Extra Point
04-22-2007, 04:56 PM
"Shields lets actions do talking for him"
"Retired Chiefs guard is a man of few words and many good deeds — on and off the field."
By BILL REITER
The Kansas City Star
"Will Shields carefully leaned his sore back over the tub of chocolate-chip ice cream, gently lifted out a thick scoop and placed it on a small cone.
The eyes of a little boy, who’d been watching the 6-foot-3, 320-pound giant of a man, lit up.
“OK, here you go,” Shields said as he handed over the ice cream. “Enjoy, sir.”
Two days after retiring from football, the best offensive lineman to ever put on a Kansas City Chiefs uniform had come here, to a Ben and Jerry’s store, to help raise money for charity.
It was a strange moment for a man who prefers life outside the limelight. As an offensive lineman, the quiet 35-year-old had been able to spend 14 incredible years in the NFL without much fanfare. But at this ice cream shop, he’d spend the next five hours in front of several thousand people focusing on him.
“Tom Osborne told me this years ago: ‘This is an extraordinary young man, but he’s a man of few words,’ ” said Chiefs president/general manager Carl Peterson. “ ‘Will Shields doesn’t talk very much, but he’s something special.’ ”
That silence defined Will Shields as much as the Pro Bowls and consecutive starts. He was so easy to underestimate, so easy to miss among the alpha males and talkers of an NFL locker room, so easy to ignore at a position few fans focus on, that you could go years without realizing who Will Shields was and what he meant to Kansas City.
At the ice cream parlor, Shields gingerly slid between four other servers as he grabbed another tub of ice cream.
“OK. Chocolate. Here you go.”
He turned to the next person in line.
“What’s next?”
After playing football for the last 28 years, he might have asked himself the same question.
•••
It’s what you never saw that made Will Shields great.
“You’re talking about a position that you don’t want to be noticed at, because if you heard his name in a game, it was holding,” Peterson said. “And I can’t remember ever hearing his name in all the starts in all the games.”
Shields could do things few 300-pounders were capable of. He moved fluidly. He could pass block and run block. He’d block one guy and instinctively ricochet into another.
Among the chaos of the line, Shields had the power, strength, speed and intelligence to dominate his opponents like few others.
“He was the best interior offensive lineman that I’ve had,” said former Chiefs coach Marty Schottenheimer. “That covers some incredible ground. A guy who, when he lined up, you could count on to win his battles 85 percent of the time.”
From the day Shields stepped on the field as a freshman at the University of Nebraska, there was something about the kid from Oklahoma. He worked harder than most everyone else, he was as athletic as any guy on the team, and he rarely spoke.
“He’s certainly not one who thrusts himself upon you, not a self-promoter,” said former Nebraska coach Osborne. “He grows on you. He’s solid and steady.”
But you had to look closely to see it: Will in the weight room longer than anyone else. Will studying film well into the night. Will going about his business with the same dispassionate professionalism that his father, an Army man, taught him.
“He came in and played with us as a true freshman, one of the first who ever did that for us,” Osborne said.
The Chiefs drafted Shields in the third round in 1993. He became an instant part of the offense.
Whether it was as a part of “The Firm” — the triumvirate of Shields, Dave Szott and Tim Grunhard, of which he was the junior member — or with guys such as John Tait and Victor Riley, Shields made everyone around him better.
“As a fan, you don’t appreciate it because he’s inside, (but) he did things as an offensive guard that’s at a next level,” said Chiefs offensive coordinator Mike Solari. “Other line coaches studied his techniques in how to get these outstanding blocks.”
By the time he retired last week, Shields had amassed an impressive list of stats, despite playing a position that doesn’t really have any:
•Twelve Pro Bowls. A Chiefs record that tied the NFL mark of guard Randall McDaniel
•Played in 224 consecutive regular-season games, also a Chiefs record.
•Made 223 career starts, the most in Chiefs history.
“I can guarantee you this. He will be in the Chiefs Hall of Fame,” Peterson said. “When he’s eligible, I’ll be pounding the drums for Will Shields to be in the Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio.”
•••
If Will Shields had his way, this is where his story would end.
