Winning coach of Metrodome's Super Bowl, Joe Gibbs, was an all-timer

Ray Alborn was in his sixth season as the football coach at Rice University in 1983. The Owls would be hosting the Gophers on Sept. 10 in a battle of head coaches, Alborn and Joe Salem, who were on the way out at their alma maters.

Alborn was rumored to be a character. I called him. Right away, he named a street in Houston known as a gathering place for prostitutes and said, "I'm so unpopular these days even the ladies there won't wave at me.''

The conversation drifted to Bill Peterson, a coaching legend with a Rice/Houston Oilers connection.

Peterson was known for assembling great staffs, particularly at Florida State. Those assistants admired his work ethic, offensive genius and wonderful malaprops. Alborn gave me a couple of those and then said:

"You should call Gibbs. He has the best ones.''

Joe Gibbs, coach of Washington's defending champs, fresh from a season-opening 31-30 loss to Dallas … that Gibbs?

"Call this home number,'' Alborn said. "Tell him you want to talk about Bill.''

Bud Whitehead was hired to join the Florida State staff. By way of introduction, Peterson told his assistants, "This is White Budhead, and I've told him we don't have any panky hanky around here.''

That was something: Joe Gibbs, laughing a couple of days after a one-point loss to Dallas.

Gibbs won a Super Bowl after the 1982 season with Joe Theismann as quarterback and John Riggins running it down the Dolphins' throats.

He won a Super Bowl after the 1987 season as Doug Williams' triggered an astounding 35-point second quarter vs. Denver.

And in the Metrodome on Jan. 26, 1992, with Mark Rypien as quarterback, Gibbs' team took apart Buffalo, leading 37-10 before a couple of late Bills' TDs made it 37-24.

Richard Justice covered Gibbs as a beat writer for the Washington Post. Asked what made Gibbs great, Justice's long answer started with this:

"He was short, pudgy and had a squeaky voice. He didn't look like our idea of a leader. But he was born to lead men. He could convince his players to ignore pain and snow and mud, to literally shed blood for one another and to have each other's backs in good times and bad.