He’s listed in my cellphone as “Jimmy Mac.” And at 7:01 p.m. Sept. 8, Jim McMahon sent me this text: “Hey kid just finished my finals im finally a graduate after 37 yrs! They gotta put me in the hall now!”
The greatest quarterback in the history of BYU, in my humble opinion, sent me a personal text to announce he had completed his last two classes required to finally graduate with his BYU degree after 37 years. The “hall” of course, is BYU’s Hall of Fame, which is now just a mere formality. BYU athletic director Tom Holmoe deserves a lot of credit for supporting, cajoling, managing, encouraging and sometimes just being a pain in Jim’s backside to make this happen. Holmoe went so far as flying Trevor Wilson, who works in the athletic department’s academic office, to McMahon’s Scottsdale, Arizona, home to act as proctor for Jim’s last two finals. It is especially gratifying to Jim because he’s experiencing the early stages of dementia. His last two classes were public speaking and religion classes.
“Mormons trying to get me right down to that final class,” he told me with feign annoyance of being proselyted. I laughed and told him, “Mac, you Catholics have nothin’ on us Mormons with last-second Hail Marys. We don’t give up on anybody, not even you, bro.”
For years we’ve had a running joke between us that when he joins the church, I will baptize him, and I tease him that within five years, he’ll be ordained a bishop. He texted back: “If that happens the world is at the end! C u in utah.” I purchased plane tickets to be at the Utah State game in early October because Jimmy Mac told me he’s being honored at that game. He also told me he has no intention of walking in commencement exercises for his diploma in December. I told him he should — that he’d rob his family, Patti and LaVell Edwards, his teammates and many of us who love and have cheered for him of that privilege. He laughed it off and said, “We’ll talk about it when we’re in Utah, kid.”
I’m 52, but Jimmy Mac has called me “kid” since I was 17.
We first met on my recruiting visit. Jim was hosting a highly recruited running back from Calipatria, California, named Waymon Hamilton. I didn’t know who Jim was but I thought he was cocky. We were taken snowmobiling in Aspen Grove, and he wore sunglasses. Later that evening, we were taken to a basketball game in the Marriott Center and he was STILL wearing sunglasses. I thought, “Who is this punk?” My host told me that his name was Jim McMahon, and he had been redshirted to allow Marc Wilson to play, but he was even better than Wilson and would be the starting quarterback that fall.
Wilson was only a first-team All-American and would soon be drafted by the Raiders. How could this geeky-looking pencil neck be better? The week before, I had visited Arizona State and met their starting quarterback, Mark Malone, who was 6-foot-5, 220 pounds and looked like Tom Selleck. By my estimation, McMahon was 5-foot-11, perhaps 6-foot, and maybe 170 pounds. My high school quarterback was bigger and probably threw the ball farther.
That fall, I watched with awe as McMahon systematically disintegrated every conceivable passing record that belonged to Wilson, Mark Malone and anybody else who ever played the position.
In early October 1980, Jim walked into the football office in the Smith Fieldhouse as I was begging LaVell’s secretary, Shirley Johnson, for my scholarship check. She demanded that our hair be above the collar and clean-shaven before she would hand us our checks. I argued that I needed the money in order to get a haircut. Jim simply said, “Kid, go get in my car.” I walked out and jumped in his Dodge Duster. He drove me to his girlfriend’s apartment and introduced me to Nancy Daines, who had dropped out of BYU to go to cosmetology school. I told Nancy I couldn’t pay her and she smiled and said, “First one’s free.” We’ve been friends ever since, even after they divorced.
Jim and I both left BYU together after the ’81 season, he to Chicago and me to Rapid City. On my first Christmas as a missionary, a card came from Chicago with the McMahons' family photo. Imagine my pride as a young elder showing off that Christmas card. His career blossomed in the NFL as the Bears' “Punky QB,” leading them to the Super Bowl and becoming a national sensation. He appeared in movies, commercials and talk shows.
