For as long as I can remember, if somebody asked me who my sports hero was, the answer was easy. My dad. Tom Curtis. His name isn’t as recognizable to today’s football fan as some of the legends from his era. Maybe he’s underrated. But, outside of Michigan and the people who really know football history, he’s even a little unknown. But look at the resume. Twenty-five career interceptions at the University of Michigan. An All-American. A College Football Hall of Famer. And two Super Bowl championship teams.
My dad played for the Baltimore Colts and then became a Miami Dolphin under Don Shula. In 1972, an injury put him on injured reserve. Does that somehow make him less of a football player? Not to me. Don Shula knew football better than just about anybody who ever lived. Shula had coached my father in Baltimore, and when he came to Miami, my father eventually came to the Dolphins, too. When Dad was injured, Shula kept him as part of that team. That team happened to become the only undefeated Super Bowl champion in NFL history. 1972. Perfect. Fins up.
When Saturday happened. I sat there watching my two nephews play college football on the same day, and I started thinking about what the word “hero” actually means to me. First there was C.J. Carr. Notre Dame is 3-0, and C.J. has now thrown for at least 234 yards in every game this season: 239, 253 and 234. The kid can flat-out play football. Then I watched his younger brother, Tommy Carr, get his opportunity at Michigan. Tommy came into the game against UTEP and did exactly what you hope a young quarterback will do when his number gets called. He moved the offense, completed every pass he threw and finished the drive with an absolute beauty for his first college touchdown. As their uncle, watching both of them on the same Saturday was almost surreal. And yes, I’m biased. They’re my nephews. Which created a problem with my lifelong declaration that Tom Curtis is my sports hero. Because I’ve got two ballers now. And as far as Uncle Matt’s mathematics are concerned, two ballers will always out-ball one baller. Sorry, Dad. But then I realized something. Who created those two ballers? My sister. Tammi Curtis Carr. And that’s when this football column started becoming something completely different.
Tammi has never just been a sports hero to me. She’s been one of my personal heroes. Our family has experienced something I wouldn’t wish on any family. We lost Tammi’s youngest son, Chad, to DIPG, an aggressive and inoperable brain tumor. I watched my sister endure something a parent should never have to endure. And I watched what came afterward. Strength. Faith. Family. Continuing to live when life had given her every reason to collapse. So now I’ve got a problem. Dad is my hero. C.J. is becoming one. Tommy is becoming one. Tammi absolutely is one. And then I start looking around the rest of my family. My mom raised us and has had to put up with me and my brother Brad for our entire lives. Believe me, that alone probably qualifies her for some kind of medal. Yet here we are. We’re doing all right. Actually, we’re doing more than all right.
Brad is carrying on the River Cities Gazette, the very publication you’re reading this article in, and he’s overcome his own battles along the way. Including addiction. That’s something Brad and I share, although our roads through it were different. Actually, I had rehab after rehab. I had people and programs helping me put the pieces back together. Brad found his own road out. I know firsthand how hard addiction is. So when I look at my brother and what he overcame, I know the strength that took. That takes a hero, too.
Maybe there’s a reason my mind went from football to family to faith. Because I kept asking myself: Who’s my hero? Tom? Tammi? C.J.? Tommy? My mom? Brad? And eventually I realized that I was asking the wrong question. Because if Tammi gets credit for creating those two ballers, then I have to keep following that thought all the way back.
For me, the answer is God. And that’s where I almost become unable to write the rest of this column. Because my gratitude to God is difficult to put into words. I see where I’ve been. I know the addiction we’ve battled. We have all faced mental health struggles. There are moments when my life could have gone in a very different direction. But I’m still here. Not only am I still here, but I get to sit on a Saturday and watch one nephew quarterback Notre Dame and another throw his first touchdown pass for Michigan.
As I write these words, I’m sitting in a hotel room in Philadelphia waiting to go watch another football player in this family. My son. Matty Christopher. This year, he’s a Spartan. He’s the youngest of this football crew, and nobody knows yet where his journey is going to take him. The same blood runs through that kid’s veins. I look at the people who came before him. I see his grandfather Tom, at C.J. and Tommy, and at all the strength, toughness and perseverance throughout our family. And then I look at Matty. He’s still a kid. His story hasn’t been written yet. That’s the best part. Who knows what he’s going to become? Who knows where football, or life, is going to take him?
By the time you read this, his game will be over. But as I sit here writing, I don’t know the outcome. I don’t know whether the Spartans are going to win or lose. I don’t know whether Matty will have the game of his life or simply another Sunday of learning, growing and getting better. And for once, the final score really doesn’t matter. Because I already know one thing about my son. He’s got that hero in him, too. Maybe someday I’ll be sitting in another hotel room writing about what Matty Christopher became. But today, I simply get to be his dad, walk out of this room and go watch the next generation take the field. That’s a pretty incredible gift. We call a College Football Hall of Famer “Dad.” I call an incredibly strong woman “Mom.” I even call Tammi my sisterI call Brad my brother. C.J. and Tommy are my nephews. I remember Chad as part of the family that helped teach all of us what strength, love and purpose really mean.
The most important thing to me, I get to call Matty my son. So maybe Tom Curtis is still my sports hero. Maybe C.J. and Tommy are giving Grandpa a serious run for his money. And maybe the youngest Spartan is just getting started. But I’ve realized something bigger. I’m surrounded by heroes. Some have Hall of Fame plaques. Others have championship rings. Now they throw touchdowns in front of tens of thousands of people. And some are just beginning to discover what they’re capable of. Behind all of them, I see God’s work.
