Offensive Conduct: My Life on the Line

Gallery

Foreword by Andre Tippett

I was always a collector of magazines, and because of my interests, Black Belt Magazine, Karate Illustrated, and Sports Illustrated were three of them. I remember picking up a Sports Illustrated in August 1981 and reading it with great interest because John Hannah was on the cover. Like me he was an Alabama native, and I had recently watched a game where he had battled tooth and nail with Randy White. The magazine proclaimed that Hannah was The Best Offensive Lineman of All Time. I was totally fascinated and read it cover to cover.

Fast forward less than a year, and I had been drafted by the New England Patriots in the second round of the 1982 NFL Draft. Being a high draft pick at linebacker, all I could think about was: Don’t let John Hannah put you in the hospital.

As rookies we had to report to training camp about 10 days earlier than the veterans. The anxiety for the rookie linebackers built as the veteran reporting date approached. The buzz in the locker room at Bryant College was all about John Hannah. As it turned out, we should have been even more scared than we were. Our first morning session with the veterans had all of us rethinking our strategy for the second session. Hannah went through us like a hot knife through butter and had every one of us reporting to the equipment room for horse collars and more pads to wear under our shoulder pads. By the end of the first day, we were trying to figure out how to have him kidnapped.

Hannah made us all better football players just by his presence. You knew you better come correct and use all of your best techniques in practice and buckle up every time he was on the field. He led by example. He was never one to give speeches, but his desire to win was obvious, and we all fed off that.

Truth be told, I never even had a conversation with John until 1986. It was my first Pro Bowl after our appearance in Super Bowl XX. Right after practice he gathered all of the Patriots Pro Bowlers together and said, Look, Pat Sullivan gave me some money, so that we could all go out to dinner on the team. Let’s meet with all our families in the lobby around 6 o’clock. I remember it like it was yesterday. There I was, a veteran and Pro Bowler, who had just played in the Super Bowl, and I was mesmerized because a guy who had been my teammate for four years was talking to me!

Of course, over time we became friends, but I never lost that level of respect for John. When you are being considered for the Pro Football Hall of Fame, the voters give a lot of weight to what your opponents and teammates say about you. John, being who he is, commands a lot of respect when he discusses the attributes of players with whom he competed. I consider it a great honor to have had John Hannah speak out on behalf of my candidacy. When I was later elected to the Hall of Fame and John said, Welcome to the fraternity, I was almost speechless.

Having been retired from the game for almost 20 years, I have the benefit of perspective. I can honestly say that one of my proudest accomplishments is that I am in three Hall of Fames (the Pro Football Hall of Fame, the New England Patriots Hall of Fame, and the Alabama Sports Hall of Fame) with one of the greatest to ever play the game. I’m also proud to call him a friend.

As the best offensive lineman of all time, John was the ultimate protector on the field. Off the field, he is the ultimate protector of his family, his friends, and this great game of football that we all love.

—Andre Tippett

New England Patriots executive director of community affairs

Pro Football Hall of Fame Class of 2008

New England Patriots 1982–1993

Introduction by Tom Hale

I have known John Hannah and his family since 1971 and remain very close to him and his brothers, Charley and David. The Hannah name is truly legendary in the SEC, the University of Alabama, and the New England area, and John’s legacy as a Pro Football Hall of Fame lineman with the New England Patriots from 1973 to 1985 is forever immortalized in the August 3, 1981 edition of Sports Illustrated, which summarily declared him The Best Offensive Lineman of All Time.

I’m a few years younger than John and when I was 14 and a freshman at Baylor School in Chattanooga, Tennessee, I became aware of who John was about the same time I met his youngest brother, David. He was in my freshman class, too, and even though he was a supremely gifted athlete and I was only mediocre, we struck up a friendship that has endured and grown stronger for more than 40 years now. As close as our friendship has been, I don’t necessarily find it a complete coincidence that I lost my older brother, Chip, within a couple of hours on the exact day in 2007 when David lost his oldest child, Bill.