Operation Breakthrough, the nonprofit near Troost Avenue and 31st Street for at-risk kids, shows what Shields means to Kansas City as much his work as the football field.
It has some impressive numbers of its own: Operation Breakthrough works with 600 children a day. Twenty percent of them are homeless. Almost all live in poverty. Many suffer from learning disabilities.
“We have the most at-risk children in the city,” said Kimberley Davis, the director of social services.
It’s the early-child education they offer here — and the health care, the day care, the computers and books and literacy programs — that officials hope will help steer some of these kids to a better life. Just last year, they opened a new building, an expansion that offers more services to more kids.
And Will Shields, as much as anyone, helped make that possible.
“The Shieldses have left their mark on this place for many, many years,” Davis said.
Shields’ wife served on the nonprofit’s board of directors and worked as an adult therapist. The family’s fingerprints are everywhere.
There’s the computer room, where kids learn about the Web and their parents can look for work. The 20 computers wouldn’t be here without Shields.
“The Internet is paid for by an NFL grant, but it was Will who was the conduit,” Davis said.
There’s the library with its books, many of them donated by Will and his family. There’s a dentist program, the counselors, the therapists — all funded by money that Shields played a big part in raising.
The Shieldses have personally donated more than $375,000, and their influence and connections have helped bring in more money.
“Will knew us from way back,” Davis said. “He brought the other players in. We’re the beneficiaries of the Chiefs Charity Children’s game, which is very, very big for us.”
In 2003, Shields was selected as the Walter Payton NFL Man of the Year. Chiefs officials, when they nominated him, had trouble with the application. They had to fit his qualifications on one page, which wasn’t easy.
There were the thousands of donated books. His private charity, The Will to Succeed Foundation. And the countless good deeds and money raised, the things he’d taken pains to do without being noticed — including this one, Operation Breakthrough, where kids without much of a chance get a small one in large part because of a guy who can play football.
•••
There’s something else about Shields people never saw, and, in the end, it’s what has brought him retirement and all this attention: the pain.
“Last year was hard, because I wanted to make sure (everything I had) was all out,” Shields said as he shot pool in the suburbs. Dressed in all black, with steel-rimmed glasses and a quiet way, no one gave him a second look. A man wearing a Chiefs hat a few tables down never guessed who was nearby.
“Physically, it was harder,” Shields said.
Shields walked around the table, sized up his shot and, with a surprisingly gentle follow-through, kissed the 5 ball into the side pocket.
Throughout the winter, Shields had waited to make his decision. Every other day, it seemed, he woke up with that pain in his back. With his body saying, enough.
“It’d been like that for three years,” he said. “I kept waiting for that miracle.”
He’d played for so long, at such a level, because of “luck, fortune and sometimes a lot of Aleve and Tylenol,” he said. But fortune and luck can’t stop a man from getting old.
He walked around the table and lined up his next shot. He missed.
“The definitive moment was when you wake up and every other day your back hurts. Really hurts,” he said.
He’s still hurting, even now, months after his last game. He’s heard from other former players that it’ll take two years to feel right again. He hopes that’s true.
As he spoke, a man nearby listened in.
“I gotta ask. Are you Will Shields?”
“Yes,” said Shields, politely but quietly.
“I just want to thank you for a great career and all you’ve done for the Chiefs.”
“Thank you,” he said.
Shields shook the man’s hand and turned back to his game.
“No one plays football forever, that’s for sure,” he said.
What’s next?
The man of few words didn’t say anything for a moment. Finally, after missing another shot, he looked up. He didn’t talk about the charity work he plans to do, or mention the invitation to be around Arrowhead as much as he’d like, because those answers would draw attention to him.
He took another shot.
“Something’ll come up,” he said. “No one can play forever. That’s for sure.”
To reach Bill Reiter, sports reporter for The Star, call (816) 234-4856 or send e-mail to wreiter@kcstar.com"
What with all the "Bobby" movie discussion, here is another reason to bring a tear to the eye.
Will Shields was the best role model for our kids in the KC area.
We wish him the best, and are thankful for his presence on and off the field. Many a high school game enjoyed with his commentating.
