Borderline player, supreme coach, widower: Bill Cowher humbly tackles every chapter in Heart and Steel
There are very few individuals in the world who can tell NFL players what to do. Bill Cowher is one of them. It doesn’t seem he fully appreciates this. His recent literary work, Heart and Steel, far more timeline than book, implies that his 15 years at the helm of the Pittsburgh Steelers were just a natural progression on life’s route to ... wherever we are now.
Admittedly, he’s happy and healthy. Who can ask for much more? Maybe fans of the Steelers or any other NFL team who wish Bill had kept at it a bit longer or re-entered the fray. He’s in his mid-60s. There’s still hope.
Cowher is a coach, not a writer. Heart and Steel is authored by the sportswriter Michael Holley who, in the vernacular of the 2000s, is now a “multimedia” personality. Heart and Steel can be absorbed in about an afternoon and hardly seems to merit a $28 hardcover price. It reads like 50 years of Cowher’s letters home to his parents. It has the feel of those autobiographies that were divulged over dinner a few nights in Manhattan, tape recorder running.
A lot of casual and even serious football fans thought of Cowher as a bit of a stereotype, the blue-collar, rah-rah coach jutting that famous jaw (which, curiously, gets no mention in the text) into 300-pound players’ faces, spit flying, and not sweating the small stuff. Actually Bill Cowher is a yuppie, as corporate as it gets, the Ultimate Company Man, with remarkable attention to detail. Sure, his book would be far better peppered with colorful anecdotes and grudges. Even Al Michaels dabbled in that. (Poor Boomer Esiason.) Terry Bradshaw did it (poor Mark Malone), and still does it, and frankly has the same job as Cowher. But Bradshaw can never play NFL quarterback again. The same can’t be said definitively for Cowher and coaching. As his book observes on Page 232, he believed upon retiring that he was done with coaching, but “We’re all capable of shifts for a number of unpredictable reasons.”
Whatever his motivation, Cowher’s book is about as controversial as those weekly out-of-town press conferences NFL coaches are forced to conduct with media that cover the opposing team. Don’t say anything to get the other guy riled up. Don’t make any news. Heart and Steel follows that playbook to perfection. There evidently has been little media interest in reviewing it. Each year is a summary of 1) how the football team did, 2) Bill’s daughters’ school levels and 3) Bill’s marital status, a checklist more thorough than even his Saturday afternoon walk-throughs.
Anyone who paid close attention to those 15 years in Pittsburgh can certify that Bill Cowher does indeed have great stories and famous grudges. You’re just not going to get them in his book, or anywhere else. One of the more prominent ones involved the claim by star rookie quarterback Ben Roethlisberger that he played the 2004 AFC Championship Game with broken toes. “Ben does not have broken toes, OK,” Cowher informed the media. Then there was the time Cowher evidently took issue with Cleveland Browns coach Butch Davis for referring to him as “Cowher” in a quote instead of by his first name. (There are actually inside rules as to how NFL coaches should refer to each other. Who knew?)
And like that don says in “The Godfather,” Cowher is “too modest.” One of his undeniably greatest moments gets no mention in the book — that time in August 2005 when Hines Ward, one of the greatest and most underappreciated players in NFL history (who somehow isn’t yet in the Hall of Fame), was staging a holdout that summer to be paid what he was worth. Cowher phoned Ward and told him he was needed. Ward agreed to report, and the team agreed to give him a contract he could live with. The Steelers won Super Bowl XL. Ward was the MVP. “For me, I needed to hear that from my head coach, this support — that’s all a player can ask for,” Ward said.
Ward gets about as much praise in Heart and Steel as any of Cowher’s players. Many may think of Jerome Bettis as Cowher’s favorite, but the book describes Bettis’ contributions matter-of-factly. (Perhaps there would’ve been more raves if Cowher had not been irritated by Bettis’ comments on TV in the summer of 2006 suggesting Cowher may be nearing retirement. This is actually duly noted in the book.) Another player regarded as a Cowher favorite, Joey Porter, is barely mentioned and actually gently chided for providing the Indianapolis Colts significant bulletin-board material prior to their 2005 AFC Divisional Playoff game, which the Steelers won. (After Cowher retired, Porter was considered a potential holdout and potential disruption to new coach Mike Tomlin, so the Steelers released him; he played 5 more years and even had a 17.5-sack season.)
