LATIMES.COM/SPORTS THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 2020B7
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It was in his weakest
moments that Ron Rivera
exhibited his greatest
strength.
He had to force down
food. He couldn’t taste or
smell. The cancer treat-
ments left him with a with-
ered body and flu-like fa-
tigue. Yet, without fail, he
showed up to work every
day as the first-year coach of
the Washington Football
Team.
“For Ron, that really
helps him, knowing he has a
routine,” said Stephanie
Rivera, his wife of 36 years.
“The team really made
accommodations for him.
They put a Barcalounger in
his office so he could rest if
he had to take a nap or
whatever. My daughter and
I would drive him to work
because you definitely don’t
want him to drive. You just
don’t know how you’ll feel
after your treatments, so we
would shuttle him back and
forth.”
Fittingly, it’s been a team
effort for the Rivera family,
navigating life after Ron was
diagnosed in August with
squamous-cell cancer de-
tected in a lymph node.
What began as a stiff neck
turned out to be something
far more ominous, requiring
seven weeks of treatments
that included chemothera-
py. He underwent his final
treatment Oct. 26 at Inova
Schar Cancer Institute in
Fairfax, Va., and — in keep-
ing with tradition — rang
the bell to mark the comple-
tion of his regimen.
The visual of Rivera
ringing that bell to the
applause of hospital staff
was undeniably moving,especially with him much
thinner than his days as a
Chicago Bears linebacker,
or in his nine seasons as
coach of the Carolina Pan-
thers. He lost 30 pounds
over the course of treat-
ment.
Rivera will be on the
sideline as usual Thursday
when Washington plays
NFC East rival Dallas in the
Cowboys’ traditional
Thanksgiving Day game.
Stephanie and daughter
Courtney will be at AT&T
Stadium too, as both have
COVID-19 clearance to be
with Ron throughout the
season. Courtney, a former
UCLA softball player, is a
member of Washington’s
social media team.
Rivera has experienced
the full spectrum of emo-tions in recent years, from
twice earning NFL coach-of-
the-year honors and leading
the Panthers to Super Bowl
50, to a fire that destroyed
the family’s Charlotte, N.C.,
home, to the death of his
brother from pancreatic
cancer, to being fired by
Carolina during last season
after a 5-7 start.
The cancer diagnosis
presented another unex-
pected challenge for a coach
looking to turn around
Washington, which was 3-13
last season and hasn’t made
the playoffs since 2015.
“That was one of the
hard parts, trying to keep
everything focused in on
football and then trying to
get the preparation going,”
Rivera, 58, told reporters
recently. “Then trying to, forme personally, stay involved
with the team as I was going
through my treatments.
That was probably one of
the more difficult things
that I’ve had to deal with,
and then at the same time
trying to present the right
type of front for our players.
It was a challenge, it really
was.”
For a franchise accus-
tomed to turmoil — most
recently the team dropping
the nickname “Redskins”
after decades of protest, and
disturbing allegations of
sexual harassment in the
workplace — Rivera has
been an undeniable source
of inspiration.
“For a lot of these guys,
they saw it as a badge of
honor that he was doing
what he was doing,” saidRichard Rodgers, assistant
defensive backs coach for
Washington and Rivera’s
longtime friend and team-
mate. They were together
coaching the Panthers, and
were teammates at the
University of California.
“The biggest lump-in-
my-throat moment for me
was when he called me in his
office and told me what was
going on,” Rodgers said. “It
was a one-on-one conversa-
tion and I think before any-
one else knew. I had to sit
back and catch myself. He
reassured me that he was
OK at that point, but you
never know.
“When you hear that
word ‘cancer,’ everybody
relates it to the end. So in
my mind, I just had to listen
to him, hear him out, and let
him explain to me what was
going on.”
