Super Bowl LVIII Newsletter: It’s Fathers and Sons Week in Las Vegas

Consider this the fathers and sons Super Bowl. They all are in their own way. But when the Kansas City Chiefs and San Francisco 49ers meet Sunday in Las Vegas, the influences of fathers on participating sons and participating fathers on sons of their own cannot be overstated.

Let’s start with the Shanahans. Should Kyle win LVIII, that would make their family the first with two head coaches to win Lombardi trophies. Mike won a pair of Super Bowls in Denver. Kyle seems all but destined to join him. As Mike told me in 2020, as kickoff for LIV neared, “Obviously, I’m very proud. And I know he’s got, ‘Let’s be the first father-son to win one.’ To win one, not just get there but to win.” Can only imagine how that sentiment has heightened in the past four years.

Kyle’s coaching counterpart, Andy Reid, told me about his father’s imprint on his coaching career last week. Walter Reid, who went by Wally and Wally Reid while in the Navy, was among the first responders at Pearl Harbor after the bombs dropped.

Wally passed the adaptable gene onto his son. His family emigrated to the U.S. from Scotland, and his father, Andy’s grandfather, worked as caretaker at a fancy mansion on Cape Cod in Massachusetts. Wally made friends easily, learned all he could absorb and applied that to his future career as a scenic artist in Hollywood. He created background sets and props for movies and TV shows, marrying endless creativity with the worldview he had expanded upon arrival in the U.S. Rather than studios lugging entire production crews into the desert, Wally created a desert inside buildings in Los Angeles, painting dirt and cacti and skies so blue birds might have flown right into them.

His son took that spirit into shop classes, where it wasn’t his skill in any one discipline that stood out but the fact he could do all of them—wood, electric, metal, printing and drafting—and do all well. Multiple skills meant myriad solutions.

Growing up in the Los Feliz neighborhood of Los Angeles, Reid lived in a diverse place within a diverse place, and different everything (races, religions, households, socioeconomic standing) stoked his curiosity and understanding, same as with his father on Cape Cod. To succeed meant to win, and consistent winners, he believed, found ways to adapt.

They aren’t alone in marveling at their fathers’ respective influences. Nick Bosa can thank John, a former Dolphin turned father of two sack artists, for his professional defensive end genetics. Before Ed McCaffrey became “Christian’s dad,” he played for Mike Shanahan in San Francisco and in Denver; Kyle sometimes served as a team ballboy with the 49ers.

Then there’s Patrick Mahomes, who waxed poetic about fatherhood in a call with Sports Illustrated last week. This, after last year proudly laying out his “helicopter parent” tendencies. He wants his two young children to remember the run he’s on. “It’s something I’ve always wanted,” he says. “To be a part of not just the NFL but sports history. I wanted that so much. I remember being 5, 6, 7 years old, watching sports on TV and wanting to make memories for kids like me that come up after me. I’m glad that I’m able to do that. And, hopefully, one day my kids get to watch this on all the throwback, classic stuff. And they get to see that dad was pretty athletic. He could do some stuff, too.”

Then to now

This is the-Kyle Shanahan-and-John Lynch-to-San Francisco origin story, as reported before Super Bowl LIV.

Shanahan briefly considered canceling that interview, then took it, meeting with owner Jed York and Paraag Marathe, the executive vice president of football operations. On brand, Shanahan held nothing back, detailing both the philosophy he would imprint and how much change needed to occur. He did three interviews in one day, and when he returned home, his wife asked him to name a favorite. “The Niners,” he said, to both her surprise and his own.

York admits that Shanahan wasn’t his first choice, either, not when the search for another coach began, after three others (Jim Harbaugh, Jim Tomsula and Chip Kelly) lasted only three seasons. He liked what Atlanta Falcons head coach Dan Quinn had told him—that Shanahan knew his brand of football so well, he could have coached any position group on offense. He wanted an offensive-minded coach (check) who could connect with a franchise quarterback (check) and get along with his GM after friction had doomed previous regimes.

The owner also knew the climate at that time, admitting that “a lot of negative things were said” about both parties. And, yet, five minutes into the interview, he could feel himself and Shanahan connecting. Here were two men steeped in franchise history, descendants of 49ers royalty, the same in age and ethos.

That same month, retired NFL safety John Lynch had wrapped up another season in the broadcast booth at Fox. He’s not sure exactly why but says he felt compelled to tell the owners he came in contact with about Shanahan, who he described as “a cut above offensively.”

“I regret this, but I said that people may say ‘he’s arrogant, tough to deal with,’” Lynch says. “But give me 10 of him. I want that guy.” Lynch says he told York to hire Shanahan, and York responded, “I’m trying to.”

Lynch called Shanahan to congratulate him on the Falcons’ playoff run. During that conversation, the 49ers gig came up. Lynch asked Shanahan to name his biggest issue. Finding a GM that I can work with, he responded. That night, Lynch couldn’t sleep. He felt something gnawing at his insides. He missed football. He wanted to dole out fist bumps in the locker room, wanted back inside. He had consulted for Denver Broncos general manager John Elway in previous seasons, evaluating safeties one year, defensive backs the next and, eventually, taking part in the entire draft process. He loved the idea of putting a team together. But he also lived in his dream house in San Diego, had high-school-aged children and made a lot of money talking about football without a lot of stress. “What’s wrong with you?” his wife asked.

He tossed and turned. Three days later, Lynch sent Shanahan another text message, asking for a call. “Remember what you said about the GM deal? What about me?” Lynch asked.

Shanahan paused, unsure that he had heard Lynch correctly. He said he’d think about it, then went downstairs and told his parents, who were visiting. Because Lynch had played for Mike Shanahan in Denver, most assumed that he and Kyle were friends, but Kyle had already begun working for the Tampa Buccaneers as an offensive quality control coach by the time Lynch decamped to Denver in 2004. They didn’t know each other all that well. Mike provided a scouting report to his son: Lynch has integrity, smarts, charisma—the same traits that would lead Shanahan to bestow the nickname Captain America on the retired safety who became his new GM.

The three men consummated their new partnership at a fancy country club outside Atlanta. Lynch liked when Shanahan told York that “people talk about culture like there’s something magical about it, but it’s just the people you bring in.”

Both knew they would inherit a bad football team that had gone 7–25 over the previous two seasons. York made the depth of his commitment clear immediately, signing his coach and general manager to six-year contracts. Other owners, York says, considered him out of his mind. “I wanted to send a message to the team and the fan base that whoever the coach was, this was not a quick fix,” York says.

On background

Have a conversation this week about the Super Bowl—any conversation about the Super Bowl—and it’s difficult to find many takers for the 49ers to finally end their championship drought. On one hand, I agree, but I like the Chiefs on Sunday. On the other, San Francisco finished the 2023 regular season with a +193 point differential. That’s staggering, especially when factoring in a few duds. Oddsmakers also like the 49ers, who started as the favorites, -1.5. The early wagers seem to favor them as well, as most lines are now -2. (Shrug emoji.)

Quote without context

“I wouldn’t put anything past that guy. He’s not only an unbelievable physical specimen, but also just a wonderful human being. It’s a pretty cool combination. He’s a really special human.” —John Bosa

Context

Funny enough, but John wasn’t talking about his son, Nick, the cornerstone of the 49ers’ pass rush and the 2022 Defensive Player of the Year. He was discussing Trent Williams, another cornerstone, at left tackle and Nick’s sometimes sparring partner in the most intense of practices.