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THE STORY OF LEON LETT
A remarkable career haunted by two vilified plays, the former Pro Bowl defensive tackle speaks for the first time about his life with the Dallas Cowboys.
by Jeff Sullivan
Leon Lett's mother, Rachel, still buys the books, the magazines, whatever, back home in Alabama. If the Dallas Cowboys are on the cover, the purchase is made without hesitation.
Perhaps these words will tell the story, maybe this time her son's many accomplishments over some 126 regular-season and playoff games will be glorified rather than vilified for two plays that in the end meant absolutely nothing.
On occasion, when visiting the house in Fairhope he bought his mother, not far from the dirt road of his childhood home, Lett has flipped through one of those books, but more times than not, he doesn't bother. He knows the words.
"They usually don't say very nice things about me," he says.
During his 10 years with the Cowboys, from 1991-2000, Lett was simply one of the most dominant defensive tackles in the game, a two-time Pro Bowler who helped Dallas win three Super Bowls. A former basketball player with rare quickness for his size (6-6, 290 pounds), Lett was as capable of clogging up two blockers within the "A" gap as he was back-pedaling downfield into pass coverage. Many, including John Madden and Jimmy Johnson, have often cited him as the most underappreciated contributor in the Cowboys' dynasty run of three Super Bowls in four seasons.
As with any interior defensive lineman, statistics are virtually useless in judging Lett the football player, although he registered 22.5 career sacks and often ranked among the team leaders in forced fumbles and fumble recoveries. He could've easily been selected to four or five Pro Bowls, and if not for the multiple suspensions for violating the league's substance-abuse policy, Lett would possibly rank in the second tier behind Randy White and Bob Lilly among the great tackles in Cowboys history.
Alas, for the overwhelming majority, Lett's legacy is that of two singular plays, two snaps of the football that have ignorantly stolen his deserved stature in franchise lore. Even crueler, though, is the devastating and lingering effect these two moments have had on Lett, a kid from small-town America living the dream with really no clue how to handle the limelight.
Growing up in Fairhope, a suburb of Mobile, Lett was always the biggest kid. This was before weight restrictions existed in youth football, so they gave young Leon the football as the running back and just told him to go.
"I scored all the touchdowns; the parents would be yelling I shouldn't be out there," Lett says. "I was a pretty good running back."
He cracked six feet before his ninth birthday and kept growing, in both directions. When he was 16 years old, his father, a massive man himself, Leon Sr., passed away, leaving Rachel and the four kids. Admittedly unmotivated in the classroom before his father's death, Leon Jr. drifted even more, outside of playing football and basketball, and wasn't able to qualify academically at Auburn.
He ended up playing two seasons at Hinds Junior College in Raymond, Miss., and while there were a few Division I offers, transfer credits were an issue. Lett landed at Emporia State in Kansas, an NAIA program. After two seasons there, he worked out for three NFL teams, Kansas City, Chicago and the New York Giants, whose scout told him point blank, "You're not strong enough or fast enough for the NFL."
Thing was, by typical standards, he wasn't. A defensive end at Emporia, he was around 260 pounds but could only bench press 225 pounds 12 times. Still, the Cowboys surprised many by selecting Lett in the seventh round of the 1991 draft, none moreso than Lett himself, who was playing basketball in the gym at Emporia when his roommate came running up and said the Cowboys just called. Lett didn't believe him. He returned to his dorm room nonetheless and when Johnson called back, Lett answered.
"Jimmy said they had drafted me and I was a Dallas Cowboy," Lett says. "I said, 'Stop playing, you ain't no Jimmy Johnson and you ain't with the Dallas Cowboys, who is this?' And Jimmy said, 'No, Leon, I'm serious. This is for real.' And then Jerry Jones got on the phone and I recognized his voice and realized no one was playing a joke on me.
"I was always a Cowboys fan growing up. My father was a Cowboys fan. We lived closer to New Orleans, but Dallas was always on and I just loved that group of players, Tony Dorsett, Ed 'Too Tall' Jones, Roger Staubach. I just remember being numb for three or four hours after Jimmy and Jerry hung up the phone."
