This was Barry's first experience working with professional athletes, and I think he expected them to behave like professionals. Unfortunately, it doesn't always work like that. Some people need a kick in the ass to get motivated; some people don't. That goes for the assistant coaches, too. Barry was hands-off. He didn't assert himself right away; he let the assistant coaches do most of the work.
We were all trying to change gears at the same time; it was bound to get a little rough. For some reason, though, a lot of people--coaches, players, fans, the media--thought it would be a smooth transition. They figured, Barry Switzer's coming in as the new coach, but he's got most of the same players and assistants. All he has to do is leave the system in place and the Cowboys will win another Super Bowl. But it didn't work that way. You see, Barry had a lot of knowledge about the game, a lot of wisdom and experience. And for some reason, he was reluctant to share it. At least for a while. He's a great guy and a great coach, but he's not a disciplinarian. He doesn't believe in jumping on guys, cussing them out, and he took heat for that. There were a couple times that first year when I even got mad at Barry, because we'd lose a close game and afterward Barry would come into the locker room and say, "God damn, that was exciting!" Then he'd walk around with tears in his eyes, hugging guys, shouting, "I love this game and I love all you fuckers!"
That took some getting used to, because a lot of people think it's some kind of submission to behave that way. I'll admit that it made me uncomfortable at first, and that there have been times when Barry and I have gone around a little bit. But I'll tell you, if I had to choose somebody to get on my back--if I had to choose between Barry Switzer and most of the other coaches I've had--I'd choose Barry, because he's a real human being. I respect him.
I started taking Vicodin when I first hurt my back. After a few months I wasn't getting much relief from the usual dosage. They'd tell me, "Take two every four hours." So guess what? I took four every two hours. Then I started going to pain management and I got it under control. I didn't have to take Vicodin very often during the week. On game day, though, I'd take two to four Vicodin, plus a couple Percodan. That would cut the pain a little, allow me to get through the day. The only problem was, I couldn't go to sleep afterward. I'd be wired. Early in the 1996 season I hurt my back so bad that I took two Percodan before going to bed, in addition to the Percodan and Vicodin I had taken before the game. Thirty minutes later my back was still killing me, so I took two more. An hour later I was sitting up in bed, sweating like a pig, with my heart racing, practically jumping out of my chest. I started to panic.
"I think I'm having a heart attack!" I yelled to my wife.
Karen jumped up, scared to death. "What did you take?! How much?!"
When I told her, she wanted to call an ambulance. But I knew that was bad news. I could just imagine the scene: EMTs pulling up in front of the house, sirens blaring, lights flashing; me being carried out on a stretcher. My picture would be on the front page of The Dallas Morning News the next morning, my mouth hanging open, tubes sticking out of my arms, my wife and kids crying. And above the photo, some sick headline:
Drug Overdose KO's Cowboy!
No, thank you.
I tried to relax, get it under control. After a while, my heart stopped pounding. I stopped sweating. The anxiety went away.
I looked at Karen and smiled.
"If that happens again, and I die...don't tell anyone what happened. Just drag my sorry ass out in the street and run over me a couple times."
All the Rage: The Life of an NFL Renegade by Charles Haley with Joe Layden. Copyright © 1997 by Charles Haley. Reprinted by permission of Andrews McMeel Publishing.