When I arrived as a rookie in the NFL in 1986, Jim was coming off the ’85 Super Bowl. The Cardinals played the Bears in Soldier Field on a Monday night in preseason and it seems silly now, but you always wonder when a friend reaches that level of celebrity, will he remember you? That question was answered when we arrived at the stadium. As I approached my locker, it was festooned with balloons, crepe paper and bags of presents. The clubhouse attendant came over and told me McMahon had instructed him to dress up my locker and place the gifts in it. When I opened it, they were baby gifts of toys and clothes for our 6-month-old son, Landon, from Jim and Nancy.
That night, I returned a punt 65 yards and would’ve scored but the Bears' punter tripped me up at their 20-yard line. My teammates jumped on me in jubilation and lo and behold, as the refs peeled them off one at a time, Jim was in the dog pile, no helmet, wearing sunglasses and a warmup jacket patting me on the head and yelling, “Yeah kid!! That’s what I’m talking about!! Way to go!!”
Initially, it was startling but then I realized, hey, it’s preseason, we’re in the fourth quarter and he’s Jim McMahon. Jim had a way of getting away with a lot of things. Some of that had to do with his blunt attitude and lack of hypocrisy. Love him or hate him, he was always candid and spoke his mind. For a lot of people, that’s endearing. For others like Mike Ditka, Ed McCaskey — owner of the Bears, and on a few occasions, LaVell Edwards.
Jim could irritate LaVell, but LaVell loved Jim’s moxie, his toughness and the way the team responded to his leadership. And he respected Jim’s football IQ. In the fourth quarter of the Miracle Bowl, Jim waved the punting team off the field with a stream of expletives directed at them and LaVell and his assistants. During the timeout, LaVell was more interested in Jim’s opinion than anyone on his staff. Jim converted the fourth down and the rest is history.
Though it took him awhile to graduate, Jim was THE most intelligent player I ever played with. Coaches loved him because he recognized on his third drop where the ball needed to go. If you ever played dominoes with him, he would know in two hands exactly what you were holding in your hand. And he would say, “play the 6-4 here so I can play my 4-2, then you can get that 2-1 off your hand.” He didn’t just read defenses well, but people as well.
While with the Eagles, he replaced Randall Cunningham in a road game in Seattle and just stunk up the joint. The following week, with Cunningham still injured, he was designated the starter for a home game against Denver. Philadelphia was frothing at the mouth to boo him, so I followed him out onto the field for warmups but stayed a few paces behind him, not wanting to have beer thrown at me. As he emerged through the tunnel, two drunken fans just above the tunnel started in on him with the most vile and vicious things you could imagine. Suddenly, Jim stopped dead in his tracks, turned and gave it right back to them — maybe even more profane than they had been. When he finished, he turned and kept jogging toward the field. I glanced up at the two fans to see them standing, stunned, silent then slowly smiling, turned to each other and high-fived. Immediately, they turned back toward the field and started yelling, “YO, JIMMY MAC!! YOU DA MAN!! WE LOVE YOU!!!”
I quickly caught up to Jim and said, “Dude, that was amazing. You cussed those guys out and they love you for it.” His reply was so memorable that I never forgot it.
“Kid, Philadelphians just want to be ENGAGED. So, I engage them.”
Sure, it wasn't an ideal example to use for Sunday School or Family Home Evening, but I understood exactly what he meant. And it's been amazing how Jim’s simple observation helped me over the years in relationships with colleagues, strangers and in my service and ministry. I try to “engage” people as much and often as I can — curse-free, of course. Simply engage people. People want to talk and be engaged.
He’s too proud to let on, but Jim is incredibly happy about this achievement. He’s a BYU graduate.
He never let on, but I think it irritated him that he wasn’t in BYU’s Hall of Fame. Or that his No. 9 jersey is still being worn.
All that’s about to change.