Shazam!
08-02-2008, 01:17 AM
Zimmerman's career has gone bust
True grit led to former Bronco's inclusion in Hall of Fame
By Lynn DeBruin, Rocky Mountain News
August 1, 2008
http://media.rockymountainnews.com/drmn/content/img/photos/2008/08/01/436799104_t220.jpg
He's an aspiring photographer now, one so intent on honing his craft that he has traded in an old dirt bike to buy a new lens.
But to get the full picture of Gary Zimmerman, who will join John Elway in the Pro Football Hall of Fame at enshrinement ceremonies Saturday, you have to look back at some old snapshots.
There's one of a nurse, seeing "Zim" after yet another postseason visit to the operating room and with three appendages doctored up, asking sympathetically if he had been in a car accident.
Then there's the scene against the rival Oakland Raiders when, despite having a shoulder out of joint, he refused to leave the game until No. 7 came out.
And finally, there's the nut itself, not Zimmerman for still wearing shorts at practice in the dead of winter, but the rusty one that sits in a fancy ring box in his trophy case in Bend, Ore.
Zimmerman still can hear all the screams and giggles and high-fives when every other member of the 1997 Broncos squad opened boxes that contained iced-out Super Bowl XXXII championship rings.
But when Zimmerman opened his, there was simply that ugly, metal nut. And it looked so beautiful.
"It's right on the money," Zimmerman, now 46, admitted.
A Man's man
As a 6-foot-6, 294-pound left tackle, Zimmerman was a bear of a man, one capable of neutralizing standouts such as Derrick Thomas and protecting Elway's blind side.
More important, he was an ironman, starting 169 consecutive NFL games at one point, including 76 for Denver. The kind of rugged player more suited to a rusty nut than a flashy ring.
"Gary was the best left tackle I ever saw play the game," Elway told The Associated Press this week.
In the last of his 12 seasons, he played until the Vince Lombardi Trophy was lifted high, even though he couldn't raise his left arm above his shoulder.
"He was a man's man. He looked like you could bounce a medicine ball off his chest," Broncos publicist Jim Saccomano said.
"You never had to worry about him," added Broncos owner Pat Bowlen, who will present Zimmerman at enshrinement in Canton, Ohio.
"You put him out there at left tackle and you never had to give him any help. When John developed that confidence in him, he felt almost as if he could ignore anybody coming from that side, because they weren't going to get to him. Obviously, that propelled us to the next level."
Elway was so reliant on Zimmerman, he left training camp in 1998 for the annual motorcycle rally in Sturgis, S.D., to try to coax one more season out of him.
Zimmerman admitted Elway's recruiting trip almost worked.
"I knew I couldn't do it. Then John came out and said, 'Oh, you can do it' and all that stuff, and when your buddy's around, you don't want to let him down. So I'm all excited about it and after he left, I'm all fired up, (saying), 'I'm going to do it.' But the reality is, I'd just be stealing, because I thought I wouldn't make it through the year. My mind wanted to, but my body said, 'No.' "
The Broncos went on to win a second Super Bowl, without Zimmerman, while he retired to Bend, and his 40 acres of pine, wife Lisa and daughters Lindsay and Kelsey.
Quiet, not cocky
Lisa was a freshman at the University of Oregon when she met her future husband.
She still laughs thinking about the scene in class, with Gary sitting there with a shirt button sewn to the tip of his finger to hold a torn tendon in place.
"I asked him what happened and he just said, 'Football,' " she recalled.
"I'm thinking, 'Cocky football player.' "
Only later did she realize it was shyness, not cockiness.
Though their paths crossed often in the athletic center as she ran track for the Ducks, they didn't carry on a conversation until their senior year.
"I think if I hadn't said something to him to start the conversation, we probably never would have spoken," Lisa Zimmerman said.
In Denver, Broncos fans and reporters knew Zimmerman as a man of few words. He thrived behind the line's self-imposed no-talk rule, which makes it all the crazier to hear him now when asked about his induction speech.
"The problem is, I've got too much to say for once in my life," Zimmerman said. "That's what's really bizarre. I've got so many people to thank and so many people who made a difference in my career, and a few little funny stories along the way, I've got to whittle it down."