Bill and Kaye Cowher and daughters at Super Bowl XL.
Receiving the most affection in the book (outside of Cowher’s family) is Marty Schottenheimer, Cowher’s mentor in Cleveland and Kansas City. For a long time, both shared a rap as playoff underachievers. Schottenheimer won just 5 of 18 playoff games and lost all 3 of his AFC Championship Games. Cowher actually had a losing playoff record until his final playoff run, the glorious 2005 postseason. It’s far more accurate to say Schottenheimer and Cowher overachieved just to reach those playoff games. Curiously, Schottenheimer was often fired; Cowher never was, though he perhaps came close after the 1999 season amid his power struggle (the book insists “it wasn’t”) with General Manager Tom Donahoe. The book delicately suggests how deferential Cowher was to venerable owner Dan Rooney during the climax of this dispute; it was actually “He goes or I go,” and Mr. Rooney chose Mr. Cowher to stay.
No partnership in sports is more important than coach-quarterback. The latter have been known for getting the former fired. That was nearly the case for Cowher and Kordell Stewart, an extraordinary athlete who should’ve been stationed at wide receiver, where he excelled. Cowher insisted on making Stewart his starting quarterback for more than 5 years despite Stewart’s inability to throw accurately, manage the clock or sometimes even handle a snap. Cowher says that upon naming Stewart the starter in 1997, the offensive coordinator installed things “Kordell could do effectively,” which included “quarterback draws, short passes.” News flash: If the job was about QB draws and short passes, linebackers could do it. Cowher notes Stewart’s interceptions in the 1997 AFC Championship Game and curiously devotes a whole page to explaining those INTs might have been the quarterback’s fault, or the receivers’ fault.
No coach-quarterback combo ever generated as many fireworks as Bradshaw and Chuck Noll, Cowher’s legendary predecessor. While Noll typically refused to comment on the subject, Bradshaw did not and is still prone to bring it up at any given time. Bradshaw bristled at Noll’s criticism, often delivered along the sidelines in full view of the audience. Bradshaw has a point. One notable moment occurred well into the 1978 season, when Noll stormed around during the second half of a special Sunday prime-time game as Bradshaw botched some sort of clock-management issue. Never mind the Steelers were 9-1, cruising to their 3rd Super Bowl victory and an MVP season for Bradshaw. (If you think Tom Brady and Aaron Rodgers and Peyton Manning get/got chewed out that way, you are at least a generation or two behind.)
Cowher’s book makes clear that Ben Roethlisberger emerged as an elite NFL prospect with a “chip on his shoulder” that was “impossible to miss.” Yet Cowher won’t even call Roethlisberger cocky, only that he “bordered on cockiness.” Based on widespread media scuttlebutt of Roethlisberger’s aloofness and personal decision-making, there’s no question that Cowher had his hands full here. However, while Roethlisberger may have been a prima donna off the field, he somehow was one of the game’s greatest competitors on it. Oddly enough, Cowher’s book hardly mentions Roethlisberger’s coming-of-age moment, his explosion from tentative rookie to dominant player in the 2004 Week 5 game against the Cleveland Browns that wasn’t nearly as close as the 34-23 final score.
After 12 years of employing quarterbacks who somehow could not hold a starting job anywhere else in the league, Bill Cowher found himself with a 22-year-old difference-maker at the sports world’s most important position. Surely Cowher, who’d spent his whole life around football, would want to coach another 12 years and start making annual runs at the Super Bowl; after all, Schottenheimer coached 21 years.
But for whatever reasons, Cowher didn’t. It is not stated in the book, but the opinion here is that Cowher may have retired after Super Bowl XL had the team not been so talented. Unlike others such as John Madden, Cowher curiously never suggests burnout. Rather, according to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, Kaye Cowher was the “driving force” behind her husband’s retirement. Heart and Steel states that for Bill Cowher, the job was “putting a strain on my marriage.” He says in his book that during the 2005 bye week, he and Kaye “quietly bought a home in Raleigh.” This information didn’t go over too well in Pittsburgh when it came to light in 2006, adding to the team’s strange Super Bowl hangover. It is not at all surprising that a coach’s spouse may want him to quit. What’s awkward is that Kaye Cowher, a civic figure along with her husband who was featured in almost all of the game broadcasts, wanted to move to another state. Had the Steelers not started 2-6 but made another deep playoff run, perhaps Dan Rooney would’ve negotiated some sort of time-share arrangement for Bill Cowher to make a couple more tries at the Super Bowl with this highly talented team. Instead, Cowher’s run with the Steelers came to an end.
