Chapter 20 of When Pride Still Mattered covers a lot, probably more than any other single chapter. In it, we get a brief discussion of Harold Lombardi and how Vince viewed his brother’s sexuality, the pain of losing, the pain of losing again, and the inner workings (yet again) of Vince Lombardi’s nuclear family. 

All of it centers, perhaps obviously, around the title: coming in second. Everybody in Vince Lombardi’s life seems to have had to deal with the pain of being a second fiddle in some way or another. Vince Lombardi dealt with his self-imposed terror of being second to anyone, Harold Lombardi battled the idea of being less than his brother in his parents’ eyes due to his sexual orientation, Marie Lombardi had to come to terms with being her husband’s second priority a lot of the time. 

Everyone has to deal with losing in some way or another. Nobody coasts through life on a nine-decade winning streak, and those of us unlucky enough to have been shielded from failure often find it all the more bitter when it eventually finds us. But the fact is, we all have to deal with the disappointment of not being good enough — for one reason or another, whether it’s our fault or not — at some point. And how we handle that will say a lot about us.

What you think it says about Vince Lombardi will say something about you, but I’m not sure what, exactly. What do you make of the idea of being second-best eating Lombardi alive? How do you process the fact that it truly seems to have consumed him? His pursuit of excellence gave him a lot; he is perhaps the most iconic coach in the history of the game and succeeded at practically every stop in his coaching journey. But that same pursuit took a lot from him, too; it’s hard to call him a great family man, and his health seems to have suffered in direct proportion to his devotion to the game.

On top of that, we have Lombardi’s own reflection on the 1963 season. He described that team as one of his favorites, because even if they didn’t reach their ultimate goal, they still gave it their all despite their many limitations.

I’m not sure how to square that with the unrelenting competitor that we see elsewhere in this chapter, but I don’t know if we necessarily have to, either. Lombardi, like all of us, contained multitudes. He wasn’t any one thing, even in his pursuit of “the only thing.”

Interesting Notes

• Maraniss describes Harold Lombardi as looking “much like his brother, but heavier” and I tried to substantiate that but I couldn’t really find a good picture. What, did people not constantly take pictures of themselves near the middle of the last century?

• I know this is just how things used to be, but it’s funny to imagine players working offseason jobs now. Imagine watching Jordan Love on Sundays in the fall, then catching him at a shift behind the bar in February down at a local watering hole.

• Chuck Morris got a hard life lesson that asking a random woman “who the hell are you?” is a bad move when Vince Lombardi’s wife is the woman in question. Probably best to be a bit more polite!

• The recounting of Dave Robinson’s first few plays as a rookie in the NFL was harrowing. I can recall pretty vividly the terror of going from JV to varsity sports, and I can only imagine it’s only about a billion times scarier to go from college football to playing with the best football team in the world.

• I love Lombardi’s take on golf, because I think it’s applicable to a lot of solo pursuits: “I have the toughest opponent in my golf game. ME. I’m trying to improve my score, and it’s just me. I’m always fighting to get better against myself. That is tough.”