Bowlen predicted Zimmerman wouldn't disappoint, just as Zimmerman delivered one of the most eloquent speeches when he was inducted into Oregon's state Hall of Fame a few years ago.
"A lot of people don't understand Gary is a very intelligent guy and he'll have some things to say that nobody would ever expect him to talk about," Bowlen said. "Zim will be Zim, but I'd be surprised if he isn't one of the more interesting guys who gives his speech."
Not so hip
While he clearly can talk, it's walking that recently has become a problem.
Though Zimmerman wouldn't change a thing, the wear and tear of football is evident.
He can't make a fist or straighten his fingers because his hands are mangled from years of abuse and surgery.
He can't play golf because of those shredded shoulders.
Though he loves snowboarding and snowmobiling, he hasn't done much of either in the past year because of a hip that needs to be replaced. Even dropping 40 pounds hasn't eased the pain.
"The shoulders have always been my problem, but the last few years it's been my hip. It's (to the point) where my shoulders don't bug me anymore because the hip has taken over the pain," he said.
He has a Sleep Number bed, but when he dials the firmness up to 70 for his shoulders, his hips hurt. When he dials it down to 50 to soften the bed for his hip, his shoulders hurt.
"The last year or so, it's become very limiting," he said. "It's just gradually getting worse, to where I can't fight it off much longer."
On the field, though, playing in pain was part of the job.
"That's easy. That's just mind control," Zimmerman said. "It's hard at first, but it became a thing of pride for me, not to let an injury stop me from playing. . . . Once you start doing it, you can never give in, because the first time you give in, it's over."
Fly me away
That toughness was recognized by teammates, fans and members of the Hall of Fame voting committee.
What they might not have known is that Zimmerman, while he played gruff and tough, also has a soft side.
Anytime a friend is in need, Zimmerman is the first to offer help, whether it's pouring concrete or joining a search-and-rescue operation.
And his daughters, Lisa says, have him wrapped around their fingers.
What else might the public not know about this seven-time Pro Bowler?
Though he still can be found clearing underbrush and limbing trees on his land at the east edge of the Cascade Mountains, he also makes regular visits to schools in Bend, bringing the real ring and the nut to a sports psychology class or teaching younger children Morse code.
Then there are those monthly pizza get-togethers with local members of his ham radio club. Yes, this quiet, shy man got a ham radio license several years ago and can be heard at night in his shop talking with strangers half a world away.
And if Bend ever gets too crowded, Zimmerman always could renew his pilot's license and fly away for a while.
Zimmerman, once so fearful of flying he had to be tranquilized before boarding a plane during his U.S. Football League days, conquered his fears by taking control of the controls.
Lisa said it all started with a fishing trip to Alaska when the plane he was on began leaking fluid and was diverted to another airport. There, a bush pilot flew in to pick him up in a plane so small, Lisa said, "you could squeeze the wings together."
Zimmerman was reluctant to board until the pilot explained all the aerodynamics and noises.
"I honestly thought when he got back from that trip, he would never get on a plane again," Lisa said. "But he literally got off that plane and, while we were still in the airport, told me he was going to take flying lessons."
He did, and even owned a Cessna 182 until family life and football squeezed his time.
Finally busted
For now, he's more focused on getting Kelsey in focus during volleyball games or family get-togethers.
While the humble Zimmerman downplays his photographic ability, Lisa said the results so far have been "stunning."
"Once he decides he wants something or tries to do something, there's no stopping him," she said.
Even growing up, that was the case.
His father, a NASA engineer, didn't want his son to be disappointed when he said he wanted to be a professional football player.
So Dad sat him down and analyzed the number of pro players and teams, then weighed the odds of Gary making it against all the other children playing high school football.
"It was a reality check for Gary but it also inspired him even more," Lisa said. " 'If that's what I want to do, I better
really buckle down to make this dream come true.' "
He lived it, and now he has a bronze bust to go along with that rusty, old nut.
AP Sports/Rocky Mountain News
__________________________________________________ __
He'll go in as a Bronco I assume? After all, he did win his Championship here, and worked with one of the greatest QBs of all time.