And so it will never be known how many championships Bill Cowher and Ben Roethlisberger might have won together. Did Cowher want to spend years dealing with this person? Probably not. They appear to be on fine terms. The book says Roethlisberger congratulated Cowher on his Hall of Fame induction. The belief of this review is that Roethlisberger’s off-field problems, which began seriously before that 2006 season when he was struck on his motorcycle, would not have escalated into the claims against him in both 2009 and 2010, at least the second one, Cowher wouldn’t have tolerated that, would’ve warned his QB that he can’t behave that way. Cowher’s successor, Mike Tomlin, would go on to win a Super Bowl with Roethlisberger and reach another one. But the mystique of the team faded with the departure of Cowher’s coaches and players, to the point Cowher on CBS in 2014 (it’s not in the book) actually called the Steelers “soft.”
While Cowher may have wanted to retire when he did, his predecessor did not. During a plane flight with Noll shortly after taking the Steelers job, Cowher says that Noll “gave all one-word or one-sentence answers” to his questions. (And Noll actually remained employed or on Steelers masthead as a consultant.) Cowher tries to say “I think Chuck understood the significance of changing coaches.” No, what Chuck understood was that Chuck thought he had a job for life and didn’t want to go after 1991, despite 3 or 4 years of massive assistant coaching upheaval, new systems and a mix of players acquired in recent years that, according to Cowher and anyone paying attention, “were not united.” Chuck knew it happened to Tom Landry, but Landry had gone 3-13 and his team was sold to Jerry Jones. Chuck had gone 7-9 and worked for Dan Rooney; nevertheless, Dan correctly said Chuck had to go. Unlike Cowher, Noll’s legacy is a perplexing mix. For his first 11 seasons, Noll’s results, perhaps with the exception of Vince Lombardi, were incomparable. For his last 12 seasons, Noll was barely mediocre, never a serious Super Bowl contender. He clearly was savvy, as was Cowher, about building a roster with the right players, but he declined in later years to spend high draft picks on quarterbacks, and his downfall was likely refusing to believe that 300-pounders could effectively play pro football; the team he handed to Cowher was probably the smallest in the NFL.
It’s clear from the book that Cowher kept and keeps a professional distance from his players. That’s the norm. Noll did the same but unlike most others, wore it like a badge of honor. Cowher quietly stresses about a half-dozen times that coaches have to tell players what they see and think. Fans notice whether coaches go for it on 4th down but don’t notice when the coach has to tell longtime contributors that they’re not good enough or cheap enough for the roster anymore. These are moments the players remember forever. Again, this isn’t a job for everyone.
Rod Woodson, an easy Hall of Famer and member of the NFL's 75th Anniversary Team while in his prime with the Steelers and Cowher’s best player in the coach’s first 3 seasons, is lauded in a couple passages, once for playing injured in the 1993 regular season finale against Cleveland. But Woodson is introduced in the book as merely one of the “versatile pieces” of the Steelers secondary. Cowher praises Woodson for playing in Super Bowl XXX after tearing a knee ligament on opening day but (this is not exactly a provocative book) never questions whether Woodson’s limited appearance in that game (no splash plays whatsoever) and occupation of a roster spot all season were worth it. Despite being one of the city’s and NFL’s most popular players, Woodson was a regular contract nuisance. Cowher could’ve correctly written that “After 1996, we didn’t think he was elite anymore, so we let him go, not realizing he still had some big years left,” but he opts for a medical opinion suggesting Woodson wouldn’t last in the league much longer. Nor does he mention the sometimes-awkward position realities of the NFL — Woodson at that stage was better suited for safety, where the Steelers already had two excellent, reliable players.
