After The Game Has Gone

By Rik Millhouse

"Black & Gold 'Til I'm Dead And Cold."

It is a mantra uttered with great conviction by die-hard Pittsburgh Steelers fans, who rarely pause to reflect upon its serious implications. For some, the game of football is no less worth winning than the game of life. There are even those who, without due contemplation, insincerely and foolishly proclaim they would die to be professional football stars.

And then there are those who die despite it.

Around 7:30 Thursday morning, in upstate New York, former Steelers offensive lineman Justin Strzelczyk lead police on a 40-mile highway chase, reaching speeds approaching 90 mph, before crossing the thruway median into oncoming traffic and crashing head on into a chemical tanker truck. His green Ford pickup exploded on impact, killing the 36-year-old, nicknamed "Jugs" by his teammates, instantly.

�He was a very, very good guy, a good player," Steelers Chairman Dan Rooney remembered fondly. "He added to the whole team activity, playing the guitar and kidding around all the time. It's a shame.�

Former teammate Tunch Ilkin, whose career as an offensive tackle for the Steelers was ending just as Strzelczyk's began, also recalled good memories of the burly but likeable lineman. "He was a real jovial guy," Ilkin reminisced. "I was kind of the father figure in the locker room and he would always bounce questions off me. I tried to be an encourager to him."

Born in a Buffalo, New York, suburb on August 18, 1968, Justin Conrad Strzelczyk excelled at sports from an early age. Throughout his high school career, Strzelczyk's star grew in intensity, culminating in a succession of local and regional accolades. His eventual bulk --- he topped 300 pounds as a tackle for the Steelers --- belied his athletic prowess. As a defensive back, he was named to the All-Western New York football squad while at West Seneca High School, where he was also an all-conference basketball player.

In college at the University of Maine, Strzelczyk originally moved to tight end, a position he played as a sophomore. By his junior year, he had converted to defensive tackle, where he racked up 82 tackles and 10 sacks in a two-year career.

Despite the repeated demands placed on him to learn new positions, transitioning from a defensive player to offense, then back to defense (and ultimately, with the Steelers, back to offense again), Strzelczyk seemed to meet each challenge with an unselfish, "whatever-the-team-needs" attitude. The grizzly banjo enthusiast modestly went about his business, shrugging off adversity wherever it found him. It comes as no surprise then, that Strzelczyk was undeterred when, as an eleventh-round pick for the Steelers in the 1990 draft, he was considered both a project and a long shot to make the team.

Strzelczyk was not satisfied with merely earning a spot on the final roster, though. He wasn't satisfied unless he was contributing to the team and, characteristic of his commitment and willingness to self-sacrifice, Strzelczyk would go on to play in each of the sixteen games of his first four seasons with the Steelers, starting nineteen. In the course of nine seasons with the team, Strzelczyk would play every position on the offensive line except center, switching from guard to tackle as injuries or the coaching staff dictated. When John Jackson was forced to undergo mid-season knee surgery in 1995, Strzelczyk bailed the team out by accepting a move from the right side to the left tackle position, the most important one on the line. Not only did the team not skip a beat, they went on to the Super Bowl that year, with Strzelczyk helping to lead the way. After the season, it was time to flop back to the right side, where he started 30 of the next 32 games. In '98, when Jackson left via free-agency to join the San Diego Chargers, Strzelczyk again scarified for the team.

"I don't think of it like I have to do well because of what's in it for me," Strzelczyk said at the time. "I'm not a glory hound or a media darling. I just want to be successful as a player, whether it's right or left. I know there's more pressure, but that's part of it. I like a challenge, and that's a challenge for me to play left."

Current All-Pro guard Alan Faneca became acquainted with Strzelczyk in his formative years in Pittsburgh. "He was a great player and an even better guy in the locker room," Faneca says. "I came in with a group of guys who put me on the path, and he was one of them."

How then does a man, who was by all appearances so grounded and fearless in the face of change, succumb to the pressures of life in such a dramatically unexpected way as Strzelczyk? It is a question that we as a society are often forced to ask ourselves, when we witness the life of someone who seemingly had it all deviate so shockingly, so horribly, from the storybook ending we may have already authored in our collective minds.

Police say they may never know what lead to the wild chase that ultimately ended in his death, and it could take several weeks for the results of toxicology tests to be returned. In retrospect, however, it seems Strzelczyk's problems, like those of so many other storied ex-athlete's, began when he could no longer do what he had spent his entire life preparing for, playing the game of football.

