From Depressed to NFL MVP in 1 Year — Steve Young
These notes were generated by AI and may contain inaccuracies.
Steve Young was miserable, not sleeping well, in a deep funk. Tuesday is the NFL day off, so Monday night he flew to Salt Lake City to see his brother in University of Utah Med School, hoping for help. Walking around town, his brother said, "Steve, I got two kids and broke in medical school. Like your life looks sweet to me." It didn't help. Steve told him he didn't know how to get to Christmas.
On the plane back, Steve Covey sat next to him. Steve said, "I've always wanted to meet you." Covey asked, "How you doing?" In a vulnerable state, Steve recited his misery for 25-30 minutes. Covey responded, "Huh, wow, man. I can feel that. The expectations, how tough it is to not get the help you think you need and things working against you."
Covey asked about owner Eddie DeBartolo: Steve praised him as the only owner who saw players as partners, amazing. About coach Bill Walsh: Talks about hydration, nutrition, sleep, mental health, partnership; West Coast offense is revolutionary. Covey said he'd heard that and wanted to meet them. Then, "Is Joe Montana on the team?" Steve said yes, but he's hurt, and that's the problem. Covey asked if Steve could seek mentorship from Montana. Steve said yeah.
Covey travels the world looking for platforms, companies, organizations that enable humans to see how good they can get, iterate, and find out—that's what life is about. He wanted to talk to DeBartolo and Walsh about their platform. Then, "From my perspective, the platform you're on might be the greatest one I've ever seen."
Steve reacted, "Did you hear me? This is miserable. Things are terrible." It stung him: first thought was he screwed this up. Covey said, "I always wonder if people are willing to take the chance to find out how good they are." Steve reflexively said yes. Covey, looking like a little bald Yoda with long fingers, pointed and said, "Then be about it."
Steve realized the hole he was in—he thought others dug it and pushed him in, but he dug it and jumped in. He had played the victim and authored it. Getting off the plane, he felt transformed: now he would be about it. Didn't sleep that night, fearing he'd screwed up so badly he'd get fired or benched on Wednesday mornings when NFL firings happen. Rumors of benching. He screamed to practice energized, begging for another chance. Didn't get benched, played, and was about it.
Something universally true doesn't waver. People fear finding out how good they are because they might not be as good as thought—make that okay. Now committed to iterating to find out. It was fear-based; needed to lose the fear.
Next year, playing Cowboys, the best team. Warming up, told Troy Aikman (Cowboys QB, a friend), "Troy, it's so great you're here because I'm on this quest to see how good I can get and I can only find out against the best." Troy looked at him like a weirdo.
Steve became NFL MVP that year. From the bottom of the hole, running to his brother in depression, to this—amazing difference a truthful, universally authentic fact can make. Owes Covey the greatest debt, like an angel or It's a Wonderful Life moment. Wild sliding doors moment from that happenstance interaction.
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