Amazingly, it's been more than 43 years since John Madden coached his last football game. And yet his popularity soared when he left the sideline.
He became the NFL's premiere TV color analyst, introducing us to colorful words such as "boom" and "doink," while once using the newfangled telestrator technology to highlight the butt sweat of Dallas Cowboys lineman Nate Newton.
We laughed. Everybody did. Even Newton chuckled. At that moment, it was must-see hilarity and Madden's authenticity resonated with the viewing audience.
And that's saying nothing about the TV commercials -- from foot powder to light beer -- or the video game, which continues to unleash his popularity on a new generation of football fans, most of whom have no idea he once raised the Lombardi Trophy after coaching the Oakland Raiders to a Super Bowl championship.
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Madden died Tuesday at the age of 85, just three days after Fox Sports premiered a documentary on his life. You get the feeling the network knew the end was near and word has it he watched it with his family by his side on Christmas Day.
I can't help but feel sad anytime we lose someone who meant so much to so many. You can't tell the story of the National Football League without mentioning Madden.Â
He was that influential.
And yet you'd never know it by looking at him — or by talking with him, which I had the opportunity to do on just one occasion.
It was an hour I'll never forget.
Back in 1995, I was assigned to write a magazine piece on Art Shell, the Raiders' Hall of Fame offensive tackle who had been fired as head coach of his former team but had resurfaced to become the Kansas City Chiefs' offensive line coach.
The Chiefs were playing a game at home early in the season and I knew Madden, who didn't fly — instead opting to take a fully equipped bus called the Madden Cruiser from city to city to broadcast the games — would be at a Friday practice.
Sure enough, there he was, standing alone on the sideline watching the Chiefs go through their workouts. I cautiously approached him and introduced myself, letting him know that I was from Pacifica, California — just a few miles from Daly City, where he grew up.
"Are you from Sharps Park?" he asked, a term used by only longtime coast siders. He wanted me to know he knew that as he smiled warmly, patted me on the back, then asked me what I needed.Â
The ice was broken. He treated me, a complete stranger, like an old friend as I told him about my assignment. I thought I was getting the brushoff when he said he had to go back to his hotel to get something he'd forgotten.
Just as I thought my plans for a quick interview were about to be thwarted, he said, "Why don't you ride with me on the bus and we can talk there?"
How could I say no?
As we boarded the bus, he looked at his longtime driver and told him we were about to talk about the neighborhood — our neighborhood.
"You're not going to know what we're talking about, but that's OK. You just keep driving," he said with a laugh and a pat on the driver's back.
In case you're wondering, the bus was amazing. It had a bedroom, kitchen, full bathroom with shower and tub and a living room, where we sat to talk.
The bus ride was short. Just a few miles, but we stayed on board, talking about Bay Area landmarks, the old days and, finally, Shell.
While we talked, the driver retrieved the needed paperwork from Madden's hotel room, returned and drove us back to the Chiefs' practice field. There was never a lull in the conversation.
We laughed. Madden shared his insights on football and his former player. And when it came time for me to go on my way, he thanked me for my time.
That was my lasting impression. He thanked me. Imagine that.
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In that hour, he made me feel like our conversation was important to him. It likely wasn't, but that was the message that resonated in that moment — and still does 26 years later.
Thank YOU, coach.