"Retired Chiefs guard is a man of few words and many good deeds — on and off the field."
By BILL REITER
The Kansas City Star
"Will Shields carefully leaned his sore back over the tub of chocolate-chip ice cream, gently lifted out a thick scoop and placed it on a small cone.
The eyes of a little boy, who’d been watching the 6-foot-3, 320-pound giant of a man, lit up.
“OK, here you go,” Shields said as he handed over the ice cream. “Enjoy, sir.”
Two days after retiring from football, the best offensive lineman to ever put on a Kansas City Chiefs uniform had come here, to a Ben and Jerry’s store, to help raise money for charity.
It was a strange moment for a man who prefers life outside the limelight. As an offensive lineman, the quiet 35-year-old had been able to spend 14 incredible years in the NFL without much fanfare. But at this ice cream shop, he’d spend the next five hours in front of several thousand people focusing on him.
“Tom Osborne told me this years ago: ‘This is an extraordinary young man, but he’s a man of few words,’ ” said Chiefs president/general manager Carl Peterson. “ ‘Will Shields doesn’t talk very much, but he’s something special.’ ”
That silence defined Will Shields as much as the Pro Bowls and consecutive starts. He was so easy to underestimate, so easy to miss among the alpha males and talkers of an NFL locker room, so easy to ignore at a position few fans focus on, that you could go years without realizing who Will Shields was and what he meant to Kansas City.
At the ice cream parlor, Shields gingerly slid between four other servers as he grabbed another tub of ice cream.
“OK. Chocolate. Here you go.”
He turned to the next person in line.
“What’s next?”
After playing football for the last 28 years, he might have asked himself the same question.
•••
It’s what you never saw that made Will Shields great.
“You’re talking about a position that you don’t want to be noticed at, because if you heard his name in a game, it was holding,” Peterson said. “And I can’t remember ever hearing his name in all the starts in all the games.”
Shields could do things few 300-pounders were capable of. He moved fluidly. He could pass block and run block. He’d block one guy and instinctively ricochet into another.
Among the chaos of the line, Shields had the power, strength, speed and intelligence to dominate his opponents like few others.
“He was the best interior offensive lineman that I’ve had,” said former Chiefs coach Marty Schottenheimer. “That covers some incredible ground. A guy who, when he lined up, you could count on to win his battles 85 percent of the time.”
From the day Shields stepped on the field as a freshman at the University of Nebraska, there was something about the kid from Oklahoma. He worked harder than most everyone else, he was as athletic as any guy on the team, and he rarely spoke.
“He’s certainly not one who thrusts himself upon you, not a self-promoter,” said former Nebraska coach Osborne. “He grows on you. He’s solid and steady.”
But you had to look closely to see it: Will in the weight room longer than anyone else. Will studying film well into the night. Will going about his business with the same dispassionate professionalism that his father, an Army man, taught him.
“He came in and played with us as a true freshman, one of the first who ever did that for us,” Osborne said.
The Chiefs drafted Shields in the third round in 1993. He became an instant part of the offense.
Whether it was as a part of “The Firm” — the triumvirate of Shields, Dave Szott and Tim Grunhard, of which he was the junior member — or with guys such as John Tait and Victor Riley, Shields made everyone around him better.
“As a fan, you don’t appreciate it because he’s inside, (but) he did things as an offensive guard that’s at a next level,” said Chiefs offensive coordinator Mike Solari. “Other line coaches studied his techniques in how to get these outstanding blocks.”
By the time he retired last week, Shields had amassed an impressive list of stats, despite playing a position that doesn’t really have any:
•Twelve Pro Bowls. A Chiefs record that tied the NFL mark of guard Randall McDaniel
•Played in 224 consecutive regular-season games, also a Chiefs record.
•Made 223 career starts, the most in Chiefs history.
“I can guarantee you this. He will be in the Chiefs Hall of Fame,” Peterson said. “When he’s eligible, I’ll be pounding the drums for Will Shields to be in the Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio.”
•••
If Will Shields had his way, this is where his story would end.
