Jerry Porter had a huge game for us with six receptions for 123 yards and a touchdown. We beat the Jets, 30–10.

That put us back in the AFC championship for the game against the Titans, which we won 41–24. Finally, all the years of sacrifice and trying to do the little things right paid off. At last, I would realize the dream of every player who ever steps onto a football field. I was going to the Super Bowl.