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Healing process for Broncos

Broncos returning to field, but the deaths of Williams, Nash linger

Lee Rasizer, Rocky Mountain News

Published May 16, 2007 at midnight

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Passing camp is about to open.

So are old wounds.

It's inevitable.

The previous time the entire Broncos team met, they were united in grief, two funerals in three months bringing them together earlier this year.

All the ensuing offseason conditioning drills can't erase those tragedies even as the lockers of Darrent Williams and Damien Nash have been filled by others.

Players will deal with grief in their own ways, but for those who experienced an offseason like no other in franchise history, memories of their fallen teammates never will be far away.

"They will not block it out because they were teammates. They were friends," said Hall of Fame running back Gale Sayers, who in 1970 watched as Chicago Bears teammate Brian Piccolo died from cancer, a situation that inspired a TV movie that still resonates with many NFL fans. "They went through the same things these players are going through — the hot summer of sweating and all those things. They were right there by them. So they will always be remembered. No question about it.

"And whoever prays at night, probably the first thing that comes out of their mouth is, 'Please, Lord. Take care of so-and-so' because they were good guys, good people. And then they go."

Even as the next season goes on.

And that's the big-picture view. Because life continues, even in the face of death.

Eventually, there will be games to play. But before then, there is the necessary preparation of minicamps such as the one today through May 25 at the Broncos' Dove Valley headquarters and training camp in July and August.

Moving on is the tricky part.

"It'll play itself out," said Indianapolis Colts coach Tony Dungy, whose teams in recent seasons experienced his son's suicide, the death of receiver Reggie Wayne's brother and the death of three of linebacker Gary Brackett's family members.

The Colts' steely focus in the face of such events eventually resulted in a Super Bowl championship despite constant reminders of the tragedies, which the Broncos often will face next season.

"Those guys are a very close group and they'll know how to handle it," Dungy said of the Broncos' plight. "And as a head coach, you don't have to say, 'Here's what we've got to do guys,' or, 'We should do A, B or C.' Those guys will pull together and support each other."

Earlier multiple tragedies

Perhaps only twice before in recent league history have NFL teams suffered multiple tragedies such as Williams being shot to death on New Year's Day and Nash's sudden, unexplained collapse Feb. 24.

The Miami Dolphins lost three players between 1981 and 1984: Running back David Overstreet and linebacker Rusty Chambers died in auto-related fatalities and linebacker Larry Gordon collapsed while jogging. All occurred during the offseason.

Gordon's case was similar to Nash in that a seemingly healthy young man in the prime of his athletic life dropped for no apparent reason. Gordon later was diagnosed with a congenital heart defect. Nash's death remains a mystery, even after an autopsy.

But those Miami teams enjoyed sustained on-field success. Not counting the 1982 strike season, the franchise went 37-10-1 during that span and reached Super Bowl XIX in the 1984 season.

Bob Baumhower, a starting nose tackle for those Miami teams, credited coach Don Shula for providing the leadership necessary to get past the tragedies and instilling the required focus to produce positive on-field results.

"You're not going to take your eye off the ball with Shula," Baumhower said.

Because of that mind-set, he said, the specter of the deaths didn't linger all season.

"My experience is that it kind of comes and goes for a while," Baumhower said. "You deal with it for a while, and then you're OK. And then it comes back, and you have this or that memory. I remember some of that going on, especially with Rusty.

"Me and him were pretty close. We used to go out a good deal during the week and had been roommates a couple years prior. It's something where when I go through Louisiana now, and he's buried in Hammond, La., it still comes back to you. There's something about teammates. You never forget them."

Opposite effect

The Atlanta Falcons endured a period in 1988 and 1989 that resonated with everyone associated with the club after defensive back David Croudip died of a cocaine overdose and offensive tackle Ralph Norwood and tight end Brad Beckman died behind the wheel, not far from the team's training headquarters.

Unlike the Dolphins, the off-field events sent a struggling Falcons franchise into a deeper abyss.

"It really put football in perspective," said Gene Lang, then a running back for Atlanta. "From that point on, I didn't want to play anymore."

He recalled telling his wife before the 1989 season finale against the Detroit Lions to pack the car and have it ready when the clock hit zero.

A load was lifted shortly thereafter as Lang crossed the state line between Georgia and Alabama.