Things started to go awry for Strzelczyk midway through the 1998 season. On a Monday night game against the Chiefs at Arrowhead, Strzelczyk found himself down on the field in the second quarter, his right leg throbbing in pain. As his teammates gathered around and showered him with pats to the back and helmet before he was eventually carted off the field, a palpable feeling of apprehension, if not fear, beset itself upon Strzelczyk's formidable frame. This was no small injury; an MRI taken the following day revealed a torn quadriceps tendon, a devastating knee injury which required immediate surgery. Suddenly, the man who had become known as much for his selflessness and dependability as his guitar playing in the locker room was gone for the year. Still, not even Strzelczyk, who had faced so many challenges before and won them all, could have predicted that he would never again take the field cloaked in his beloved Black & Gold.

With his knee still weak, Strzelczyk's hopes to return for the 1999 season were dashed. Instead of contributing to victories on the field, he found himself trying to elude being released from the team altogether. Re-signing with the Steelers at a fraction of his original salary and spending the season on injured reserve under the care of the training staff was a tough but necessary choice for this one time symbol of perseverance and strength.

Strzelczyk's inability to contribute weighed heavily on his sense of purpose, not only as a player and provider for his family, but also as a man. It is said that the devil makes work for idle hands; and so it seems that local bars became the formerly happy-go-lucky lineman's in absentia employers during the long and unwanted period of inactivity in 1999. Perhaps it was his innate ability to entertain that drew him in, or perhaps it was just a way to ease the pain he was feeling, both physically and emotionally, but Strzelczyk found popularity at the pub. "Strzelczyk was no Ricky Martin," Pittsburgh Tribune-Review columnist Mike Seate wrote in 2002. "But that didn't stop the ladies from following him from bar to bar. (He) attracted more women in bars than 'Win A Date With George Clooney Night.'"

Whether he intended it or not, Strzelczyk attracted more than just women in the bars. Trouble eventually found him there, too, perched on his stool. After months of hard work, Strzelczyk was involved in a mishap in a bar --- the details of which have always been sketchy and subject to some debate --- in which he aggravated the very same injury he was trying to work back from, effectively undoing the progress he had made in rehabilitating his knee.

Injuries are hard enough for a team to overcome. Non-football injuries are even more difficult to swallow. Needless to say the Pittsburgh coaching staff, who'd failed in their attempt to replace Strzelczyk with a committee of less talented prospects --- Anthony Brown, Chris Conrad and Shar Pourdanesh --- did not receive the news of his misadventure in the bar particularly well. By the time Strzelczyk informed the team that he had torn his biceps while playing in a celebrity ice hockey game in January of 2000, the team had had enough. The lineman whom they had once counted on, who'd fought so hard against such odds, had let them down in the end, with consecutive off-the-field injuries. The Steelers released Strzelczyk for good two weeks later.

If the new millennium started out poorly for Strzelczyk with his release from the team, it only got worse. On November 7th, as his former squad was still recovering from a heart-breaking 9-7 loss to the rival Titans, Strzelczyk was downing a few beers with buddy Garry Smith at Fat Heads Bar in Pittsburgh. It was election night and, what with Bush and Gore in a virtual deadlock that remains unsettled nearly four years later, political debate was a hot ticket. Too hot, it seems, for Strzelczyk who, during the course of the night ended up drawing a chrome-plated 9 mm pistol and laying it on the counter. An off-duty police officer unwinding in the bar witnessed the events and called in officers, who arrived at the bar and arrested the former Steeler for carrying a concealed weapon without a permit.

Strzelczyk avoided serious legal consequences from this incident, but found making a new life for himself away from football a much more difficult task. He dabbled in new business ventures, volunteered his time to charitable organizations, cultivated his interest in the the banjo and motorcycles. Despite the indirect part it had played in his release from the Steelers, he even he continued his association with the Pittsburgh celebrity hockey team, where one of his teammates was another former Steeler, Bill Hurley. In part due to their similar experiences in the NFL, the two became fast friends. But Hurley was as shocked by last week's news as anyone. "I'm trying to think what could have snapped in him," Hurley said. "What could have made him run away from the cops, going the wrong way, without realizing that this was going to end all wrong?"

The fact is, Strzelczyk had been headed in the wrong direction for some time. After an attempt to come back to football failed in 2001, when his hometown Bills worked him out but decided against offering him a contract, his course seems to have been set. A recent divorce may have been the final insurmountable hurdle for Strzelczyk.

His mother, Mary Joyce Strzelczyk, ostensibly would know the man better than anyone. While she was certainly shocked and saddened, she didn't seem altogether surprised by the final chapter of her troubled son's life. She last saw him in Pittsburgh only a week before the accident, when she visited his home in McCandless to see her grandchildren, Strzelczyk's school-age son and daughter. When interviewed after the tragic crash, she told reporters that she suspected her son may have been suffering from an untreated mental or emotional disorder. "I'm kind of numb right now," she informed The Buffalo News. "I had seen trouble with his mood disorders coming."

