Dungy's Missed Opportunity
Before winning the Superbowl as head coach of the Indianapolis Colts, Tony Dungy had already solidified an impressive reputation in the National Football League. He was the Pittsburgh Steelers' safety who forced a game-clinching fumble in Superbowl XIII. He was the defensive mastermind in Tampa Bay who proved that he could handle a team built around an offense when he made the move to Indy. He was also the quiet and respectful coach, who didn't curse, scream or threaten his players, and he was adamant that this approach was as good a method as any for crafting a championship team. After last Sunday, Dungy had one more thing to add to his resume: he became the first African-American coach to win the Superbowl.
Dungy's race may not be the most important aspect of the win, but it is an important part of it and whether or not Dungy wanted the responsibility, he was the central part of an historical moment for a sport that remained segregated for almost as long as water fountains and lunch counters. Every African-American head coach of a professional football team accepted his job along with the understanding that he might be the first to win a Superbowl and deal with the ensuing media circus. Any one of them could have been the first to stand on that podium, covered in confetti with Jim Nantz asking how it felt. In the end, it was Tony Dungy who did it first, it was Tony Dungy who was on stage, and it was Tony Dungy who was given one chance to say something moving and important. In the end, it was Tony Dungy who made a mistake.
When he was handed the Lombardi trophy Dungy said, "More than anything, I've said it before, Lovie Smith and I, not only the first two African-Americans, but Christian coaches showing that you can win doing it the Lord's way. And we're more proud of that." Dungy's mistakes with this comment were two-fold. First, he compartmentalized his identity, he separated his race from his religion, and he privileged the wrong one. He should have said something about following in the footsteps of players like Kenny Washington, who effectively reintegrated football in 1946, and Paul "Tank" Younger, the first athlete recruited by the NFL from an historically black college. And he definitely should have mentioned Art Shell, the first African-American head coach in the NFL. Instead, Dungy tried to circumvent race and claim that it was more important that he was standing there as a Christian, and he gave credit and power to a group that has no lack of it.
Dungy's second mistake was giving up this one-time opportunity in exchange for thirty seconds of evangelism. True, Dungy has described himself as more of a teacher than a coach, he has donated his time as a mentor to underprivileged kids, and is a committed and attentive parent. In short the story that Dungy is putting forth is that he is following the "Lord's way," both on the field and off, but as in most cases there is a sinkhole beneath this perfect surface. Next month Tony Dungy will be honored at the annual fundraising banquet of the Indiana Family Institute (IFI), an organization dedicated to legalizing discriminatory adoption practices and which endorses participation in a controversial program claiming to cure homosexuality.
The problem is not that Dungy professed his faith, but that he is now using his stature, which is the result of success in the Superbowl and the NFL, to raise money for a discriminatory organization. When John Rocker made racist comments, we demanded an apology and when Miss USA Tara Connor was caught with drugs, we demanded contrition, and rehabilitation. If we ask that much from these figures of minimal importance, why would we demand less from someone with such an illustrious career who has made such an indelible mark on the history of America's most popular sport? Dungy's association with IFI is not comparable to drug use or racism but as a public figure, especially one who has welcomed the opportunity to act as a role model, he takes a risk when he introduces the world to his politics, which in this case, happen to permit discrimination.
The first African-American players in the NFL faced many injustices; they were forced to stay in separate hotels, many times they were excluded from road games in non-integrated states, and they were constantly berated on the field by racist members of opposing teams. In many other sports, like tennis, lacrosse and hockey, and in the mostly white front offices of professional teams, the challenges for African-Americans are still very real. Because of this, Dungy's missed opportunity not only overlooked the past, but it ignored the struggle that is still going on.
That Dungy's philanthropic efforts happen to include a homophobic organization is even more upsetting as this issue is very relevant in the world of professional sports right now. The recent coming out of John Amaechi, a former NBA player, proves that there have been and likely are more professional athletes who also happen to be gay though no current members of any US team have come out. The struggle for equality for gay athletes includes reluctance of teammates to share locker rooms and showers, fear of physical harm on the field, fear of homophobic coaches limiting their playing time and the inability to be open about their lives with their professional colleagues. The eventual acceptance of these athletes will be made possible in part by the work done for the past sixty years by African-Americans, including Tony Dungy, and as such, in his public life, he has the responsibility to make it easier, not harder, for this change to occur.