Rodgers is no stranger to
miracles on the football
field. He made two of the
laterals in “The Play,” Cal’s
wildly improbable, last-
second kickoff return to
beat Stanford in 1982. His
nickname is “Rock” and it’s
an appropriate one now
with how supportive he is of
Rivera. But Rodgers con-
cedes the moniker is more
befitting of Stephanie.
“She’s definitely the
rock,” he said. “If she tells
Ron to do something, he’s
going to do it.”
Stephanie has her own
coaching experience. A knee
injury as a freshman ended
her short stint as a point
guard at Cal, but in 2000 she
was an assistant coach for
the WNBA’s Washington
Mystics. After that season,
she turned her attention toAAU and high school
basketball.
She was one of the driv-
ing forces behind “Coach’s
Corner,” in which 400
friends and family members
purchased cardboard cut-
outs to occupy FedEx Field
seats for a game against
Baltimore. Above the sec-
tion was a banner reading
“RiveraStrong.”
“We were able to keep
that a secret from him,” she
said. “I think he was very
touched.”
Her husband was moved,
too, when he noticed that
Chicago Bears defensive
coordinator Chuck Pagano
— who battled cancer as
head coach of the Indianap-
olis Colts — had a Rive-
raStrong sticker on his play
sheet. The two coaches
touch base frequently.
Health-wise, Rivera is
not in the clear.
“You wait 2½ to three
months after the last treat-
ment, and then you go in for
another scan to see if it’s
gone,” Stephanie said.
“They don’t say you’re can-
cer-free until that and then
the checkups after that.”
Rivera’s appetite has
returned to some degree,
and he’s slowly putting on
some pounds.
“We had to buy him a few
new pieces of clothing,” his
wife said. “He was cinching
up his pants and they were
looking pretty baggy. He
had to get a couple of suits
tailored down. I think from
this point forward, he’ll stay
an XL instead of a double-
XL.”
Rivera might be slightly
smaller in stature, but after
this, never more impactful.Family is his inspiration as Rivera tackles cancer
Washington coach
leans heavily on wife
Stephanie and others
during his recovery.
SAM FARMER
ON THE NFLSTEPHANIE RIVERA, a former point guard at Cal, directed the recovery of her
husband, Ron Rivera, who worked long hours despite his grueling treatments.Courtesy of the Rivera FamilyTODAY’S NFL GAMES
+++++++++++++++++++++
Houston at Detroit
TV: 9:30 a.m., Ch. 2Washington at Dallas
TV:1:30 p.m., Ch.11Five years ago,
an overweight
Diego
Maradona
played in a
charity soccer
match in
Colombia to
promote
world peace.
What made the game mem-
orable wasn’t the penalty
kick he scored, but what
happened after.
Maradona was escorted
off the field by a halo of
security guards, one of
whom was pushed into him
near the crowd that formed
around them. Maradona
stepped back to create
space and unleashed a kick
to the groin area of the
yellow-jacketed staffer.
Mind you, the purpose of
the event was to promote
world peace.
His post-match actions
inspired widespread con-
demnation, but not from
everyone. In some places,
his indefensible behavior
inspired feelings of warmth.
The impulsiveness and
childishness that made
Maradona wreak havoc in
the Bogota stadium is what
made him the most domi-
nant and joyous player of his
generation, perhaps ever.
By then, the world accepted
his shortcomings as a price
for his genius.
So, whenever Maradona
did something deplorable in
retirement, whether it was
crudely mocking Pelé or
drunkenly fighting in the
streets of Croatia, there was
always as much laughter as
outrage. How could anyone
judge a soul bold enough to
slalom through England’s
entire defense in the 1986
World Cup quarterfinals?
One of the greatest spir-
its of the 20th century was
extinguished Wednesday.Diego Armando Maradona
died of a heart attack at the
age of 60.
In most sports, there are
clear delineations that
separate the player from the
person. Not soccer. Outside
of boxing, which exposes
depths of character that
wouldn’t surface in ordinary
life, no form of competition
reveals as much about its
contestants.