So Leon Lett came to Dallas, his first trip to the city, in fact. He moved from a place where a couple of hundred people would watch his football games to an area where football was king and the Cowboys were royalty.
"Right after I was drafted, the first time at Valley Ranch, Jimmy walks up to me and says that I need to put on 25 pounds to play tackle in the NFL and at that moment I knew there was a chance of making the team," Lett says. "It was crazy, just going into restaurants and people knowing who I was. I was a backup defensive tackle. Why would anyone know who I was?"
By the end of his rookie season, despite missing the first 11 games on injured reserve, Lett, who was almost immediately dubbed the "Big Cat" by teammates for his quickness, was sharing snaps with Russell Maryland, the No. 1 overall pick of that same '91 draft. The next season, with Lett playing a crucial role in a defensive line rotation, Dallas advanced to its first Super Bowl in 14 years.
The Cowboys routed the Buffalo Bills, 52-17, in the Rose Bowl on Jan. 31, 1993. Lett was superb in the win, with two forced fumbles, a fumble recovery and a did-that-just-happen play that saw him tackle Bills wide receiver Steve Tasker 20 yards downfield. He also returned a fumble 63 yards … well, you know the rest. Buffalo's Don Beebe sprinted downfield and, as Lett was doing his best Michael Irvin impersonation, knocked the pigskin from his hand at the one-yard line and out of the back of the end zone for a touchback.
"Before that first Super Bowl, L.A. to me was Lower Alabama. That was my first time in Los Angeles," Lett says. "I remember Michael Jackson performed at halftime and I snuck a peek, couldn't pass that up. It was Michael Jackson and I was just a kid from nowhere.
"I remember on media day, I didn't even have a microphone, literally not a single person asked me a question. After the game, I had my own podium with everyone asking the same question. I tried answering the best I could at first, but after 50 times, what else could I say?
"Looking back, it was more my own perception rather than what people thought. I didn't even celebrate after the game. I went back to my hotel room. Felt horrible for weeks."
Of course, Dallas easily won the game, the gaffe was more funny ha-ha. Johnson was upset for about 10 seconds and moved on. No big deal.
That wasn't the case the following Thanksgiving, on Nov. 25, 1993.
Perhaps the most inexplicable weather the city of Irving has ever witnessed covered the field with snow, ice, sleet and every frozen liquid in between. By the second half, temperatures were in the mid-20s and players were slipping and sliding all afternoon. Both kickers struggled, with Miami's Pete Stoyanovich falling on his posterior while failing on a 44-yard field goal attempt in the first quarter. Dallas' Eddie Murray also missed a 32-yard try with 2:20 remaining in the game, which would've given the Cowboys a four-point advantage. Instead, they led 14-13, and Miami was able to attempt a 41-yard kick with 15 seconds remaining. Defensive tackle Jimmie Jones blocked the kick and the game appeared over as the players screamed "Peter, Peter," the code for stay away.
Some 16 Turkey Days later, Leon doesn't know the why of what happened next, but for the first time, he's willing to try and explain the reasons behind his slide-and-kick heard 'round the football world that resulted in the game-winning 19-yard field goal by Stoyanovich with 0:00 remaining on the clock, the most crushing of defeats.
"I knew the rule. I had blocked field goals in the past. It's not like it was my first time on the field-goal block team," Lett said. "I have been trying to think back for what, 16 years now, and I don't know what happened. It was a brain freeze. I remember (safety) Thomas Everett returned a field goal earlier in the game. Maybe I thought of that, I don't know. There are no excuses.
"I was the first one in the locker room. I just wanted off that field. I ran right in and went to the trainers' room. I remember hearing helmets flying, hitting the wall, guys yelling in frustration. I lost the game.