Congratulations Gary. I'll never forget your interview with Collinsworth in the Postgame interview.
True grit led to former Bronco's inclusion in Hall of Fame
By Lynn DeBruin, Rocky Mountain News
August 1, 2008
http://media.rockymountainnews.com/drmn/content/img/photos/2008/08/01/436799104_t220.jpg
He's an aspiring photographer now, one so intent on honing his craft that he has traded in an old dirt bike to buy a new lens.
But to get the full picture of Gary Zimmerman, who will join John Elway in the Pro Football Hall of Fame at enshrinement ceremonies Saturday, you have to look back at some old snapshots.
There's one of a nurse, seeing "Zim" after yet another postseason visit to the operating room and with three appendages doctored up, asking sympathetically if he had been in a car accident.
Then there's the scene against the rival Oakland Raiders when, despite having a shoulder out of joint, he refused to leave the game until No. 7 came out.
And finally, there's the nut itself, not Zimmerman for still wearing shorts at practice in the dead of winter, but the rusty one that sits in a fancy ring box in his trophy case in Bend, Ore.
Zimmerman still can hear all the screams and giggles and high-fives when every other member of the 1997 Broncos squad opened boxes that contained iced-out Super Bowl XXXII championship rings.
But when Zimmerman opened his, there was simply that ugly, metal nut. And it looked so beautiful.
"It's right on the money," Zimmerman, now 46, admitted.
A Man's man
As a 6-foot-6, 294-pound left tackle, Zimmerman was a bear of a man, one capable of neutralizing standouts such as Derrick Thomas and protecting Elway's blind side.
More important, he was an ironman, starting 169 consecutive NFL games at one point, including 76 for Denver. The kind of rugged player more suited to a rusty nut than a flashy ring.
"Gary was the best left tackle I ever saw play the game," Elway told The Associated Press this week.
In the last of his 12 seasons, he played until the Vince Lombardi Trophy was lifted high, even though he couldn't raise his left arm above his shoulder.
"He was a man's man. He looked like you could bounce a medicine ball off his chest," Broncos publicist Jim Saccomano said.
"You never had to worry about him," added Broncos owner Pat Bowlen, who will present Zimmerman at enshrinement in Canton, Ohio.
"You put him out there at left tackle and you never had to give him any help. When John developed that confidence in him, he felt almost as if he could ignore anybody coming from that side, because they weren't going to get to him. Obviously, that propelled us to the next level."
Elway was so reliant on Zimmerman, he left training camp in 1998 for the annual motorcycle rally in Sturgis, S.D., to try to coax one more season out of him.
Zimmerman admitted Elway's recruiting trip almost worked.
"I knew I couldn't do it. Then John came out and said, 'Oh, you can do it' and all that stuff, and when your buddy's around, you don't want to let him down. So I'm all excited about it and after he left, I'm all fired up, (saying), 'I'm going to do it.' But the reality is, I'd just be stealing, because I thought I wouldn't make it through the year. My mind wanted to, but my body said, 'No.' "
The Broncos went on to win a second Super Bowl, without Zimmerman, while he retired to Bend, and his 40 acres of pine, wife Lisa and daughters Lindsay and Kelsey.
Quiet, not cocky
Lisa was a freshman at the University of Oregon when she met her future husband.
She still laughs thinking about the scene in class, with Gary sitting there with a shirt button sewn to the tip of his finger to hold a torn tendon in place.
"I asked him what happened and he just said, 'Football,' " she recalled.
"I'm thinking, 'Cocky football player.' "
Only later did she realize it was shyness, not cockiness.
Though their paths crossed often in the athletic center as she ran track for the Ducks, they didn't carry on a conversation until their senior year.
"I think if I hadn't said something to him to start the conversation, we probably never would have spoken," Lisa Zimmerman said.
In Denver, Broncos fans and reporters knew Zimmerman as a man of few words. He thrived behind the line's self-imposed no-talk rule, which makes it all the crazier to hear him now when asked about his induction speech.
"The problem is, I've got too much to say for once in my life," Zimmerman said. "That's what's really bizarre. I've got so many people to thank and so many people who made a difference in my career, and a few little funny stories along the way, I've got to whittle it down."
