Remembering Dave McGinnis, longtime NFL coach, commentator

Englewood, Colo. –Dave McGinnis Everyone you meet has a story. Longtime NFL coach – who spent more than three decades in the NFL, most notably as a head coach Arizona Cardinals Before 2000-03 Died on Monday at the age of 74 – There were mayors everywhere.

His orbit was galactic in size and his West Texas roots were always in tune with the words that flowed at those around him. The people and places were his heritage; A handshake here, a laugh there, a story about how he once met your uncle. And people were always impressed by how he always remembered their names.

Because McGinnis always remembered everyone, that makes the list of those who remember him very long.

I’m in that crowd. Every time Mack forgot his glasses, or when he didn’t want to admit not knowing the right way to where we were going, he asked me to drive his huge truck.

I’d always say we could just put his car in the back and bring him along – that would be a more solid use of his trainee monster truck that never really goes off road. And he always joked about how I parked that truck where we got tamales, or hand-made tortillas, or wherever he announced he got “the best salsa on planet Earth.”

Among his everyday belongings he always carried a business card in his pocket, a card a restaurant owner from Phoenix had written “Always VIP” on the back of it. He would show up when we came in and he would move tables around to seat anyone who came with “Coach Mac” and bring out the best food until there was no more time left in the day.

Football introduced me to Macs decades ago, and it was a great experience. I keep staring at my laptop keyboard, knowing that no matter how many words you type, sometimes they’re not really enough to tell a story.

February was the 39th year I’d attended the Combine – Mac had always said that if I made it to 40 he’d get me a deal on a “big-ass truck,” because well, he always knew someone who knew someone who could get you a used spy satellite, a granite brick, snakeskin boots or whatever else you could dream up.

And if you stroll down Meridian Street in downtown Indianapolis, you’ll find yourself in front of Shapiro’s Deli. Near the front window of the restaurant is a large round table, with six seats and countless memories.

Year after year in the coalition, MAC will continue to hold its own among our core group. The laughter was loud for the breakfast crowd, and every year we’d all tell each other the story – again – of how we were in such a hurry the year before that we beat the cook to the front door. It turned out that the cook did not come that day.

And he was always worried about payment, even though he had no other way. He would also pull out a softball sized wad of cash wrapped in rubber bands, to which I would ask him to bring a wallet like a normal person.

As life progressed, this group became smaller. Retirement, downsizing, layoffs. Etcetera. The last few years it was just him and I, but we laughed loud enough for everyone. And he’ll remind me that you’re nothing unless you have your own bobblehead, and I’ll be damned if Mac doesn’t have a bobblehead, too.

This February, I was the only one at our round table on the second to last day of the Combine, because Mac had missed his first match. His last message to me was about the draft and if I stuck to it, I could achieve “guru status like Coach Mac” with the requisite 17 emojis he sent with every text.

But, like I say, everyone has a Dave McGinnis story.