"A few guys came into the trainers' room to see me. I remember Nate (Newton) coming in, Michael (Irvin). Then Jimmy walked in. I didn't know what to do or say, I thought he was going to curse me out or cut me. He comes over to me, puts his hand on my shoulder and says in a soft voice, 'Don't worry, Leon, you're my boy and I'm sticking with you no matter what. As long as I have a job here, you have a job.' Those words meant the world to me."
Later Johnson told the media, "Leon went to the training room and cried his eyes out. Ah, he's such a good kid. We are a team and we made a lot of mistakes today."
Not surprisingly, the press wasn't as sympathetic, and the shy, introverted kid from a dirt road in Fairhope wasn't about to defend himself, creating the easiest of targets.
Instead, outside of the football field, he shut down, and unfortunately, this is when the off-the-field recreational fun transformed into substance abuse. This is when the demons visited Leon, the ones that made him feel worthless, the ones that convinced him he couldn't handle the pressures on his own.
There were letters, oh were there letters. Many were positive. Some said Lett owed them money for gambling losses, and others, in retrospect were funny, like the young girl who told him not to worry because there was a guy from the Super Bowl last year that was running for a touchdown and lost the ball on the one-yard line and that was much worse.
Then there were those other letters—faceless, nameless and cowardly—that called Leon stupid and dumb, many littered with racial slurs.
In the aftermath of the Thanksgiving loss to Miami, Lett decided against speaking with the media outside of the occasional comment here and there, nothing in-depth or in respect to the Miami loss or his substance-abuse issues.
"I'd talk with a few guys if they wanted to talk football. I'd always talk football with anyone," Lett says. "I chose not to speak with the media about that other stuff. There's not much to say. It was hard, too. A few of the guys took their shots at me, called me stupid. The fans were great, though, all the ones that I run into say they remember me as a great player and I love to hear that.
"I was young, I made some mistakes. I rationalized my bad behavior off the field. The reason I am here talking is because the Cowboys organization stood behind me when they didn't need to."
The substance-abuse issues, the demons in Leon's head, didn't relent when the loss became somewhat irrelevant considering the Cowboys went on to repeat as Super Bowl champs. He was suspended by the NFL on three different occasions for a total of 28 games, including 16 combined in 1996 and 1997.
After 10 seasons with the Cowboys, Lett played a final campaign with Denver in 2001 before hanging up the shoulder pads for good. After dabbling with building houses and real estate, he decided two years ago he wanted to coach. Knowing he needed his degree, Lett enrolled at UNLV, where one of his former line coaches with the Cowboys, Andre Patterson, was working. In three semesters, Lett completed his remaining 28 credits and earned his bachelor's degree. He even walked with the graduating class this past May.
As for the substance-abuse demons, Lett's been clean for nearly nine years, with his 11-year-old daughter serving as his main motivation.
"I have to be there for her like my mother was for me," Lett says.
Degree in hand, Lett served as a volunteer coach at UNLV this football season and already has an offer as a defensive line coach at a Division I-AA program for 2010. He splits his time between Las Vegas and his home in North Dallas.
"I love talking off-the-field stuff with the kids. I love talking with the younger guys, letting them know what I experienced and what I went through," Lett says. "And there's nothing better for me than talking football, especially defensive line. This is what I want to do with my life."
Earlier this season, UNLV played at Air Force in Colorado with the temperature at 33 degrees and a wind chill of 20. It also snowed the entire second half.
"We played at Air Force a few weeks ago and it was snowing," Lett says. "So one of our players says, 'Coach Lett, did you ever play in the snow?' and I said, 'You don't know I have the biggest screw-up in football history?'"
As he finishes the story, Lett laughs. He spoke for nearly three hours on any subject, exuding a confidence and calmness that were obviously absent during his playing days.
The demons are gone and for the first time in his life really, Leon Lett likes himself, likes the person he has become, the father, the college graduate, the coach, the role model. He was walking through an airport not long ago in Wisconsin of all places, and some guy wearing a Green Bay Packers shirt said, "Hey, you're the Big Cat, huh?" Leon smiled. The man replied, "You were pretty good, at least for a Cowboy."
Indeed, he was.