I was also an acquaintance of the middle Hannah brother, Charley, who was also at Baylor when I was there, but we didn’t become friends really until three or four years ago. A while back I reminded Charley, who had an outstanding career of his own with the Oakland Raiders and Tampa Bay Buccaneers, that my friendship with him mainly revolved around his penchant for picking me up and throwing me over his head into a corner because I was sitting in his favorite chair in the commissary or pulling me headfirst by the hair out of the antechamber of the lunchroom. (Apparently, I had it coming because I was only a sophomore.)

With all these Hannah encounters and events in my early teens, I became an instant fan of John’s, even though I had only seen him in person once and had never actually met him. Before we became great friends six or seven years ago, the only time I saw him was when he walked into the dining hall at Baylor with his dad, mom, Charley, and David just after he signed with New England. The room of chattering prep boys and clattering silverware quickly silenced as everyone looked to see this awesome display of genetics appear in the room. John was a pinch over 6930 and 275 pounds and looked as if he had less than 10 percent body fat. He was huge. His shoulders were twice as wide as his waist, and his arms were thicker than my thighs. I, along with 100 other dorm students, just stared for a moment. Besides David and Charley, I’m quite certain no one else in that room had ever seen such a giant like him—let alone an NFL player.

With his additional extraordinary talents in track and field, baseball, basketball, and wrestling, John is still regarded among the best large athletes to have ever lived. Having personally seen most every professional game he played with the Patriots and witnessed many of the other superhuman feats he performed in wrestling and track, I wholeheartedly second that notion. Hannah’s main acclaim, however, comes from the 13 bruising years he played with the Patriots, and in the process he earned the right to be regarded as the finest, most feared offensive lineman to have ever played the game of professional football.

If you look up the all-time highlight films of Sports Illustrated’s top 100 pro football players, Hannah is No. 24. The highlight clips of the Hog absolutely demolishing the defensive line and secondary—game after game—will leave little room for doubt that No. 73, the left guard for the Patriots, was a force never seen before and one that has never been seen since.

John Hannah was in a league of one. He was a raging bull, who could fire off the line like a cannonball. His aim was true, and the monstrous hits he put on opponents were simply brutal. Quick as a puma and with concrete legs of coiled steel, Hannah could pull and sweep right with quarterback Steve Grogan right behind him so close he kept his fingertips on John’s flank. Hannah would lower his head, throw those massive arms up, and bulldoze into the defensive line and secondary, sometimes blowing out four or five guys in a single run. He would literally knock them out of the way like bowling pins, and Grogan or another back could easily pick up six or seven or more yards running behind Hog. If by chance Hannah hit the ground on the first punishing lick, replay films show him instantly springing back to his feet in full forward motion and taking out at least one or two more defenders just for good measure.

New York Jets defensive lineman Joe Klecko, who repeatedly faced Hannah and narrates the Sports Illustrated highlights film, called Hannah a freak of nature. He said, Linemen aren’t supposed to be that quick and mean. They’re supposed to basically stand firm and let you try to muscle through their sheer body size. Hannah, however, was coming right at you like a pissed off King Kong. And boy, if he ever connected square with you, it was going to hurt like hell.

Klecko points out a particular highlight where Hannah was staring down Randy White, the fearsome defensive assassin from the Dallas Cowboys. When Hannah shot off the line, and he and White hit each other full speed, all 6970 and 275 pounds of the Dallas defender was literally lifted off the ground and hurled backward. The great Randy White ate most ordinary linemen for lunch and then spit them out. Not John Hannah.

John’s explosive play on the gridiron earned him All-American honors at Alabama, nine Pro Bowl appearances with the Patriots, and enough trophies to be split between the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio, the New England Patriots Hall of Fame in Foxborough, Massachusetts, and the Alabama Sports Hall of Fame in Birmingham.

This is a brutally honest book; John calls it a book of revelation. He said, People may not believe it, but that monster I was on the playing field—and the ego that accompanied it off the field—was really just a complete charade, an act. I was nothing more than an impostor trying to play this larger-than-life superathlete when in truth I was really this very sensitive, caring guy inside who just wanted to help people less fortunate than I was. The problem was the more I played the charade, the better I got, and I became trapped by it. I literally got taken hostage by that impostor.

