Jimmy Johnson is everything you want in a football coach, but rarely get. He flunked Cliches 101, bypassed the class on etiquette, and he leaves hot air to his most valued possession, a hair dryer.
“So, what am I today?” he asked Monday morning. “Insufferably arrogant or just arrogant? Hey, if you can’t gloat, what’s the fun of winning?”
Short on sleep and long on spray, Johnson and his ego were impeccably groomed only hours after the Dallas Cowboys razed the Buffalo Bills 30-13 in Super Bowl XXVIII. If you have to beat Johnson, you can’t like him. If you don’t play him, you needn’t listen. But in a profession rife with insecure souls checking their flanks, Johnson is fast-forward.
Only once can he be found consulting his rear-view mirror, and for that commercial, Johnson was paid. He stops his convertible on a dirt road to pick up some Cowboy hitchhikers. Their destination, the Georgia Dome, 822 miles yonder. En route, they leave the team’s owner, Jerry Jones, in a cloud of dust, without a ride.
“That was Jerry’s idea, to put in that last scene,” Johnson said. “I guess he wanted to make it as realistic as possible.”
Jimmy Johnson, the candid contrarian.
Other coaches preach one set of rules for all, but he treats every player differently. If you’re Leon Lett and you bungle an assignment, you get a pat on the fanny and you keep your job. If you’re John Roper and you fall asleep in a meeting, it’s your last meeting because you’re a dog.
Other coaches would rather perish than be published, but Johnson issues proclamations guaranteed to infuriate the opposition. He sensed his team was tight before the NFC Championship, so Johnson dialed up talk radio and promised victory over San Francisco, a hunch to seek an edge.
Other coaches genuflect to superiors and adversaries because it’s politically correct, but Johnson is his own campaign manager. Yes, he feels for four-time loser Marv Levy, but not for long, which is why Johnson spreads his fingers about two inches apart. That’s his sympathy span. Somebody’s got to win, and it better be me.
“They didn’t used to do a lot of gloating with the Cowboys,” reminded Johnson. “Tom Landry wasn’t that way. But that’s all changed. Now, you got Jerry and me fighting over the microphones. Did you see that tug-of-war we had last night over that trophy?”
Johnson lost his best friend in football, defensive coordinator Dave Wannstedt, to the Bears after last year’s championship. Johnson misses jogging and eating Mexican with Wannstedt, but life goes on. Now, Dallas’ offensive coordinator, Norv Turner, will probably leave, but Johnson resists convention again. Any other head coach, faced with the mandate of seizing a third straight title, would hedge and beg for the bleeding to stop.
“Norv’s been great, but we’ll be fine,” Johnson said. “We’ve got eight Pro Bowlers on offense. If Norv goes, we’ll probably still score a couple points next season. We’ve had hurdles all year. Injuries, Emmitt Smith’s contract, our 0-2 start without him. We were like mules. Working but not working smart. We got through it. Now, we’ve got free agents to sign. But of 28 teams, we’ve got less problems than 27. Part of the reason for that is Jerry, much as I hate to compliment him.”
Johnson smiled at his latest tweak. The man divorced his wife so he could be faithful to his clipboard. His teams hit in practice while others walk through January drills. The Cowboys go for the touchdown while Buffalo settles for the field goal. The shovel pass is no match for the Cowboys, who follow their brassy leader. Jimmy Johnson operates from the I-formation.
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“I’m a racehorse,” Johnson said. “Tom Landry was perseverance, longevity. I’m not interested in history or going to the White House. Mini-camp isn’t far off. When I came here in 1989, the Cowboys were three laps behind in a four-lap race. Now, I just want to get to my boat.”
He’ll be the biggest fish in that pond, too. It’s the only way.