Dungy's race may not be the most important aspect of the win, but it is an important part of it and whether or not Dungy wanted the responsibility, he was the central part of an historical moment for a sport that remained segregated for almost as long as water fountains and lunch counters. Every African-American head coach of a professional football team accepted his job along with the understanding that he might be the first to win a Superbowl and deal with the ensuing media circus. Any one of them could have been the first to stand on that podium, covered in confetti with Jim Nantz asking how it felt. In the end, it was Tony Dungy who did it first, it was Tony Dungy who was on stage, and it was Tony Dungy who was given one chance to say something moving and important. In the end, it was Tony Dungy who made a mistake.
When he was handed the Lombardi trophy Dungy said, "More than anything, I've said it before, Lovie Smith and I, not only the first two African-Americans, but Christian coaches showing that you can win doing it the Lord's way. And we're more proud of that." Dungy's mistakes with this comment were two-fold. First, he compartmentalized his identity, he separated his race from his religion, and he privileged the wrong one. He should have said something about following in the footsteps of players like Kenny Washington, who effectively reintegrated football in 1946, and Paul "Tank" Younger, the first athlete recruited by the NFL from an historically black college. And he definitely should have mentioned Art Shell, the first African-American head coach in the NFL. Instead, Dungy tried to circumvent race and claim that it was more important that he was standing there as a Christian, and he gave credit and power to a group that has no lack of it.
Dungy's second mistake was giving up this one-time opportunity in exchange for thirty seconds of evangelism. True, Dungy has described himself as more of a teacher than a coach, he has donated his time as a mentor to underprivileged kids, and is a committed and attentive parent. In short the story that Dungy is putting forth is that he is following the "Lord's way," both on the field and off, but as in most cases there is a sinkhole beneath this perfect surface. Next month Tony Dungy will be honored at the annual fundraising banquet of the Indiana Family Institute (IFI), an organization dedicated to legalizing discriminatory adoption practices and which endorses participation in a controversial program claiming to cure homosexuality.
The problem is not that Dungy professed his faith, but that he is now using his stature, which is the result of success in the Superbowl and the NFL, to raise money for a discriminatory organization. When John Rocker made racist comments, we demanded an apology and when Miss USA Tara Connor was caught with drugs, we demanded contrition, and rehabilitation. If we ask that much from these figures of minimal importance, why would we demand less from someone with such an illustrious career who has made such an indelible mark on the history of America's most popular sport? Dungy's association with IFI is not comparable to drug use or racism but as a public figure, especially one who has welcomed the opportunity to act as a role model, he takes a risk when he introduces the world to his politics, which in this case, happen to permit discrimination.
The first African-American players in the NFL faced many injustices; they were forced to stay in separate hotels, many times they were excluded from road games in non-integrated states, and they were constantly berated on the field by racist members of opposing teams. In many other sports, like tennis, lacrosse and hockey, and in the mostly white front offices of professional teams, the challenges for African-Americans are still very real. Because of this, Dungy's missed opportunity not only overlooked the past, but it ignored the struggle that is still going on.
That Dungy's philanthropic efforts happen to include a homophobic organization is even more upsetting as this issue is very relevant in the world of professional sports right now. The recent coming out of John Amaechi, a former NBA player, proves that there have been and likely are more professional athletes who also happen to be gay though no current members of any US team have come out. The struggle for equality for gay athletes includes reluctance of teammates to share locker rooms and showers, fear of physical harm on the field, fear of homophobic coaches limiting their playing time and the inability to be open about their lives with their professional colleagues. The eventual acceptance of these athletes will be made possible in part by the work done for the past sixty years by African-Americans, including Tony Dungy, and as such, in his public life, he has the responsibility to make it easier, not harder, for this change to occur.