The books in his mother's living room be damned.
A remarkable career haunted by two vilified plays, the former Pro Bowl defensive tackle speaks for the first time about his life with the Dallas Cowboys.
by Jeff Sullivan
Leon Lett's mother, Rachel, still buys the books, the magazines, whatever, back home in Alabama. If the Dallas Cowboys are on the cover, the purchase is made without hesitation.
Perhaps these words will tell the story, maybe this time her son's many accomplishments over some 126 regular-season and playoff games will be glorified rather than vilified for two plays that in the end meant absolutely nothing.
On occasion, when visiting the house in Fairhope he bought his mother, not far from the dirt road of his childhood home, Lett has flipped through one of those books, but more times than not, he doesn't bother. He knows the words.
"They usually don't say very nice things about me," he says.
During his 10 years with the Cowboys, from 1991-2000, Lett was simply one of the most dominant defensive tackles in the game, a two-time Pro Bowler who helped Dallas win three Super Bowls. A former basketball player with rare quickness for his size (6-6, 290 pounds), Lett was as capable of clogging up two blockers within the "A" gap as he was back-pedaling downfield into pass coverage. Many, including John Madden and Jimmy Johnson, have often cited him as the most underappreciated contributor in the Cowboys' dynasty run of three Super Bowls in four seasons.
As with any interior defensive lineman, statistics are virtually useless in judging Lett the football player, although he registered 22.5 career sacks and often ranked among the team leaders in forced fumbles and fumble recoveries. He could've easily been selected to four or five Pro Bowls, and if not for the multiple suspensions for violating the league's substance-abuse policy, Lett would possibly rank in the second tier behind Randy White and Bob Lilly among the great tackles in Cowboys history.
Alas, for the overwhelming majority, Lett's legacy is that of two singular plays, two snaps of the football that have ignorantly stolen his deserved stature in franchise lore. Even crueler, though, is the devastating and lingering effect these two moments have had on Lett, a kid from small-town America living the dream with really no clue how to handle the limelight.
Growing up in Fairhope, a suburb of Mobile, Lett was always the biggest kid. This was before weight restrictions existed in youth football, so they gave young Leon the football as the running back and just told him to go.
"I scored all the touchdowns; the parents would be yelling I shouldn't be out there," Lett says. "I was a pretty good running back."
He cracked six feet before his ninth birthday and kept growing, in both directions. When he was 16 years old, his father, a massive man himself, Leon Sr., passed away, leaving Rachel and the four kids. Admittedly unmotivated in the classroom before his father's death, Leon Jr. drifted even more, outside of playing football and basketball, and wasn't able to qualify academically at Auburn.
He ended up playing two seasons at Hinds Junior College in Raymond, Miss., and while there were a few Division I offers, transfer credits were an issue. Lett landed at Emporia State in Kansas, an NAIA program. After two seasons there, he worked out for three NFL teams, Kansas City, Chicago and the New York Giants, whose scout told him point blank, "You're not strong enough or fast enough for the NFL."
Thing was, by typical standards, he wasn't. A defensive end at Emporia, he was around 260 pounds but could only bench press 225 pounds 12 times. Still, the Cowboys surprised many by selecting Lett in the seventh round of the 1991 draft, none moreso than Lett himself, who was playing basketball in the gym at Emporia when his roommate came running up and said the Cowboys just called. Lett didn't believe him. He returned to his dorm room nonetheless and when Johnson called back, Lett answered.
"Jimmy said they had drafted me and I was a Dallas Cowboy," Lett says. "I said, 'Stop playing, you ain't no Jimmy Johnson and you ain't with the Dallas Cowboys, who is this?' And Jimmy said, 'No, Leon, I'm serious. This is for real.' And then Jerry Jones got on the phone and I recognized his voice and realized no one was playing a joke on me.
"I was always a Cowboys fan growing up. My father was a Cowboys fan. We lived closer to New Orleans, but Dallas was always on and I just loved that group of players, Tony Dorsett, Ed 'Too Tall' Jones, Roger Staubach. I just remember being numb for three or four hours after Jimmy and Jerry hung up the phone."
