Passion fish

Sporting News, The, Oct 23, 1995 by Paul Attner

The Dolphins' community-relations director had been emphatic about one point: Bryan Cox is a unique player. Unlike many of his peers, he never has to be reminded about his community appearances. If he says he will show up, he does. So where i he? We were to meet in the parking lot of Joe Robbie Stadium on this already hot and terribly humid Miami morning and then drive to a nearby elementary school, where Cox and teammate Michael Stewart would speak. But Cox already is 20 minutes late.

Maybe everything I had been told about Cox is equally off-target. The Cox I know is an ill-tempered, out-of-control, helmet-throwing, obscene man who has become the most petulant, rebellious player in the NFL. It is a wonder Don Shula keeps putting up with his insolence; my guess is that for the sake of winning, even the dean of league coaches will stretch his tolerance level as far as possible.

Cox had been moved last season from outside linebacker to a more demanding spot in the middle. Now, after making the Pro Bowl, he is hailed as the anchor of an improved defense that finally might help drag the Dolphins to the Super Bowl. But how could a defense with these mighty aspirations rely on a crazed man who once challenged the entire Bengals bench to a fight and twice flipped the bird to a capacity crowd in Buffalo's Rich Stadium?

But teammates and friends of Cox, 27, paint a more detailed picture of him. They all use words such as loyal and genuine and kind and upfront and nice and honest. The repetition of their descriptions makes the most striking impression; he seems to affect those who really know him in much the same manner. They all admit wincing over some of his on-field behavior. But they talk emotionally, about his acts of generosity and his commitment to giving back something to the minority community. It is an impressive rebuttal. But as the sun fills the sky and the temperature slowly rises and Cox still is not in sight, I wonder if maybe the revisionist image might be fiction.

Fudge Browne, the community-relations director who sets up Cox's school visits, rushes over. "I talked to him and he'll be right here," she says. It seems Cox had stayed up to watch the Monday night game between San Francisco and Detroit and couldn't get out of bed in the morning. Sure enough, minutes later, he wheels his sports vehicle, the one with the words "Freak-Man" on the back window, into the lot. "Glad you cared," he says sheepishly to Browne. Minutes later, we arrive at Parkway Elementary School. Located in the northern end of Dade County, which surrounds the city of Miami, Parkway is just a few miles from upscale Fort Lauderdale, a center of Yuppiedom. But the predominantly black school sits in the middle of a rundown neighborhood full of familiar inner-city, ills: drugs, crime, unemployment. Security guards patrol the campus; strangers are not welcome.

It's the kind of school Cox targets for his visits. He is critical of African American athletes who grow up in rough surroundings, then turn their backs on their past and Eve, as he puts it 'in big white houses in lily white neighborhoods."

He was raised in East St Louis, Ill., one of the toughest places this country has produced. Although his family was not particularly poor, he was exposed to everything the kids in this school have seen. One of his brothers and his father, by then long divorced from his mother, at times dealt drugs. Cox dodged bullets and got into plenty of brawls; in East St. Louis, you don't negotiate, you fight. Drug dealers gave him money so he could cover incidental expenses at college.

Early last season, after yet another fracas in another game, he realized that the inner-city kids in Miami were receiving the wrong message by watching Cox the bully on television. He asked Browne if she could use him to visit schools. "Are you serious?" she replied. "I could take you on a 365-day tour." She suggested one school every Tuesday, his day off during the season. He said make it two. He kept that schedule last season and resumed it again this fall. Many pro athletes give time to the community, but hardly any make this kind of weekly commitment.

"It was a combination of kids coming up to me and wanting to know why I was getting into so many fights and others wanting to know why I was so boisterous in telling off other people," Cox says of his decision. "I know people see me as crazy and in need of a psychiatrist. I felt it was important for me to come to schools and tell the kids that is the way I make my living and feed my family. I lose control sometimes because I want the best for my team and I hate to lose. But I wanted them to know I am not like that off the field. I have never been arrested, never beaten my wife, never done things to get in trouble. I am not perfect but I am trying to be the best player, father and husband I can be. Those are the things I want them to remember about me. And it is therapeutic for me."

At first some principals resisted Cox's appearances. They weren't sure if he was a proper role model for their children. Now principals call county officials and request Cox. But why?