I won’t give it all away here, but John is truly a unique man who has not rested on his laurels and fame. He has overcome some huge personal obstacles—mainly his pride and addiction to control—to continue his life’s true calling to be more than a supremely gifted athlete. His once-subordinated quest to be a convicted servant of the Lord now finds him equally at ease among princes and paupers and unashamed of the blessings that allowed him to soar to the height of fame but which also almost killed him in the process. While hiding inside a football uniform and helmet, Hog Hannah was blessed with superhuman athletic abilities but cursed with an inhumanly high tolerance for pain. He drove himself through coach Paul Bear Bryant’s college powerhouse Alabama football program and took his talents to the top of professional football and beyond with only marginal regard for anyone.

From childhood Hannah’s athletic achievements fed his gargantuan ego. His ungodly physique and All-American image saturated sports reports. He was idolized by fans, mere mortals were awed, and most opponents were just hurdles that stood in the way of his quest to be the best football player he could become.

But his post-NFL life became a series of humbling downfalls, including a contentious divorce from his wife and being fired as coach of his high school alma mater. Pride comes before the fall, and God used Hannah’s vanity and ego against him, knocking him to his knees, and correcting him as though he was an arrogant, defiant child. At 55 years old, Hannah discovered himself in Psalm 73—appropriately the same number he wore on his jersey during his entire college and professional career—and began the first steps of his new life, free of the impostor image and gilded armor he had worn as a senseless brute.

Without question John’s passion for leading others to a rich spiritual life is anchored by an indefatigable faith in the Almighty. As he has finally put the impostor in the past and in proper perspective, John no longer dishes out pain and punishment. He uses his time, platform, and name recognition to reach out to people and fulfill what he couldn’t do all those years as a football player: counseling people—particularly fathers and sons who need to reconnect.

Among John’s greatest leadership talents are extraordinary insight and motivation. He uses genuine humility and frankness to bring others inspiration. He is widely sought as a keynote speaker by many organizations to share the qualities, which define leadership and is regularly consulted by many companies, including the Patriots, to motivate management and build their leadership skills. John Schnatter, the CEO and founder of Papa John’s, asked Hannah to deliver the prayer before the start of the 2009 Papa John’s Bowl, and the words Hannah spoke from his heart to 100,000 fans are testament to the extraordinary character of a man and former football star, who still touches thousands of people every year through his enthusiastic, unshakable faith.

As John has transitioned away from football and the impostor he struggled with, he is now known by many people as a football legend, successful financial advisor, father, brother, uncle, fund-raiser, coach, motivational strategist, loyal friend, and a witness to God’s grace. I simply know him as a friend I call Brother. Over the last four years, he has transformed from the greatest football idol I ever had to one of my best friends. I am much better for his friendship, and it is an extraordinary privilege to share his story with you. John has climbed with me to loftier heights of spiritual awareness than I ever imagined possible, and the ascent has ironically led to a deeper, richer understanding of where the holy spirit dwells in all of God’s children who seek Him.

—Thomas S. Hale, Esq.

1. Lessons from the Bear

It was a long way from Albertville, Alabama, to Boston, Massachusetts, home of the New England Patriots. For a young country guy who got his start as an All-American guard in the SEC, it was also a long time from 1973 until I retired in 1985. Coach Paul Bear Bryant, the legendary, larger-than-life head football coach for whom I played at the University of Alabama from 1969 to 1972 would one day call me the best offensive lineman I ever coached, a quote I would also laugh about much later as being the furthest thing from the truth of how he really felt about me. In fact just before the ’73 draft, Bryant told me privately I wasn’t good enough to turn pro and simply dismissed my request for some guidance.

With the new eyes I have now, eyes that God has opened, I realize maybe his quote was a way of motivating or possibly even apologizing to me—instead of capitalizing on the fame I would earn playing professional football, which I thought he did for so many years. I hope I’m right. If I’m not, or in either event, I forgive him completely for not believing in me and encouraging me when I needed it most.

Coach Bryant always carried a poem in his wallet titled This Is the Beginning of a New Day. If he ever told anybody why he carried it for so many years, I don’t remember, but here is how it read:

This is the beginning of a new day.

God has given me this day to use as I will.

I can waste it or use it for good.

What I do today is very important, because

I am exchanging a day of my life for it.