So Leon Lett came to Dallas, his first trip to the city, in fact. He moved from a place where a couple of hundred people would watch his football games to an area where football was king and the Cowboys were royalty.
"Right after I was drafted, the first time at Valley Ranch, Jimmy walks up to me and says that I need to put on 25 pounds to play tackle in the NFL and at that moment I knew there was a chance of making the team," Lett says. "It was crazy, just going into restaurants and people knowing who I was. I was a backup defensive tackle. Why would anyone know who I was?"
By the end of his rookie season, despite missing the first 11 games on injured reserve, Lett, who was almost immediately dubbed the "Big Cat" by teammates for his quickness, was sharing snaps with Russell Maryland, the No. 1 overall pick of that same '91 draft. The next season, with Lett playing a crucial role in a defensive line rotation, Dallas advanced to its first Super Bowl in 14 years.
The Cowboys routed the Buffalo Bills, 52-17, in the Rose Bowl on Jan. 31, 1993. Lett was superb in the win, with two forced fumbles, a fumble recovery and a did-that-just-happen play that saw him tackle Bills wide receiver Steve Tasker 20 yards downfield. He also returned a fumble 63 yards … well, you know the rest. Buffalo's Don Beebe sprinted downfield and, as Lett was doing his best Michael Irvin impersonation, knocked the pigskin from his hand at the one-yard line and out of the back of the end zone for a touchback.
"Before that first Super Bowl, L.A. to me was Lower Alabama. That was my first time in Los Angeles," Lett says. "I remember Michael Jackson performed at halftime and I snuck a peek, couldn't pass that up. It was Michael Jackson and I was just a kid from nowhere.
"I remember on media day, I didn't even have a microphone, literally not a single person asked me a question. After the game, I had my own podium with everyone asking the same question. I tried answering the best I could at first, but after 50 times, what else could I say?
"Looking back, it was more my own perception rather than what people thought. I didn't even celebrate after the game. I went back to my hotel room. Felt horrible for weeks."
Of course, Dallas easily won the game, the gaffe was more funny ha-ha. Johnson was upset for about 10 seconds and moved on. No big deal.
That wasn't the case the following Thanksgiving, on Nov. 25, 1993.
Perhaps the most inexplicable weather the city of Irving has ever witnessed covered the field with snow, ice, sleet and every frozen liquid in between. By the second half, temperatures were in the mid-20s and players were slipping and sliding all afternoon. Both kickers struggled, with Miami's Pete Stoyanovich falling on his posterior while failing on a 44-yard field goal attempt in the first quarter. Dallas' Eddie Murray also missed a 32-yard try with 2:20 remaining in the game, which would've given the Cowboys a four-point advantage. Instead, they led 14-13, and Miami was able to attempt a 41-yard kick with 15 seconds remaining. Defensive tackle Jimmie Jones blocked the kick and the game appeared over as the players screamed "Peter, Peter," the code for stay away.
Some 16 Turkey Days later, Leon doesn't know the why of what happened next, but for the first time, he's willing to try and explain the reasons behind his slide-and-kick heard 'round the football world that resulted in the game-winning 19-yard field goal by Stoyanovich with 0:00 remaining on the clock, the most crushing of defeats.
"I knew the rule. I had blocked field goals in the past. It's not like it was my first time on the field-goal block team," Lett said. "I have been trying to think back for what, 16 years now, and I don't know what happened. It was a brain freeze. I remember (safety) Thomas Everett returned a field goal earlier in the game. Maybe I thought of that, I don't know. There are no excuses.
"I was the first one in the locker room. I just wanted off that field. I ran right in and went to the trainers' room. I remember hearing helmets flying, hitting the wall, guys yelling in frustration. I lost the game.