A former teammate of Strzelczyk's, ex-Steelers guard Brenden Stai, coincidentally was also released from the team in 2000. He reported having seen Strzelczyk recently and noted that he appeared to be completely sober at the time, which only causes more confusion over police claims that Strzelczyk was drinking at the wheel. He added that, as of a month ago, Strzelczyk was still trying to find a new path for his life.

"He was going through some trying times," Stai admitted. "It's tough for athletes, when they're done, to find their way."

In today's sports world, where stars can rise and fall faster than commodities on the stock market, Strzelczyk is not an anomaly. Nor are those who wear the Black and Gold immune from the tragedy that sometimes is the human condition.

Former Steelers quarterback Joe Gilliam, one of the first black QBs to start in the NFL, famously battled drug and alcohol addiction for years. His drug problems in part lead to an early benching and the end of his career with the team. Once cut and left to his own devices, things deteriorated quickly for Gilliam, to the point where he had pawned his two Super Bowl rings and was living in a cardboard box under a bridge for two years. Though he eventually found the road to recovery and had even begun warning kids of drugs through his own football camp, it was already too late. Years of chemical abuse had taken their toll. Gilliam died of a heart attack at the young age of 49 on Christmas Day, 2000.

Perhaps the most tragic tale in team lore is that of nine time All-Pro center Mike Webster, whose work ethic, dedication and toughness helped him achieve demigod status with the Steelers faithful. Webster's refusal to ever give less than 100% of himself to his team earned him the title of offensive captain and ensured his induction into the Hall of Fame, but his tendency to ignore injuries out of fear he'd be forced to miss playing time ultimately proved costly. A decade removed from his playing days, the lineman, considered by many as the greatest center in the game's storied history, was diagnosed with brain damage caused by repeated head injuries. Multiple concussions sustained during his 17-year career had caused irreparable damage to his frontal lobe. The injury affected his attention span and judgment; his behavior became increasingly erratic. Engulfed by debt and depression, Webster separated from his wife and eventually became homeless, living for a time in his pickup truck.

In September of '99, Webster's gradual deterioration bottomed out and the former winner of the NFL's Strongman competition had been reduced to a weak impersonation of his former self. Charged with forging prescriptions to obtain Ritalin, Webster plead no contest in a Beaver County court and was placed on probation. Despite the recognition of being named in 2000 as the center on the All-Time NFL team, it was clear that the glory days of winning four Super Bowls as the anchor of the Black & Gold offense were long behind him. Webster died from what is believed to have been heart failure at age 50 in September 2002.

Dr. John Chang, clinical psychologist and assistant professor at the Wright State University School of Professional Psychology, has studied athletes making the transition to the relative obscurity of everyday existence. "The two areas that appear to impact athletes the most after retirement," he informs, "are the lack of the limelight and lack of structure. No longer are these athletes the center of attention. This can be a difficult process for someone who has been in everyone's radar since they were in elementary school."

"The other problematic area is structure; there are no coaches there telling you what to do, no championship goals or seasons to focus on. It is extremely difficult to go through life without motivation, and life after sports for these athletes is extremely vague. Relationships, child-rearing, emotional instability...there are no clear cuts or direction when it comes to dealing with those areas."

"It's obviously a lot harder," Dr. Chang continues, "for athletes like Justin Strzelczyk, who are cut from their teams earlier than expected."

To their credit, the National Football League has not only recognized the challenges athletes face in making this transition, but they have also done the most of any of the professional leagues to offer aid. In the last 20 years, the NFL Players Association has commissioned several studies to identify and understand the difficulties athletes face better. The numbers have become more alarming with each study. It's clear that a problem exists, but coming up with a solution is where the real challenge lies.

"Think of it like this," Stacy Robinson, the NFLPA's Director of Player Programs, hypothesized in an interview with the Sports Business News. "Let's say a player hasn't played in a couple of years. Now he's down and out and destitute. Who's responsible? Is it the league? The union? The college he attended? I don't know what the right answer is. I don't know if there is one."

A solution to the problems facing ex-athletes attempting to cope with their introduction to the so-called normal world is a long way off. Regrettably, the growth in commonality of the "me-first" athlete in today's culture, those who in their wanton and selfish ways of living do little to inspire sympathy amongst fans, has the capacity to diminish our incentive to care. Yet, in some ways it is our fascination with sport and our proficiency at tasking athletes to accomplish all of those things which we ourselves cannot that implicates us in the perpetual cycle of admiration and abuse of these athletes. Until we can recognize that a problem exists, we cannot as a society work towards alleviating it.

In the meantime, it is imperative that we be fans not only of sport but of humanity; that we remember the higher we raise an athlete in our minds, the farther they stand to fall. Someone should be there to catch them when they do.

(Rik Millhouse's web site can be viewed at: http://home.att.net/~wgt11 )��