When tomorrow comes, this day will be gone forever,

Leaving something in its place I have traded for it.

I want it to be a gain, not a loss—good, not evil.

Success, not failure in order that

I shall not forget the price I have paid for it

—W. Heartsill Wilson

The author, Heartsill Wilson, was an accountant in Texas who also worked on the sales staff of Chrysler. Considered one of the finest sales consultants to the automotive industry, he was one of the most respected motivational speakers of his time.

One of the greatest gifts Wilson had, which I now believe probably appealed most to Coach Bryant, was his ability to see the best in people and get them to see their own value and talents. His philosophy of leadership was often referred to as peopleology, a term loosely defined as the art of seeing things from someone else’s perspective, and in the world of sales, his mantra was to sell Jim Brown what Jim Brown buys and see Jim Brown’s needs through Jim Brown’s eyes.

I also personally think now that Coach Bryant carried that poem as a gut check or a reminder to balance his leadership style every now and then away from being a total dictator and a chronic, often punishing, masochistic football coach with exercising encouragement and positive praise of a player’s strengths rather than constantly harping on his weaknesses. I remember one particularly grueling practice early in my playing days at Bama when Coach Bryant felt I wasn’t giving my absolute best against the defense. He came down out of the tower—where he sometimes watched practice—pulled me out of the line, grabbed me by the face mask, and yanked me over to the sideline like a dog by the chain. Hannah! he growled, You fat, lazy turd! You’re better ’n that, boy! You better dig real deep and find out who you are in the gut, boy—in the gut—because I ain’t seeing anything but a fat, lazy turd, you understand? This rebuke out in front of the rest of the squad scared the complete life out of me. I stood there, huffing and heaving and tried to nod my head. Hannah, he continued, you better find out who you are, boy, and find out if you’re really as good as you think you are. You got a lot of promise, boy, and if you want to play for me, you gotta show me who you are!

He was literally roaring at me in that voice that sounded like a concrete mixer with gravel tumbling in the bottom. I managed to force out a labored, Yes sir, coach! He pushed me back a bit and let go of the face mask. Okay, then, let’s get back to work, he said as he turned his back to me and started toward the tower. I better never have to have this talk with you again, son. And he never did. For all the years I played my heart out for him at Alabama, and for many years thereafter, I felt like he coached me individually with a lot more negative than positive reinforcement. Regardless, he was a great coach to play for and he taught me a lot. And with that uncertain endorsement from Coach Bryant, I left Bama full of ego and vanity, but I somehow endured to become a nationally recognized pro football player with my face staring out of a helmet on the cover of Sports Illustrated, the most prestigious sports magazine on the planet.

Some people would say my life was the American Dream come true. Maybe in their eyes they were right. In mine the truth is that most of my life and pro career were more of a living nightmare than a dream because the man I saw in the mirror each day was someone I never really knew. The real me was a little boy in a champion’s body trying to make his daddy happy by emulating the pro football players I had watched growing up. I wanted to become one of those players so badly I became an impostor, posing as John Hannah: The Best Offensive Lineman of All Time. Until I finally outgrew that mission and found myself in Psalm 73—the number I wore for my entire college and professional careers—the drive to become a player like I idolized and to please my father in the process detracted from every other meaningful relationship I had. In striving to be the best in every game or competition, I never completed the development of my personality, nor did I truly get to know my Heavenly Father. Both of these shortcomings drastically affected my quality of life and ultimately frustrated bonding with my own son.

The brutally honest fact is that my trophies and success were not gained from pursuing ideals. They were medals I won fighting against God’s will. They were ribbons, plaques, crystal, and brass awards I weighted myself down with as I guarded the true inner me. I was rewarded and decorated for hiding inside a uniform as I pursued a myopic goal of defining my image as the best athlete I could be.

Even though it took a lifetime to realize it, I now know it all began by misunderstanding some basic lessons of life that my dad taught me as a boy. When I displayed some sensitive personality traits of introspection and compassion as a child, I mistakenly thought he strongly deterred those because he encouraged me to show him how tough I was or how well I played football. I began to fear letting him down—or worse—doing something on or off the field that would disappoint him and embarrass me.

My life became about developing a