Hitting Them Hard: Broncos Hall of Famer Steve Atwater

The best days of my soccer career had already come to an end, and I was now winding it up with regular stints on my collegiate club squad. We had a match upcoming with the club from Boulder, and I’d heard stories about their rock star left wing I’d be facing. Stories so impressive as to be hard to believe. I decided to take a road trip down to watch this guy in their game against the Air Force club. That may have been a mistake.

Make that a huge damned mistake. This guy was taller than me, for sure. Probably outweighed me by 25 pounds. Yet somehow, he was noticeably faster than I thought I was, and his footwork was pretty much poetry. He embarrassed the Falcons fullback repeatedly, hanging a natural hat trick on him in the second half. My drive from the Springs back to Fort Collins was quiet. Very quiet. I saw myself getting whupped up and down the field to a point of spontaneous combustion, and had a week to get my affairs in order. At least I knew I had an entertaining weekend ahead before my eventual immolation.

That weekend brought a welcomed slate of football, wrapped up on Monday night by a conference matchup between my hometown Denver Broncos and the Kansas City Chiefs, a team who was at that point closer to their first Championship than their second. The ever-proud Chiefs had a running back who inspired fear in all he faced, hence nicknamed the “Nigerian Nightmare”. His given name, Christian Okoye, tended to come in hushed tones. Okoye was built like a cinderblock, with the speed of a man 50 pounds lighter. He blasted through defensive lines like a bowling ball connecting with pins. His highlights looked… unreal. Unimaginable. Unfair.

My favorite player on this Denver Broncos squad would be seeing a ton of Okoye that weekend, making up one half of the best safety tandem in the league. Steve Atwater was smaller and lighter than the Kansas City back, but was known for his hits across the league. Something would have to give, and simple physics said it would probably be one of Atwater’s bones. Until…

You tried, Baby.

Baby. Baby, baby, baby, he truly did try. Okoye ran through that hole like the Mack Truck he’d always known himself to be. But for once, the unstoppable force fairly put the immovable object straight onto his backside. Atwater’s hit was one of many impressive and devastating impacts he made over the course of his illustrious career. But what made this one especially special was that the emotion was enhanced and captured for posterity by the microphone Atwater had agreed to wear throughout the nationally televised game. When the far-smaller Atwater knocked Okoye over to the crowd’s delight, the yelp of joy he felt was followed by the phrase, “Yeah, you tried, baby!”

If that phrase was audible during the real-time broadcast, I’d simply missed it, as I could hear very little over the roar of satisfaction pouring forth from my own head. My David had knocked down their Goliath, and then stood over him barking like a boss. By the time the Monday Night Football crew was audible to me again, they were playing the audio from the hit. It was true. Okoye had tried. Nice try, baby. In his postgame interview, Atwater spoke of his chat with fellow safety Dennis Smith, and their plan to face and hit Okoye head on. They thought it was the only way to even possibly slow him down, and had guessed right. With my game two days away, I knew what I had to do.

When my game came up the following week, I’d love to tell you that I perfectly channeled that same hard-nosed attitude to the point of a shutout of Boulder’s Soccer Adonis, but that would not be factual. The one goal he made, he had to go straight through me to get, and I was lucky to put him on his keister a couple times as well. I walked away sore for a week, but my Rams walked away with a win, and I had one last fun memory to hang my hat on before I stopped playing a year-and-a-half later.

What became Atwater’s best-known moment was actually just the beginning of a new level of national recognition for him. That season marked his first Pro Bowl appearance, with six more to follow. The rest of his years in Denver are peppered with example after example of his skill and ferocity. His play in Super Bowl XXXII is often thought to have been one of his finest games, and many fans think he was the true MVP of the win that brought Colorado’s favorite pro team their first championship. Stepping outdoors after that win in any Colorado neighborhood brought the distant sounds of car horns and fireworks, a long-sought dream finally realized, and delivered as much as anyone by #27. When Super Bowl Sunday finally turned over to Monday, my sleepless night led me to buy the first and only Broncos jersey I’ve ever owned.

But even as Atwater’s career wound down, his straight-on approach to life never wavered. Atwater is a dedicated family man who has coached his kid’s teams in their youth, and had moved across country to support them in their collegiate efforts as they grew. He and his wife spend the time and energy with them that only comes from adoring parents. Additionally, Atwater has founded and sold a successful company, and still finds time for fans, charities, and teaching. Atwater is not just a fine example of what a hard-hitting safety can be, but also an even finer example to what a hard-hitting human being can be. While Atwater and Broncos fans worldwide are relieved and rejoicing at his inclusion in the Hall of Fame, it’s the consistency, character, and mettle inside him that always made him a special human being. Those traits still set him apart to this day.

Mr. Atwater? You tried, baby. And you wildly succeeded.  Thanks for giving me something to aspire to. And congratulations on this long overdue validation.