The Day the Shore Moved

The lighthouse.

Isolated. Positioned in ruggedness, facing each day and its accompanying elements, attributes, and whims. Might be a beautiful, cloudless day, radiating with sunshine, wrapped in a warm southern breeze, soft enough to comfort, firm enough to assure. Could be a foreboding darkness from the north, accompanied by unending torrents, driven by hissing, howling winds, promising demise in a most menacing tone. Then there are those days when neither extreme is true, but the truth of the lighthouse remains.

Mike Tomlin.

As the dean of Black coaches in a space where the embrace of men like him has been slow, he occupied a station that could be best described as isolated. His ruggedness was Pittsburgh, a city with fans and media who embody the same. During good years, they led with open arms, quick to encourage, even quicker to forgive, promising to be there come what may. Down years brought out a different side, smooth waters turned choppy, but fans, critics and players could always look to Mike. In football, the meantime is when you’re betwixt and between, not champion, nor folly, but still relevant. Here’s the thing about football’s meantime: it can be some really mean time. But through it all, Mike Tomlin was still there.

Now he’s gone

The Shore That Looked Permanent

For the better part of two decades, Mike Tomlin was a fixture on the football landscape. During that span, 135 head coaches passed through the NFL ranks, over 400 different quarterbacks started an NFL game, and eras began and ended on both sides of the league, and through it all, there he stood.

In the NFL, coordinator is an aspiration disguised as a steppingstone. While every coach chosen to coordinate embraces the role, they’re always looking ahead, seeing themselves holding the loudest whistle. Yes, coordinators come and go. In Pittsburgh, they came and went and when they did, they took a slice of the brilliance, the resolve of his presence with them. They came, they learned, they grew, they left … but Mike Tomlin stayed.

Year in and year out, he showed up and as he did, the lines between consistency and permanency blurred. That blur caused so many to miss the fact that while he was still here, one day he’d be gone and as a result, that shore we all took for granted would be a little harder to see, a little harder to reach.

Some Storms we Saw, Some Storms We Never Saw

Storms don’t ask for permission. They don’t announce themselves, send notice explaining what time and day they’ll arrive. Storms just appear, and when they do, you’re left to deal with the litany of challenges they bring. In the midst of those storms, some of the greatest victories of the Tomlin Era were ensuring he didn’t lose his team, ensuring that they didn’t lose themselves. Wins like that don’t show up in the won-loss columns but make no mistake about it, they count.

And during every storm, he lit the way. From the ending of the Rothlisberger Era, to the much-publicized travails of Le’Veon Bell and Antonio Brown, at each turn, Tomlin stood tall. Lighthouses are often shrouded in mystery. Every wind, every wave, every breeze no matter from which direction it emanates, has a story. But that’s the subtle beauty of the lighthouse. It holds secrets — not in a bad way: in a way that says it can be trusted. They say I want you protected, they say this, whatever it is, is between you and I, for now and forever. That’s what lighthouses do.

That’s what Mike Tomlin did.

The Day the Shore Moved

The shore was never a place or a player, a game, a title chase or anything of the sort. The shore was the certainty, the strength, and resolve the presence Mike Tomlin embodied. It’s the reverence players on both sides of the field openly expressed for him and the authenticity he brought to every interaction. You felt his voice: not coach speak or the regurgitation of time-tested cliches: his voice. And each time you did, you left feeling complete, stronger, whole … better.

Outsiders always knew where the buck stopped. Fans voiced displeasure over the abject mediocrity of the Steelers during the latter part of Tomlin’s time in Pittsburgh, but through it all, he remained present and accountable. Media and even his harshest critics lauded him for remaining responsible, holding himself to the highest standard imaginable, asking those around him to do the same. He never ran or backed away. He’s still standing in the same place. The lighthouse that is Mike Tomlin never moved. The shore did.

 We just didn’t know it.

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