The game is similar to life
in that nothing is happening
most of the time. Goals are
like distant destinations.
Players are defined by their
philosophies on how to go
about these journeys, simi-
lar to how people are identi-
fied by their ideas on how to
live. Soccer players’ con-
cepts of how to play thegame often mirror their
approaches to life.
Maradona, who was born
into extreme poverty in
Buenos Aires, was fearless.
He didn’t hold back, on the
field or off.
Standing only 5 foot 5, he
was like Barry Sanders with
a ball at his feet — powerful,
with a low center of gravity,
capable of shifting direc-
tions at an instant. His
technique was unmatched
by any of his contempora-
ries. He didn’t have much of
a right foot, but he didn’t
need one. His left was that
good. He saw the field better
than anyone, which made
him a gifted passer. He was
thoroughly unpredictable.
As a player, Maradona
was in the middle of every-thing, literally. He imposed
his will on games like no one
before or after him.
When Argentina won the
World Cup in 1986, his 567
touches were tied for the
most in the tournament,
according to ESPN Stats &
Info. Maradona scored or
assisted on 10 of Argentina’s
14 goals.
Even after he was sus-
pended when testing pos-
itive for cocaine, even after
age diminished him as a
dribbler, Maradona was the
center of Argentina’s attack
at the 1994 World Cup. Pre-
dictably, Argentina unrav-
eled after Maradona was
expelled from the tourna-
ment because of another
positive drug test, this one
for ephedrine.He exerted this kind of
influence when soccer was
at its most defensive — and
violent.
Maradona was fre-
quently subjected to the
types of tackles that would
draw straight red cards
today. He was the most-
fouled player across each of
the three World Cups from
1982 to 1990.
He played most of his
career before the implemen-
tation of the back-pass rule
or the change to the offsides
rule, which were designed to
promote more scoring. He
played in Italy’s notoriously
defensive Serie A. Teams
were awarded only two
points for a win then, which
made clubs less inclined to
emerge from their bunkers.Which made everything
Maradona feel all the more
supernatural.
His improvisational
abilities provided a stark
contrast to the game
around him, which was
becoming more systematic,
more defensive. He spoke
his mind as other star play-
ers became more mindful of
their public images. When
Argentina was beaten by
Germany in the 1990 World
Cup final, he openly cried on
the field.
In time, he became more
than a soccer player. He
became a populist symbol.
Imagine if Allen Iverson
had become the greatest
basketball player in history.
Or if Mike Tyson had sur-
passed the achievements of
Ray Robinson and Muham-
mad Ali.
That was Maradona.
The unpredictability
that characterized his play
was also a trademark of his
private life. He lived how he
played, merrily and reck-
lessly. He partied hard,
cocaine his drug of choice.
His successors learned
from his setbacks. Players
now are more careful with
their bodies. Something
was lost in the improve-
ments in professionalism,
however.
Lionel Messi is a more
consistent finisher than
Maradona ever was. Messi
has played more games and
scored more goals.
But he’s not Maradona,
similar to how LeBron
James isn’t Michael Jordan.
Messi will never elicit as
much adoration or hatred.
He will never be as good,
many will argue.
Whatever the statistics
read, regardless of who says
Messi is better than
Maradona, nothing will
change the minds of people
who remember the shock
they experienced when
Maradona launched himself
headfirst into an ankle-high
cross or suddenly flipped a
ball up to himself so he
could deliver a pass with a
bicycle kick.
And if Maradona became
a spectacle in retirement,
well, of course he did. That’s
who he was.DYLAN HERNÁNDEZ
His recklessness made him legendary
Despite the star’s
shortcomings,
Maradona’s
passion always
shined through
DIEGO MARADONA, left, tangling with West Germany’s Guido Buchwald in the 1990 World Cup final, led
Argentina to the World Cup championship in 1986. Maradona, 60, died of a heart attack on Wednesday.Associated Press