Lee Johnson could have kept his mouth shut. That would have been the easy thing to do, and probably the smart thing, too. Didn't he have the cushiest job in all of sports to protect?
He was a punter in the NFL. He played maybe a half-dozen plays each game for the Cincinnati Bengals. The rest of the time he had a front-row seat on the sideline to watch the best football players in the world and was paid to do it. He didn't have to hit or be hit. He didn't even have to get his uniform dirty. All he had to do was kick a little.Since graduating from BYU, Johnson had been punting and handling kickoffs and long field goal attempts in the NFL for 14 seasons. He had been with the Bengals for the last 11 years. His first year with the team he played in the Super Bowl.
It was a good job, except for one problem: He had to be able to handle the losing. For a decade Johnson watched his team slide downward to become one of the worst in professional sports. The Bengals have the worst record in the NFL in the '90s. They are to the NFL what the L.A. Clippers are to the NBA.
Most frustrating of all, management seemed to do little to address the team's problems. The Bengals are known for not being player friendly and for treating each dollar like it's their last. They rarely play the free-agent market, preferring instead to build through the draft, but with the league's smallest scouting department, they drafted poorly.
As another dismal season wore on this fall (the Bengals won three games), fans revolted. Radio DJs called for fans to burn their tickets. Fans staged a walk-out, leaving the stadium early in the second half. There were protests and rallies and angry signs in the stadium.
Finally, Johnson expressed his frustration, too. Long considered the best interview on the team, he was the only player available for reporters following a Dec. 6 loss to Buffalo, the team's eighth straight loss. A reporter asked Johnson, "If you were a fan, would you have come here today?"
"No," Johnson said, taking the bait. "No way . . . Why would you? You're saying (losing) is OK. I guess if you've got nothing else to do. I'd sell my tickets."
Johnson was rolling now. The reporters took notes. He sympathized with fans and criticized management and owner Mike Brown, never thinking he was digging his own grave. Shortly after his comments appeared in print the next morning, he was cut from the team. Just like that, after 11 years, the team's career punting leader was gone.
The last holdover from the Super Bowl XXIII was called out of a special teams meeting and angrily informed by a scout that he was cut from the team with three games left in the season. "It was all planned," says Johnson. "They wanted me to go to a meeting so everyone could see it happen. They want to humiliate you."
To complete the insult, Brown cut his final check, minus a $20,000 fine.
"The bottom line is I said things I shouldn't have said," says Johnson from his off-season home in Alpine. "They were probably a little too close to home, a little too accurate. It was a very casual conversation (with reporters), but in print it looked like I was angry. I don't regret what I said. Had I known I'd be cut, I probably would have walked away. But I meant what I said. I'd say it again. I'd have no problem saying it to (Brown's) face. The problem was, it was so true and real it had to make their blood boil."
Johnson was a hero to some for publicly addressing the team's problems. Others thought he was disloyal, but most agreed Brown needed to hear it from somebody. Brown's take on the matter was this: He didn't like the message, so he shot the messenger. No one could dispute what Johnson said; only that he said it.
Johnson's main points: The Bengals' building "formula" was not working, and that a coach needs to have total authority without owner interference. "I know I wouldn't want to watch film on Monday with Mike Brown," he said. "I'm the head coach, why would I want to do that?"
Johnson said good teams have good management, and they get along with players. Owning an NFL team, he said, is "the greatest business in the world. There's no downside. It's a monopoly. It's guaranteed revenues. Where is the risk for Mike? I'm not saying he likes to lose, but where's the risk?" Johnson said nothing has changed in the decade he has been with the Bengals; Brown still operates the same.
"The city loved it," says Johnson. "I could have been the mayor. But I've wondered if I was ungrateful for what they did for me. That's my biggest struggle. I was offering the opinion of a veteran player. I just wanted to let the fans recognize that we are aware of how things are operating, and we don't agree. But it's (Brown's) team and he doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to do."
So here is Johnson, the unemployed punter, back in Utah, with his wife and five children. Every day he sits at the computer in his home office and plays the stock market from 7 a.m. to 2.
"I'm a classic day trader," he says. "My goal is to come in in the morning, and see what I like. Usually by the end of the day my goal is to be out of them."
Actually, Johnson has played the market successfully for years. "I don't lose or I wouldn't do it," he says. "You see what you do, and see what you could do, and you're always frustrated. You realize what you left on the table. It keeps you driven. It's a great way to train for life. You have to have patience and discipline."
Johnson, who still hopes to play football for a couple of more years, will begin looking for a new team next month. He's 37 but "I feel like I did when I was 25," he says. Johnson is still able -- his 44.7-yard average ranked him seventh among NFL punters this season. His biggest concern is finding a team that will sign a player of his age.
Johnson already has flown to San Francisco to visit with the 49ers about becoming their punter next season. That would reunite him with close friend Steve Young and put him on a team that already knows a little something about winning.