He played only one more season.

"It was totally due to the circumstances. That's a lot of death for one team to absorb. And I know the Broncos are going through the same thing," said Lang, who lives in Centennial after having also played for the Broncos. "If there's any positive, and there really isn't, their thing happened when the season was over and they didn't have to continue a season."

Another difference is in the free-agent era, players have become accustomed to the yearly overhaul of NFL rosters.

So seeing someone's locker being used by another player isn't a shock to the senses.

And the workload is a numbing influence.

"Look, the job, professional football, is so all-encompassing and so hard, it's an unbelievable diversion," said Phil Simms, a former New York Giants quarterback who endured the deaths of a few teammates and watched another, offensive lineman Karl Nelson, battle through severe illness while trying to suit up. "It's another life where you go into an office each day and now the world has stopped and we're going to do football. And to me, it's like that more than another sport. It's just so hard."

On-field loss, too

It's often equally as difficult replacing talent that shockingly and suddenly is gone when death hits.

When safety Don Rogers died of a cocaine overdose in 1986, the Cleveland Browns teammates he left behind threw around "what-ifs" with regularity.

Besides the obvious emotional fallout created by his loss, there was the component of a team losing an above-average player in his prime.

"You're always going to say, 'Boy, if we had Donnie Rogers, this is where we'd be,' or 'Boy, it would be good if Donnie could experience this with us,' " recalled Ozzie Newsome, an end for Cleveland when Rogers died, one season after being named the NFL's defensive rookie of the year. "You keep referring to if the guy was there with you and the impact he'd make not only as a player but as a person."

Sometimes that psychological wound can't be healed.

When the Minnesota Vikings' Korey Stringer died of heat-related stroke during training camp in 2001, the team was coming off an appearance in the NFC Championship Game.

Two years later, the core of the team essentially had been disbanded, with the incident possibly accelerating the timetable.

"You lose a Pro Bowl guy who really was one of the most popular guys on the team, I really think it was the beginning of the end of an era for that team," said Scott Linehan, a Vikings offensive coordinator during that era and now coach of the St. Louis Rams.

Williams figured to make a significant on-field contribution as a defensive starter at cornerback for the Broncos, more so than Nash, a reserve running back.

The cornerback position once held by "D-Will," as he affectionately was known, since has been filled by Dré Bly, a two-time Pro Bowl player.

Bly has gone to great lengths to point out he's his own man and not a replacement for a player who was beloved for his bubbly personality and confident demeanor.

"Without a question, it will be a challenge for the Broncos," said Carl Peterson, Kansas City Chiefs president, general manager and CEO. "And it's usually proportional to how much a player was a leader in your locker room and a force, if you will, not only from a playing standpoint but off the field. And I understand Darrent Williams was a very special guy."

The Chiefs have experience in such matters.

They dealt seven years ago not only with the loss of a popular player but a franchise and regional icon when linebacker Derrick Thomas was paralyzed in a car accident, then lost his life when a clot stopped his heart.

The franchise honored Thomas, who spent all 11 of his pro seasons with Kansas City, by placing a decal bearing his No. 58 on its helmets for a year and dedicating the season to him.

Public memorial services were held at Arrowhead Stadium and Kemper Arena, and nearly 30,000 people attended.

The club also sealed Thomas' locker in plastic, keeping his mementos in plain sight.

But Kansas City failed to build on a 9-7 season. The Chiefs went 7-9 in 2000 and fired Gunther Cunningham as coach.

"There's no question Derrick's loss had an effect," Peterson said. "Whether honoring him had an effect, I don't know. We couldn't replace him on the field and the things he did for us."

Thomas' death seemed to create a seasonlong letdown.

"What you want to do is dedicate the season to him but go out and play even better as a team and all that," Peterson said. "That's the hope. That's not necessarily the reality."

Honoring, but moving on

That might be the most difficult part for a team coming off dual tragedies, as the Broncos are.

A fine line exists between honoring the memories of the players who died and moving on as a team.

The Broncos aren't expected to issue the jerseys worn by Williams (No. 27) or Nash (No. 29). They probably will wear some kind of arm patch or affix a sticker to the helmets in remembrance. It isn't out of the realm of possibility a ceremony at a home game could pay tribute.