Operation Breakthrough, the nonprofit near Troost Avenue and 31st Street for at-risk kids, shows what Shields means to Kansas City as much his work as the football field.
It has some impressive numbers of its own: Operation Breakthrough works with 600 children a day. Twenty percent of them are homeless. Almost all live in poverty. Many suffer from learning disabilities.
“We have the most at-risk children in the city,” said Kimberley Davis, the director of social services.
It’s the early-child education they offer here — and the health care, the day care, the computers and books and literacy programs — that officials hope will help steer some of these kids to a better life. Just last year, they opened a new building, an expansion that offers more services to more kids.
And Will Shields, as much as anyone, helped make that possible.
“The Shieldses have left their mark on this place for many, many years,” Davis said.
Shields’ wife served on the nonprofit’s board of directors and worked as an adult therapist. The family’s fingerprints are everywhere.
There’s the computer room, where kids learn about the Web and their parents can look for work. The 20 computers wouldn’t be here without Shields.
“The Internet is paid for by an NFL grant, but it was Will who was the conduit,” Davis said.
There’s the library with its books, many of them donated by Will and his family. There’s a dentist program, the counselors, the therapists — all funded by money that Shields played a big part in raising.
The Shieldses have personally donated more than $375,000, and their influence and connections have helped bring in more money.
“Will knew us from way back,” Davis said. “He brought the other players in. We’re the beneficiaries of the Chiefs Charity Children’s game, which is very, very big for us.”
In 2003, Shields was selected as the Walter Payton NFL Man of the Year. Chiefs officials, when they nominated him, had trouble with the application. They had to fit his qualifications on one page, which wasn’t easy.
There were the thousands of donated books. His private charity, The Will to Succeed Foundation. And the countless good deeds and money raised, the things he’d taken pains to do without being noticed — including this one, Operation Breakthrough, where kids without much of a chance get a small one in large part because of a guy who can play football.
•••
There’s something else about Shields people never saw, and, in the end, it’s what has brought him retirement and all this attention: the pain.
“Last year was hard, because I wanted to make sure (everything I had) was all out,” Shields said as he shot pool in the suburbs. Dressed in all black, with steel-rimmed glasses and a quiet way, no one gave him a second look. A man wearing a Chiefs hat a few tables down never guessed who was nearby.
“Physically, it was harder,” Shields said.
Shields walked around the table, sized up his shot and, with a surprisingly gentle follow-through, kissed the 5 ball into the side pocket.
Throughout the winter, Shields had waited to make his decision. Every other day, it seemed, he woke up with that pain in his back. With his body saying, enough.
“It’d been like that for three years,” he said. “I kept waiting for that miracle.”
He’d played for so long, at such a level, because of “luck, fortune and sometimes a lot of Aleve and Tylenol,” he said. But fortune and luck can’t stop a man from getting old.
He walked around the table and lined up his next shot. He missed.
“The definitive moment was when you wake up and every other day your back hurts. Really hurts,” he said.
He’s still hurting, even now, months after his last game. He’s heard from other former players that it’ll take two years to feel right again. He hopes that’s true.
As he spoke, a man nearby listened in.
“I gotta ask. Are you Will Shields?”
“Yes,” said Shields, politely but quietly.
“I just want to thank you for a great career and all you’ve done for the Chiefs.”
“Thank you,” he said.
Shields shook the man’s hand and turned back to his game.
“No one plays football forever, that’s for sure,” he said.
What’s next?
The man of few words didn’t say anything for a moment. Finally, after missing another shot, he looked up. He didn’t talk about the charity work he plans to do, or mention the invitation to be around Arrowhead as much as he’d like, because those answers would draw attention to him.
He took another shot.
“Something’ll come up,” he said. “No one can play forever. That’s for sure.”
To reach Bill Reiter, sports reporter for The Star, call (816) 234-4856 or send e-mail to wreiter@kcstar.com"
What with all the "Bobby" movie discussion, here is another reason to bring a tear to the eye.
Will Shields was the best role model for our kids in the KC area.
We wish him the best, and are thankful for his presence on and off the field. Many a high school game enjoyed with his commentating.