This and That
INSIDE THE HEAD, HEART OF A BAYLOR LEGEND
So what, then, are these stories about the tears? On a recent afternoon at the 49ers headquarters, the 51-year-old coach remembered being a kid in Houston, crying as he stood by the road outside his broken family's home, trying to envision a better future. Watching the cars go by, he told himself, "One day, I'm going to be somebody."
He remembered returning to football in 2003, ending an 11-year hiatus that he took to help rear his seven children. On his first day as a Baltimore Ravens assistant, he says, he smelled the grass and the sweat, and his eyes welled up behind his sunglasses.
"He cries a lot," says Kim Singletary, his wife of 25 years. "I know it shatters the perceptions."
The myth isn't false; it's just incomplete. It sits alongside a sentimental dreamer, whose wife has told him not to bury his face in a book when they have company. He's a throwback who, when inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1998, busted tradition as if it were one of his Baylor helmets. Instead of choosing a former coach or teammate as his presenter, he tapped Kim, the only wife ever to deliver an introductory speech at the ceremonies.