"A few guys came into the trainers' room to see me. I remember Nate (Newton) coming in, Michael (Irvin). Then Jimmy walked in. I didn't know what to do or say, I thought he was going to curse me out or cut me. He comes over to me, puts his hand on my shoulder and says in a soft voice, 'Don't worry, Leon, you're my boy and I'm sticking with you no matter what. As long as I have a job here, you have a job.' Those words meant the world to me."
Later Johnson told the media, "Leon went to the training room and cried his eyes out. Ah, he's such a good kid. We are a team and we made a lot of mistakes today."
Not surprisingly, the press wasn't as sympathetic, and the shy, introverted kid from a dirt road in Fairhope wasn't about to defend himself, creating the easiest of targets.
Instead, outside of the football field, he shut down, and unfortunately, this is when the off-the-field recreational fun transformed into substance abuse. This is when the demons visited Leon, the ones that made him feel worthless, the ones that convinced him he couldn't handle the pressures on his own.
There were letters, oh were there letters. Many were positive. Some said Lett owed them money for gambling losses, and others, in retrospect were funny, like the young girl who told him not to worry because there was a guy from the Super Bowl last year that was running for a touchdown and lost the ball on the one-yard line and that was much worse.
Then there were those other letters—faceless, nameless and cowardly—that called Leon stupid and dumb, many littered with racial slurs.
In the aftermath of the Thanksgiving loss to Miami, Lett decided against speaking with the media outside of the occasional comment here and there, nothing in-depth or in respect to the Miami loss or his substance-abuse issues.
"I'd talk with a few guys if they wanted to talk football. I'd always talk football with anyone," Lett says. "I chose not to speak with the media about that other stuff. There's not much to say. It was hard, too. A few of the guys took their shots at me, called me stupid. The fans were great, though, all the ones that I run into say they remember me as a great player and I love to hear that.
"I was young, I made some mistakes. I rationalized my bad behavior off the field. The reason I am here talking is because the Cowboys organization stood behind me when they didn't need to."
The substance-abuse issues, the demons in Leon's head, didn't relent when the loss became somewhat irrelevant considering the Cowboys went on to repeat as Super Bowl champs. He was suspended by the NFL on three different occasions for a total of 28 games, including 16 combined in 1996 and 1997.
After 10 seasons with the Cowboys, Lett played a final campaign with Denver in 2001 before hanging up the shoulder pads for good. After dabbling with building houses and real estate, he decided two years ago he wanted to coach. Knowing he needed his degree, Lett enrolled at UNLV, where one of his former line coaches with the Cowboys, Andre Patterson, was working. In three semesters, Lett completed his remaining 28 credits and earned his bachelor's degree. He even walked with the graduating class this past May.
As for the substance-abuse demons, Lett's been clean for nearly nine years, with his 11-year-old daughter serving as his main motivation.
"I have to be there for her like my mother was for me," Lett says.
Degree in hand, Lett served as a volunteer coach at UNLV this football season and already has an offer as a defensive line coach at a Division I-AA program for 2010. He splits his time between Las Vegas and his home in North Dallas.
"I love talking off-the-field stuff with the kids. I love talking with the younger guys, letting them know what I experienced and what I went through," Lett says. "And there's nothing better for me than talking football, especially defensive line. This is what I want to do with my life."
Earlier this season, UNLV played at Air Force in Colorado with the temperature at 33 degrees and a wind chill of 20. It also snowed the entire second half.
"We played at Air Force a few weeks ago and it was snowing," Lett says. "So one of our players says, 'Coach Lett, did you ever play in the snow?' and I said, 'You don't know I have the biggest screw-up in football history?'"
As he finishes the story, Lett laughs. He spoke for nearly three hours on any subject, exuding a confidence and calmness that were obviously absent during his playing days.
The demons are gone and for the first time in his life really, Leon Lett likes himself, likes the person he has become, the father, the college graduate, the coach, the role model. He was walking through an airport not long ago in Wisconsin of all places, and some guy wearing a Green Bay Packers shirt said, "Hey, you're the Big Cat, huh?" Leon smiled. The man replied, "You were pretty good, at least for a Cowboy."
Indeed, he was.
The books in his mother's living room be damned.
