Second time around

Sporting News, The, Sept 16, 1996 by Paul Attner

Seven years ago, when he first played for the Packers, Tony Mandarich gave you no reason to like him. He was a braggart, a loudmouth, an egotist, a self-promoter, the epitome of an over-publicized, overpaid, untested rookie who already believed his press clippings, particularly the ones that proclaimed him the NFL's next great offensive tackle. Mandarich was such a lout that he didn't even like himself very much.

Today's version of Tony Mandarich is warm and cuddly. This guy, you'd enjoy. He laughs a lot, thrives on what he is doing and feels a whole lot better about himself. And none of that has been particularly easy for him to achieve, considering he has returned to the sport he abused and misjudged before departing in disgrace. It's highly unlikely Mandarich will have any impact on the outcome of this NFL season, but he still is one of the game's most compelling stories, particularly if you are a sucker for second chances.

It took guts for Mandarich to try out for the Colts last winter, which led to an invitation to training camp, which resulted in a spot on the final roster, where he is a backup tackle and a blocker on special teams. Just walking back into the public spotlight should have opened all the old wounds. After all, his baggage is considerable. The second pick overall in the 1989 draft, between Troy Aikman and Barry Sanders, Mandarich, at 310 pounds, was a scout's dream. He could squat-lift 550 pounds and run a 4.65 40. In the 21 years the National Scouting Combine had rated draft-eligible college players, only Bo Jackson and Herschel Walker graded higher. But Mandarich, who received a $4.4 million, four-year contract from the Packers, failed miserably. He started 31 unimpressive games, spent the 1992 season on the reserve/non-football injury list because of what was announced as a thyroid condition and post-concussion syndrome, and was released in March 1993. Sports mustrated, which on its April 24, 1989, cover had acclaimed a barechested Mandarich as "The Incredible Bulk," declared him "The NFL's Incredible Bust."

But there was more. Mandarich, it was rumored, was a product of steroids. When he stopped using them after he joined the NFL, he lost strength and, eventually, lots of weight, a reduction he attributed to a bacterial infection caused from drinking stream water while on a bear hunt in Canada before the 1992 season. Although there never has been public verification of those steroid allegations, the NFL underground tried and convicted him. The Packers found themselves with a guy who lacked motivation and, to their surprise strength. His techniques also weren't great, particularly on pass blocking, but his mouth always was in overdrive. He talked big and dressed in the role of a punk, proudly displaying tattoos and a disdain for modesty. He spoke about quickly making the Pro Bowl, he appeared on late-night talk shows and even was linked to a proposed boxing match against Mike Tyson. When Mandarich fell, few mourned his demise.

Mandarich spent the past three seasons on his farm in Michigan gradually understanding his stupidity. He went from hating football and everything around it to understanding he had made a fool of himself. He still vigorously denies using steroids--"I never tested positive" is his standard reply--but everything else about him has changed. In the process, he has become a rarity among modern-day athletes. He actually blames himself, without a hint of an alibi, for his flop in Green Bay. In an era when many athletes consistently refuse to accept any responsibility for their inadequacies, Mandarich sees no reason to look anywhere but at himself for his earlier failures.

"What lesson did I learn?," he says. "Don't play football like I did the first time around. Keep your mouth shut, play hard, lift hard and prepare and do what you can do, give it your all. I still believe I didn't try my best. I gave it a half-ass effort, unlike what I did in college (at Michigan State) and what I am doing now."

Mandarich blames burnout for his failure with the Packers. And he says he created everything that led up to his fizzle. "No one forced me to say what I said or act the way I acted. I did it to myself. I created the stress, and then I couldn't handle it. Football stopped meaning anything to me. When I left, I never wanted to come back."

Nor did football want him back. A couple of teams called a year or so into his retirement but his workouts for them reflected what he already knew in his heart: It still wasn't fun. It wasn't until a year ago, when he needed to decide whether to enroll in a law enforcement academy to pursue his dream of becoming a conservation officer, that it struck him. Maybe he should make another run at football.

"I wanted a chance to change how it ended for me the last time," he says. "I didn't like how it ended but until last year that really didn't matter to me. I felt I still had the ability and was still young enough to give it a shot. But my main goal wasn't to make the Pro Bowl. It was to have fun, which is what I had in college but never in Green Bay. It was such a blast in college, I wondered why it hadn't been that way with the Packers."