A bear of a man, a winner of a plan: Andy Reid's successful blueprint for the Eagles anticipates variables, eliminates surprises and withstands the most difficult of tests—the loss of his quarterback

Sporting News, The, Dec 23, 2002 by Paul Attner

Andy Reid and Randy Tidwell, his college roommate, went fishing last summer in Utah. They fished forever and it was getting dark and Tidwell grew a bit concerned.

"Uh, Andy, there are bears out here," he told his friend, who doesn't get away much from his job as the Eagles' coach and, darn it, was going to milk everything he could from this moment.

Reid kept his line in the water.

"We are going to get eaten alive," Tidwell lamented, looking at the hefty Reid. "These bears are going to think we are buffets."

But Reid had a plan. "Stay calm, Randy. If we see a bear, you hit 'em high and I'll hit 'em low and we'll be fine?' And they walked back to civilization, no bears to be seen.

Tidwell needn't have worried. Reid always has a plan--and it always works. His players speak with awe-like reverence about The Plan, the outline Reid brought with him to Philadelphia almost four years ago, telling them it would serve as the blueprint for the team's resurgence under his tough-love hands. Its contingencies are apparently unending; they even can accommodate the loss of star quarterback Donovan McNabb, whose broken ankle has not impeded the Eagles' stalking of the best record in the NFC--and an edge toward a Super Bowl berth.

The Eagles are now 4-0 without McNabb, with just two speed bumps, the Cowboys and Giants, remaining. It has been a defining month for the players and coaches; McNabb, as much as may star in the league, is viewed as that one part so vital to his team's success that without him, well, maybe even the Bengals would be a worthy challenger. And that was before No. 2 quarterback Koy Detmer dislocated an elbow and the starter's responsibilities the last three weeks fell to a former Joey Harrington backup at Oregon named A.J. Feeley.

No matter. Feeley's Eagles have beaten the Rams, Seahawks and Redskins. He has thrown just two interceptions, the offense has rushed for 344 yards, the superior defense and special teams have been predictably dominant and that anticipated tumble from playoff contention hasn't happened.

Much like the bears never sampled the buffet.

But this is what The Plan is all about. It is a reflection of Reid's approach to football, which is steeped in an offensive lineman's mentality. A lineman's world is confined to a 3-foot-by-3-foot box, and the key to success is mastering the process that leads to the domination of that box. If every Eagles player controls his responsibilities, the team wins, but to do that, you must follow the process. As much as humanly possible, the process eliminates surprises within the organization; it anticipates variables, breaks them down and neutralizes them. How fire Eagles have performed over the past month is what Reid expects; if the players truly have bought into the process, the loss of even McNabb should have generated, at best, a quick few breaths--defensive end Hugh Douglas offering, as he did, "Does anyone want a hug?"--then a refocus on the next opponent, the next task, the next goal. And it has, and they did.

McNabb's potentially crushing injury has been perhaps the greatest test of the process. But it also has made clearer more than ever the remarkable coaching talent of Reid. It's hard to overlook this mountain of a man, but let's say his deliberate attempt to dull down his public persona has been successful. Yet no franchise has won more regular-season games over the last three years than the Eagles. Considering he inherited a 3-13 team, that's the stuff of brilliance.

"I thought he would be good, but he's better than I ever anticipated," says former Packers general manager Ron Wolf. "What he has accomplished with the Eagles is very impressive."

Whatdoyaknow--The Plan and its process might make Reid the best coach of them all. And he can't hide from that anymore.

Andy Reid is asked if his stomach turned over when he learned McNabb's ankle was broken. "If my stomach turned over," he replies, "I'd have a hard tune getting up."

That's the Andy Reid his friends know. Quick with the quip, self-deprecating, entertaining, loose, truly and consistently funny, a gifted storyteller. So darn likable, no facade, no attempt to be something he isn't.

When Reid and Brad Childress, the Eagles' offensive coordinator, were on Northern Arizona's staff in 1986, they rode together to work. One morning, before dawn, they encountered a hulking elk in the middle of the road. The elk took off and Reid and Childress followed him through the neighborhood in the car, exclaiming like kids, "Do you see that? Do you see that?"

That's not the Andy Reid we see. This Reid would never chase elks. He stands on the sideline, wind blowing his red mustache, hardly showing a smidgen of emotion, constantly jotting notes onto his game-plan sheet. Rarely smiles, always has that scowling, sort of mean giant look. His dealings with reporters are designed to reveal just as little. Flamboyant he's not. Even his players, who call him "Big Red," laugh about his public blandness. But they thrive on his consistency. He refuses to display to us any layers, unlike his fellow Philadelphia coaching brethren--Larry Brown, who feuds and/or embraces Alien Iverson seemingly from day to day, or Larry Bowa, whose temper and emotions fuel the Phillies.