But after that, it's up to coach Mike Shanahan to get the team's collective mind right.

San Francisco 49ers coach Mike Nolan walked that tightrope when offensive tackle Thomas Herrion collapsed and died in front of shocked teammates after a preseason game at Invesco Field at Mile High in 2005.

The season was less than a month away. And the scene — players huddled in prayer or cheering Herrion on as he struggled for life — was difficult to erase.

Nolan said it was the most difficult situation he has faced in pro football.

"I think the guys got the help they needed, and every individual is different because some guys it doesn't bring out necessarily what happened, but things from their own childhood that they never let out," said Nolan, adding Broncos who witnessed the deaths of Nash and/or Williams could have more baggage to overcome than their teammates.

An important part of the healing process, Nolan said, is how players perceive the team's handling of such tragedies. Putting their minds at ease that if something similar happens to them, their families will get all the assistance they need can go a long way toward an athlete wanting to give his all for an organization.

That aspect should resonate with Broncos players, who saw owner Pat Bowlen not only fly an organizational contingent to both funerals but help pay for both services, provide psychological counseling to players and help set up charities in honor of the deceased.

While Nolan stressed he doesn't envy Shanahan's situation, the events of early 2007 don't have to tear apart the Broncos and might strengthen their extended "family."

"He's got to bring them together and get some closure to this thing," Nolan said when asked what advice he might offer Shanahan. "He had some at the funerals, but that doesn't close it when the team comes back and remembers and says, 'Where are they?' They're going to look around, and it's like going into the home when one of the siblings is gone.

"The first time you go back to the house, nobody's in the room. And so you have to deal with those issues."

In their own words

Some who have experienced death during their NFL careers share the lessons they learned through their tragedies and give advice to the Broncos after an offseason in which Darrent Williams and Damien Nash died.

• Ozzie Newsome, Baltimore Ravens general manager and Cleveland Browns teammate of safety Don Rogers, who died of a cocaine overdose in 1986: "It's something they'll deal with and are dealing with as a team. But I think the individual players will have to deal with it themselves. And, hopefully, something positive will come from it, both from a health-care standpoint and who you hang around with."

• Tony Dungy, Indianapolis Colts coach, whose team endured his son's suicide late in the 2005 season and other player-related issues in recent seasons: "Those issues are never going to go away completely. That's the one thing they're going to have to deal with. They're always going to be brought up. You'd like them to go away, but they don't."

• Mike Nolan, San Francisco 49ers coach, whose team suffered the preseason loss of tackle Thomas Herrion in August 2005: "Some of the Broncos players were there for both instances. Our entire football team watched our player pass away in the locker room. I mean, everyone because it was a 30-minute ordeal. There were groups praying. There were groups cheering him. There were groups trying to help. The people that are there have a lot more to deal with."

• Dean Spanos, San Diego Chargers owner, whose team experienced the death of running back Rodney Culver in a 1996 plane crash: "Time heals all wounds, and it's going to take time to overcome that. It's a healing process. And you're going to have some players who weren't close to that particular player and others who are extremely close. There's a balance there. But it'll work itself out eventually."

• Carl Peterson, Kansas City Chiefs president, general manager and CEO, whose team lost one of the franchise's all-time stars when Derrick Thomas died from complications after a serious car accident in 2000: "There's a void, and it's perceptible. I would say it takes at least a good year to get through that. The guy that replaces (Williams) will be under some pressure because Darrent was irreplaceable."

• Bob Baumhower, a starting nose tackle for the Miami Dolphins during a period from 1981 to 1984 in which three teammates died: "My nephew (Evan Mathis) plays for the (Carolina) Panthers right now. . . . And he's a reminder to me of how you think when you're playing ball that you're indestructible and that you're immortal. And it's that way for a lot of players. And when something like that happens, you wake up and start thinking more about all the things outside of the game. It's really easy to get caught up in your own world, especially when it's all you know. But as far as how it affected our team, if anything, it probably brought us together and made us a little closer individually. And it woke us up as far as our mortality and here today, gone tomorrow."

• Bill Bidwill, owner of the then- St. Louis Cardinals when tight end J.V. Cain collapsed in training camp and died in 1979: "There are a number of challenges. The coach is basically in charge of the dressing room and has to show leadership. And leadership has to come from some segment of the players, also."