Gene Upshaw was a great NFL player who made an even bigger impact on the game after turning in his helmet, becoming one of the most influential figures in professional sports.
The NFL Players Association's longtime executive director, who died Wednesday from pancreatic cancer at 63, leaves behind a legacy that includes two decades of uninterrupted labor peace and unprecedented riches for the union's dues-paying members.
And the depressing thing is, he could have accomplished so much more.
I'm saddened by Upshaw's sudden death three days after being diagnosed with the horrible disease, and I respect the ferocity and conviction that helped him achieve so much on and off the field. But even as we mourn his passing, I believe those of us in the NFL community have a responsibility to be honest about his successes and failures.
It's a well-reported fact that, thanks partly to Upshaw's leadership, the NFL players currently collect nearly 60 percent of the league's gross revenues, a sum that has been estimated at $4.5 billion.
Yet it's also true that, under Upshaw, the NFLPA was almost obsessively concerned with bottom-line pursuit of dollars at the expense of improved working conditions, responsiveness to its membership and genuine concern for the well-being of retired players who paved the way for this golden era.
I'm not sure if I'm the sole journalist writing these things at this dark hour, but I'm not the only person who's thinking about them. Too many current and former players I respect, from Joe Montana to Vikings center Matt Birk, have complained in recent years that Upshaw was domineering, arrogant and consumed with self-interest.
Upshaw and his defenders always countered by doing the equivalent of pointing to the scoreboard – look at how prosperous we are, they'd say. But believe it or not, there is more to life than money for some players. Back in the early 1990s after decertifying and winning an antitrust lawsuit against the NFL, the union had almost unprecedented leverage in forging a new labor deal.
Yes, an environment was created in which many prominent players – and Upshaw, for that matter – got rich. But an opportunity was missed to address numerous other player-welfare issues. For example, fighting for a ban on AstroTurf, at least in outdoor stadiums, would have been a worthy and popular cause at the time.
Unrestricted free agency, even with exceptions such as the franchise tag, was a good thing for the rank and file. But many players I know would have placed an equal emphasis on pushing for guaranteed contracts.
The owners certainly would have resisted, claiming that football is such a violent sport that guaranteeing contracts is unfeasible, given the risk of injuries. If unable to win that battle, Upshaw and the union might have pressed for lifetime medical benefits, reasoning that the players needed at least some protection for the sport's inherent risks.
But, as we would later learn, worrying about the continued care of aging players wasn't the Upshaw way. He seemed concerned only with instant gratification, to the point where he was prepared to fight against the growing call for a cap on spiraling rookie contracts, and seemed downright disdainful when challenged by those who felt the NFLPA had turned its back on retired players with severe medical problems.
At issue was a dysfunctional disability system that awarded benefits to fewer than 1 percent of all men who ever had played in the league, far less than the nationwide average for all occupations of 8.7 percent. The retirement package was similarly scrutinized – a 2006 report alleged that an NFL player with 10 years of service who takes his pension at age 55 received $24,000 a year, while a major league baseball counterpart in the same situation got $105,000 annually.
When confronted with the growing complaints of retired players in 2005, Upshaw was dismissive. "The bottom line is I don't work for them," he said. "They don't hire me, and they can't fire me. They can complain about me all day long. They can have their opinion. But the active players have the vote. That's who pays my salary. They (the retirees) say they don't have anybody in the (bargaining) room. Well, they don't, and they never will. I'm the only one in that room. They're not in the bargaining unit. They don't even have a vote."
Given that everyone in the NFL is one play away from being a retired NFL player – and that the average career lasts a little longer than three years – you'd have thought Upshaw might have chosen his words more carefully. But this wasn't the only time he opened his mouth recklessly in the face of dissent.
Speaking of one of his most strident critics, fellow Hall of Fame guard Joe DeLamielleure, in May of 2007, Upshaw told the Philadelphia Daily News, "A guy like DeLamielleure says the things he said about me, you think I'm going to invite him to dinner? No. I'm going to break his … damn neck."
Simply put, the former Oakland great presided over the union like his onetime boss, Al Davis, runs the Raiders. He was ruthless, intolerant of dissent and all about the cult of him, with zero intention of ever relinquishing his power.
In 2006, Players Inc., the marketing and licensing arm of the NFLPA (which paid a portion of Upshaw's reported $5.7 million annual salary), announced it had hired sports marketing veteran Andrew Feffer as chief operating officer. "I had many applicants, and I picked him because I liked his energy and I liked his marketing skills and I liked what his references had to say about him," Upshaw said.
An agent forwarded the press release to me with the following message attached: "This is the problem. The executive director thinks he owns the association."

Upshaw with Vincent in Arizona prior to Super Bowl XLII.
To the end, Upshaw seemed oblivious to the reality that he was an elected steward of membership. Looking ahead to a potential lockout in 2011, Upshaw already had announced that he would ignore the NFLPA's bylaws calling for the mandatory retirement of its officers at age 65 – even though Upshaw had been the one who put the rule into effect.
Upshaw, who would have hit the milestone in August 2010, said he wouldn't leave until the right successor was found. He acted as though the thought of navigating a period of potential labor strife without him in charge was unthinkable, something that would expose the union to harsh ramifications.
Around that time Upshaw kneecapped his presumed successor, former NFLPA player president Troy Vincent, and scoffed at the very notion that anyone who worked under him would be worthy of inheriting the big job.
In an infamous quote he emailed to Sports Business Journal last March, Upshaw took the term "Looking Out For No. 1" to an absurd level.
"There is only a No. 1 and there will not be a No. 2," he wrote. "Number 2 is always trying to become No. 1 and never wants to wait. They can always do it better, they are like backup (quarterbacks). There is a reason they are backups."
With an attitude like that, it's hard to imagine Upshaw, on his deathbed, believing that he was leaving the NFLPA in good hands. That's a shame because the obvious and brutal lesson is that nothing lasts forever and it all can be taken away from even the most powerful of us in an instant.
I like to think that, when all this shakes out, the union's new leadership will step up to the challenge – that if Upshaw were able to look down on his successors, he'd end up being pleasantly surprised.
Surely, Upshaw didn't see this tragedy coming, and of course he wouldn't have wanted it to play out this way. But things don't have to be as bleak for the NFLPA as he might have feared. With a little creativity and compassion, the people who succeed Upshaw can turn the union he considered his into an even greater organization,
-by Michael Silver