“Ozzie doesn’t need to make a name for himself,” said Billick, who attributes many aspects of his Super Bowl XXXV ring to key decisions Newsome made long before he arrived from Minnesota. “He’s already made his name. He played. He coached. He scouted. He’s proven at every level. But he’s never ever tried to pass himself off as a guru of evaluation nor has he ever said, ‘I know talent better than anyone else.’
“He assembles information, hears all arguments and then makes great decisions,” Billick said. “You might not always get your way or get your pick, but you’ll always be heard. That’s what makes Ozzie special.”
To longtime fans of the Cleveland Browns, Newsome is no mystery. He was a beloved treasure on the shores of the Cuyahoga and many would tell you he’s the greatest tight end to ever play the game.
Selected in the first round of the 1978 draft as the 24th overall pick after a distinguished career playing for legendary head coach Paul “Bear” Bryant at Alabama, Art Modell and newly-appointed head coach Sam Rutigliano brought him to the Browns and immediately utilized him as a receiving weapon in an offense led by Brian Sipe on a unit nicknamed the Cardiac Kids for their ability to come from behind and give fans a sporting “heart attack” with nervous energy. Ozzie played on some great, exciting teams in Cleveland.
Newsome’s success on the field in the NFL was not a shock to any who saw his story unfold in the Heart of Dixie. Everything about his pedigree spoke to his desire to accept challenges and live a different kind of life from the other kids. Born March 16, 1956, in Muscle Shoals, Alabama, Newsome endured an early childhood littered with “white only” bathrooms, fountains and buses in the fractured Deep South. Newsome’s father ran his own businesses and his mom made sure he kept up his grades and made it to church each Sunday. His grandfather was also a special athlete, a baseball catcher in the semi-pro Negro Leagues.
In 1966, when he was 10 years old, the area schools became integrated in Colbert County and Newsome elected to attend sixth grade at what previously was a “white only” school in Leighton, Alabama.
His passion for sports led to his passion for reading and his abilities on the football field got him noticed. He was a 6-foot-2, 175-pound soft-handed receiver who never dropped passes – something that followed him throughout his career – and every school in the south was sending love letters to his mom, Ethel Mae. Vanderbilt offered academics. Auburn had his childhood friends and the blessing and support of his mother.
8
Alabama had coach Paul “Bear” Bryant.
The night before the official signing date Bryant dispatched John Mitchell, the first-ever African American to play for him and the Crimson Tide in Tuscaloosa, to Newsome’s home and gave him orders to bring him back in a burgundy uniform. Newsome was convinced by Mitchell that Coach Bryant was a man who would give a young man of color a fair shake in a state where the battles of Rosa Parks would become part of our nation’s history books.
After a long debate with his mother, and after invoking divine intervention as a prime mover of his ideological move from Auburn to Tuscaloosa, Newsome was headed to University of Alabama. And if you know anything about the state of Alabama, you know this is a family decision that creates civil war quicker than any other gridiron battle. That’s why it’s called The Iron Bowl. And Newsome has lived to crush Auburn for the past 40 years since that fateful evening in Muscle Shoals. And the impact of “The Bear,” whose infamous phrase “I ain’t never been nothing but a winner” and his black and white hounds tooth hat, still hovers over Newsome’s spirit every day.
“You cannot find a player that played for Coach Bryant that wouldn’t say the things he taught us while we were there are what we’re living right now,” Newsome said. “It was all about the team. He never allowed anyone to become complacent. The man that I am right now, Coach Bryant had probably 80 percent to do with that, along with my parents.”
Newsome’s career as an NFL player is impressive by any measure. He left the field in 1990 as the leading tight end receiver in NFL history with 662 receptions for 7,980 yards and 47 touchdowns. He was the fourth-leading receiver in history when he retired, before the offensive fireworks of the last quarter of a century and the rules that have all been designed to make the passing game more attractive.
He was the key weapon in the passing game of a potent offensive machine that took the Browns to three AFC Championship Games vs. the Denver Broncos in a four-year stretch between 1986 and 1989. He also was selected to three Pro Bowls 1981, 1984 and 1985. Off the field, his record was impeccable. Newsome won the NFL Players Association Whizzer White award for community service in 1990 and also was a recipient of the Baltimore-based Ed Block Courage Award in 1986 for his battle through injuries.
“As a player, he was our go-to guy for everything from reporters after a tough loss to going to hospitals during the week and visiting sick children,” said Baltimore Ravens Vice President of Community and Public Relations Kevin Byrne, who came to the Cleveland Browns in 1981 as their public relations man, and like Newsome, never left the side of Art Modell, following him to Baltimore in 1996. “On the field, he was the most productive guy in the offense for a decade under two big-time quarterbacks and had the most reliable set of hands on the team, if not in the league.” Newsome once went 380 possessions in the NFL without a fumble.
8But despite his decorated career and his obvious Hall of Fame pedigree, something was desperately missing on Newsome’s resume – a visit to the Super Bowl or a chance to win the Lombardi Trophy. There were so many near misses, and so improbable and catastrophic were the losses, that they all bear code names, not just in the Cleveland sports lexicon but in the greater conversation of the NFL.
First, there was “Red Right 88” on a 4-degree day with a minus-36 wind chill in Cleveland against the Oakland Raiders in the AFC Divisional Playoff Game on January 4, 1981. Down 14-12 and driving on the Oakland 13-yard line with less than a minute remaining and with the winning field goal in sight, the reigning NFL MVP Brian Sipe was instructed by head coach Sam Rutligiano to “throw it into Lake Erie” if he didn’t have a sure thing. Instead, Newsome was the intended target and safety Mike Davis intercepted the pass and Cleveland’s season was over.
But it only got worse.
Newsome watched in agony on the sidelines at Cleveland Stadium on January, 11, 1987 as John Elway led the infamous 92-yard drive through the Browns’ defense in what was simply known as “The Drive” in a stinging 23-20 AFC Championship Game loss.