Bowlen predicted Zimmerman wouldn't disappoint, just as Zimmerman delivered one of the most eloquent speeches when he was inducted into Oregon's state Hall of Fame a few years ago.
"A lot of people don't understand Gary is a very intelligent guy and he'll have some things to say that nobody would ever expect him to talk about," Bowlen said. "Zim will be Zim, but I'd be surprised if he isn't one of the more interesting guys who gives his speech."
Not so hip
While he clearly can talk, it's walking that recently has become a problem.
Though Zimmerman wouldn't change a thing, the wear and tear of football is evident.
He can't make a fist or straighten his fingers because his hands are mangled from years of abuse and surgery.
He can't play golf because of those shredded shoulders.
Though he loves snowboarding and snowmobiling, he hasn't done much of either in the past year because of a hip that needs to be replaced. Even dropping 40 pounds hasn't eased the pain.
"The shoulders have always been my problem, but the last few years it's been my hip. It's (to the point) where my shoulders don't bug me anymore because the hip has taken over the pain," he said.
He has a Sleep Number bed, but when he dials the firmness up to 70 for his shoulders, his hips hurt. When he dials it down to 50 to soften the bed for his hip, his shoulders hurt.
"The last year or so, it's become very limiting," he said. "It's just gradually getting worse, to where I can't fight it off much longer."
On the field, though, playing in pain was part of the job.
"That's easy. That's just mind control," Zimmerman said. "It's hard at first, but it became a thing of pride for me, not to let an injury stop me from playing. . . . Once you start doing it, you can never give in, because the first time you give in, it's over."
Fly me away
That toughness was recognized by teammates, fans and members of the Hall of Fame voting committee.
What they might not have known is that Zimmerman, while he played gruff and tough, also has a soft side.
Anytime a friend is in need, Zimmerman is the first to offer help, whether it's pouring concrete or joining a search-and-rescue operation.
And his daughters, Lisa says, have him wrapped around their fingers.
What else might the public not know about this seven-time Pro Bowler?
Though he still can be found clearing underbrush and limbing trees on his land at the east edge of the Cascade Mountains, he also makes regular visits to schools in Bend, bringing the real ring and the nut to a sports psychology class or teaching younger children Morse code.
Then there are those monthly pizza get-togethers with local members of his ham radio club. Yes, this quiet, shy man got a ham radio license several years ago and can be heard at night in his shop talking with strangers half a world away.
And if Bend ever gets too crowded, Zimmerman always could renew his pilot's license and fly away for a while.
Zimmerman, once so fearful of flying he had to be tranquilized before boarding a plane during his U.S. Football League days, conquered his fears by taking control of the controls.
Lisa said it all started with a fishing trip to Alaska when the plane he was on began leaking fluid and was diverted to another airport. There, a bush pilot flew in to pick him up in a plane so small, Lisa said, "you could squeeze the wings together."
Zimmerman was reluctant to board until the pilot explained all the aerodynamics and noises.
"I honestly thought when he got back from that trip, he would never get on a plane again," Lisa said. "But he literally got off that plane and, while we were still in the airport, told me he was going to take flying lessons."
He did, and even owned a Cessna 182 until family life and football squeezed his time.
Finally busted
For now, he's more focused on getting Kelsey in focus during volleyball games or family get-togethers.
While the humble Zimmerman downplays his photographic ability, Lisa said the results so far have been "stunning."
"Once he decides he wants something or tries to do something, there's no stopping him," she said.
Even growing up, that was the case.
His father, a NASA engineer, didn't want his son to be disappointed when he said he wanted to be a professional football player.
So Dad sat him down and analyzed the number of pro players and teams, then weighed the odds of Gary making it against all the other children playing high school football.
"It was a reality check for Gary but it also inspired him even more," Lisa said. " 'If that's what I want to do, I better
really buckle down to make this dream come true.' "
He lived it, and now he has a bronze bust to go along with that rusty, old nut.
AP Sports/Rocky Mountain News
__________________________________________________ __
He'll go in as a Bronco I assume? After all, he did win his Championship here, and worked with one of the greatest QBs of all time.
Congratulations Gary. I'll never forget your interview with Collinsworth in the Postgame interview.