In one of the book’s very few takedowns, Cowher semi-bluntly describes his assessment of star running back Barry Foster, who nearly led the league in rushing in 1992. Foster “could be a pain” and “didn’t like to practice.” From 1992-94, that was tolerable, Cowher explains. The truth is that Foster didn’t want to play. Even though he was good at it. Very good, in fact, a poor man’s Emmitt Smith. Foster was drafted in the 5th round by Chuck Noll in 1990, and fans wondered why he wasn’t on the field more often under Noll, who preferred the plodding but likable Merril Hoge instead. No question, inheriting an offense in 1992 with no marquee pieces, Cowher correctly installed Foster as the feature back and started winning games. Foster was no long-term answer, though, and should’ve been released prior to the 1994 season. Cowher kept him as feature back and does not admit that he stuck with him too long, concluding in an almost comically disastrous decision, assigning Foster as the pass target on 4th down of the 1994 AFC Championship Game against the San Diego Chargers. Foster is one of those guys, as they say, “who gets coaches fired.” Cowher survived and got better.
Cowher had a much easier ascent than most NFL head coaches, a credit to his skills. Having already been an NFL player was a big boost. Cowher never spent any time coaching in the college ranks and was promoted to coordinator within 4 years; for Bill Belichick, it took 10. (Schottenheimer, impressively, only took 3.) Cowher did get cut as a player, never fired in 20 years as a coach, a remarkable record. He hit the ground running in Pittsburgh, where his early Steelers teams overachieved like no team in history. Cowher’s offenses in 92-95 were staffed by skill players who, the records show, couldn’t hold starting jobs with any other team. Yet they somehow made 4 playoff runs, nailed down home-field advantage twice and even hosted two AFC Championship Games. Cowher was a prodigy in this extremely narrow but highly popular field, even if he didn’t realize it until Dan Rooney called.
A few times in Heart and Steel, Cowher mentions disagreements with referees, the most famous being stuffing an overhead photo showing the Steelers did not have 12 men on the field into the pocket of Gordon McCarter at halftime of a 1995 game. McCarter, like Pete Morelli, who botched the Troy Polamalu interception in the 2005 AFC Divisional Playoff game, is not mentioned by name in the book. And while Cowher suggests the 1997 team might have been his best (it wasn’t), he does not mention the season’s most memorable play, the clenched fist as Cowher had stepped onto the field and appeared ready to tackle Jacksonville Jaguars safety Chris Hudson, who was returning a blocked Steelers field goal in the final seconds for a touchdown to seal a win. Another interesting omission is any reference to Robert Fraley, Cowher’s agent who died tragically in the 1999 plane pressure accident that also claimed pro golfer Payne Stewart.
Bill Cowher and Veronica Stigeler, “V”
A lot of celebrity autobiographies surface after the individual has hit rock bottom and recovered. That is not the case with Cowher. He remains a very healthy, robust figure. He has admirable perspectives on life. Surely his most trying times came more than a decade ago, when Kaye Cowher suffered a series of devastating health problems that led to her tragic passing in 2010. Heart and Steel makes reference to the awkwardness of rejoining the dating scene and briefly implies the awkwardness of others who wish to date someone who has recently lost a spouse and yet aren’t certain of the best or proper time to make an approach. In the aftermath of Kaye’s death, Cowher fortunately found what he calls his second “soul mate,” Veronica Stigeler, a musician known publicly and throughout Cowher’s passages as “V.” These are the warmest passages of the text, as Cowher explains that his daughters had concerns about the performance pictures of V on the Internet showing a “hard rocker with spiked hair.” However different their backgrounds, Cowher and V clearly click and are an attractive, impressive couple. V easily won over Cowher’s daughters and mother; she and Cowher married in 2014.
Whether Bill Cowher will, or should, coach again is a great question. Others have tried it after lengthy retirements. It worked famously for Dick Vermeil; it didn’t work for Joe Gibbs. It would probably work for Cowher if he chose to pursue it. But it’s more than a full-time job, as Cowher’s book freely indicates, and whether he would or could make that kind of commitment to football again is unknown.
Forever underestimated, Bill Cowher is easily on the short list of NFL’s greatest coaches. It’s not the titles or wins, which are exceeded by the likes of Bill Belichick, Chuck Noll, Bill Walsh, Don Shula, Lombardi and others. It’s how they played. Bill Cowher put a chip on the shoulder of the Pittsburgh Steelers. During that time, they were football’s most physical team, not always the best but the most competitive. The Steelers and their fans were lucky to have him for 15 years. He doesn’t need to return. He’s done far more than enough.
3 stars
(July 2021)
“Heart and Steel” (2021), by Bill Cowher with Michael Holley, published by Atria Books/Simon & Schuster