Behind this particular closed door, Monte Kiffin didn’t see a different Lovie Smith. But he sure heard one.
The Tampa Bay defensive coordinator was on the other side of that door, having trusted his linebackers coach after one Buccaneers game in the late ’90s to deal personally with a bad day by the ‘backers the way Smith had asked.
“I said, ‘Lovie, I’m going to say something to the linebackers,’ and he said, ‘I know what you’re talking about, Coach, don’t worry, I’ll handle it,'” Kiffin said. “There was fire in Lovie’s eyes. They were in that room longer than I thought. He was totally clear. I didn’t have to worry about the linebackers again after he closed that door.”
Any image of Smith raising his voice and his blood pressure could strike Bears fans as odd. They might believe hearing about sleep in his eyes, but fire? That’s so Ditka, so contrary to the calm and measured manner in which Smith goes about his Bears business in public.
That’s the persona more likely projected by a bright-lights guy such as Chiefs coach Herman Edwards, Smith’s counterpart Sunday and a close friend who spent five seasons on the same Tampa Bay staff from 1996 to 2000.
There are too many examples of Edwards’ oratorical animation to fit in this story — or probably this newspaper. Maybe the most eloquent head coach in the NFL, Edwards is so quotable he should be nicknamed Bartlett.
Edwards conducts press conferences as if the Chiefs paid him by the ratings point. As coach of the Jets, Edwards turned one of his more famous answers — “You play to win the game!” — into the title of his motivational book. He is a natural for the behind-the-scenes HBO series “Hard Knocks,” which, Smith assured, won’t be filming at Halas Hall any time soon.
Edwards comes across as someone who would be fascinating to sit next to at a dinner table. Smith, much more reserved, is someone you want to sit next to on an airplane because he likely won’t say much except, “Please,” and “Thank you.”
“Herman is, well, different than me, I’ll say,” said Smith, four years younger at 49. “He’s a motivator. He’s high on life every day. He shows it a different way than I do.”
If ever there was a season that might tempt Smith to consider copying Edwards’ candid style at the podium, it could be this one.
Last year the Bears benefited from Smith’s even-keeled approach and devotion to Rex Grossman. They were establishing their own identity as teams on the way up do and Grossman’s inconsistency in his first full year required more nurturing than needling.
Smith’s continued public support of Grossman — “Rex is our quarterback,” — became the message that amplified inside the locker room every time it was repeated outside of it. It was the right tone to set for that team, at that time.
But the dynamic at Halas Hall has changed because of an increased sense of urgency. To stay on top, to win the Super Bowl, the increasingly incorrigible Bears need to be held more accountable, not less, privately and publicly.
Nobody ever expects Smith to match Edwards’ eloquence or verbosity, syllable for syllable, but it will be interesting to see if he occasionally seizes a chance to turn the heat up on his players through the media. Or even say something to turn the glare more on him than a Bears team with a knack for distractions.
Whether it’s Lance Briggs wrecking his car or Cedric Benson running in place, Smith’s staunch public support of his players without revealing anything has defined who he is as a head coach. It works because it’s his nature to be guarded. Bears fans only see Smith smile after victories and in commercials.
Likewise, Edwards’ approach works for him because it suits his vibrant personality and serves the expressway connecting his brain and mouth.
“Opposites attract,” Smith explained of their friendship.
As men, their styles vary dramatically. As football coaches, Kiffin knows better.
“They’re more similar than you think,” Kiffin said. “Neither one really is a get-in-your-face kind of guy. They both relate to players really well. They’re fair but firm and that’s why they get through to them and get results.”
Kiffin hired both Smith and Edwards, who were up for the same position as Tampa Bay’s secondary coach in ’96. Edwards got the job, but Smith so impressed Kiffin and then-head coach Tony Dungy that they hired the Ohio State assistant with no NFL experience to coach linebackers.
“None of us had ever met before that,” Kiffin said.
Every night for five seasons, Smith and Edwards shared a ride to and from One Buccaneer Place. They became “friends for life,” as Smith said, and their families grew close. They also began to form bonds with players, each in his own way.
“Each one of those guys really knew the game, had a special way of relating to players and we as players never wanted to let them down,” said Bears linebackers coach Hardy Nickerson, a Bucs linebacker from 1993 to ’99. “Herm is a great guy, fun to be around, always has the right thing to say. Lovie, he’s maybe not as verbose, but in a quiet way he knows when it’s time to speak up too.”
One day during the Bucs’ training camp last month, Kiffin said he and Derrick Brooks shared a laugh recalling that day Smith spoke up behind closed doors. The statement Smith made about his coaching style still resonates.
“Derrick still remembers that,” Kiffin said. “When Lovie gets in front of a room, you can hear a pin drop. Herm might use a different way but gets through just the same. I honestly knew right away that Lovie and Herm were going to be head coaches, I could see it.”
Hearing it was just as convincing.
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dhaugh@tribune.com
