Johnny Manziel Documentary “Untold” Should Have Stayed That Way

There are possibly three groups of people who will have some kind of reaction to the debut of the new Netflix documentary on Johnny Manziel, Texas A&M’s most famous, or infamous, football player in the past 20 years. Group 1 is a group of Aggie fans who are devoted to championing Johnny Manziel as “Johnny Football,” and they are likely to own at least one piece of memorabilia bearing the number ‘2’. No matter what, Johnny is “their guy” forever, unquestionably.

Group 2 are those college football fans who watched as a pre-adult from a tiny Texas town took the world by storm by playing his heart out on Saturday afternoons around Texas and the eastern United States, set records, won the hearts of Aggies, and then disappointed himself and many who adored him, and washed their hands of him, disgusted that he’d won the nation’s highest honor, the Heisman Trophy, and then trashed his career, almost purposefully.

Group 3 include college football fans in general who were mesmerized by the antics on and off the football field of a young renegade with an impish grin and devil-may-care attitude towards rules and regulations, and who are hoping to see that Johnny turned his life around and will tune in, possibly to see a portrait of a life redirected and focused on a happy adult existence.

On August 7, Johnny Manziel used his favorite social medium of choice, X, formerly known as Twitter, to share: “Can’t wait for you guys to see this. Appreciate all the support!” The “this” is the Netflix documentary, UNTOLD: Johnny Football, which premiered on August 8.

Assuming he had seen it in advance, you have to wonder why he’d want any of his friends or fans to see it. The timing, of course, is just a few weeks before his eponymous new business venture, Johnny Manziel’s Money Bar opens on College Main in Aggieland’s famous Northgate district.

Why I expected to see a documentary that might show the trajectory of a young man who had turned his life around and perhaps having found peace with hard work as he rebuilt his life, I don’t know. I naively like happy endings, and all Aggies who screamed and yelled for his success on game days, on award days, and on NFL opening day really want him to succeed. Who wouldn’t want the best for him? Listen to the words of those featured in the documentary.

Somehow between the beginning of a prospective insider’s look into the heart of Johnny Manziel, potentially to somewhat recapture the magic of a young man who zoomed through a myriad of opportunities for a secure future to the big reveals of things most of us suspected but were not sure, it was one sad story told for all the world to see, again.

If I were going to watch for a second time, which I won’t, I would take a pencil and make tik marks every clip that showed Johnny’s father scowling, his former lifetime childhood friend “Uncle Nate,” with so much camera time that you had a very good idea of the potential delinquents in training the duo were, they somehow never saw a reason to stop doing what they were doing, whether or not laws or professional student-athlete ethics were violated.

Then you have Uncle Nate describing how he was “the guy” or “the go-to” if you wanted to contact Johnny gave you cause to pause as you listened to Johnny’s former sports agent, Erik Burkhardt. Funny, I didn’t care for either person as they joyfully described the extremes to which they went for “their guy.” Yet, today, neither of them is Johnny’s guy anymore. No one interviewed any of Johnny’s teammates, the guys who Johnny would regularly treat to multicourse meals at Veritas, or anywhere else they wanted, because he knew to treat his O-line well.

You heard and saw the footage of one of the traffic stops of Johnny and former girlfriend, but you didn’t see two or three years of her riding along all the way to every destination party and event she was only too pleased to be there for. Not saying any woman should ever stand for being hit or abused, not at all. She loved living that life, until she didn't any more. It’s just that there was no in-depth search into Johnny’s psyche, just on the highlights of the disasters and very superficial coverage.

You didn’t see the girl he was engaged to and, for a time, married to, who focused Johnny on getting back in the gym daily and who may well be responsible for why he is still here. Nor, did you get treated to any real portrait other than two soundbytes from his sister, his lifeline and anchor throughout most of the past years.

If you want any real insight into Johnny and the family dynamics, read Josh Katzowitz’s 2012 book “Johnny Football,” as the author spent substantive time in Tyler, met the entire family at the Tyler Country Club and things become infinitely clearer, no thanks to this documentary. The Heisman trophy logged quite some time in the showrooms of the car dealerships in whatever city Dad was selling cars.

For all of Johnny’s freshman football year, when former head coach Kevin Sumlin’s imposed rule of forced silence for all freshman players was in place (arguably likely the only rule Johnny followed during his career here), all quotes, legend, lore, and facts were according to the words of “Uncle Nate,” the moniker being gifted no doubt to craft an image of a wise guy with an inside track and an outside character, or caricature, of “the guy” you need to know if you’re going to reach Johnny…or “get to him” more appropriately.

Plenty of people got to Johnny and he reciprocated in finding access to people he had only once dreamed of reaching. Imagine the heady feeling of sitting next to Maverick Carter, business partner for LeBron James, and then ultimately signing with their firm for investment opportunities as well as other groups, tweeting to his hero "Happy Birthday King James" and having LeBron welcome him on Twitter(X) when he signed with their agency. He sold a vitamin bodybuilder powder with Patrick Schwarzenegger for a time, and he sold some Snickers bars even when he didn’t make a Cheerios box.

And then there was the professional football meltdown. It was a movie in the making, literally. Another unpleasant character in Johnny’s life is smarmy Erik Burkhardt, who delighted in regaling all the steps he took in being the reason Johnny got drafted at all by the Cleveland Browns.

It’s ironic, the film “Draft Day” with Kevin Costner debuted in Johnny’s draft year, and as the team in the movie was the Cleveland Browns, the plot was almost prophetic. The big buzz around the draft was a hot shot quarterback who seemed too good to be true. The better player was Vontae Mack (Cuba Gooding Jr.), but all the hype was around the quarterback Bo Callahan (Josh Pence).

At the time, collective wisdom identified Michigan State’s Connor Cook at the quarterback with baggage but some pundits admitted it could just as easily be Johnny Manziel. The entire plot revolved around player character. And just like Bo sat at that table undrafted while everyone around him was getting the nod, Johnny sat there and ran through four bottles of water before he heard his name. Seriously, "Draft Day"is a better show to rewatch than “Untold,” by a long shot.

Whether or not he was an entitled athlete, as though Texas is not filled with them in every town from the Cut and Shoot Bulldogs to the Normangee Panthers, Johnny’s story is not unique as depicted in "Untold." Football and Friday nights reign every fall in Texas. You know going in that if you succeed, the sky’s the limit for you to receive local, state, regional and national prominence, even if you’re from tiny Tivy High School in Kerrville, Texas.

There are young men who come from the least affluent circumstances with only raw talent and a dream, and they don’t waste the opportunities and chances they have. They work relentlessly, they sacrifice pleasures of the moment, and they follow team rules, listen to their coaches, and they mature and grow to be career NFL employees and professional athletes who take their substantive fortunes they amass and invest them in the communities where they grew up. LeBron James and Steph Curry are two basketball standouts who prioritize education, who fund a myriad of opportunities for children to learn and grow.

Then, there’s local football star Gerald Carter who played for Bryan High, spent eight years with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, and then came home and spent 31 years with the Boys and Girls Club, which he attended as a grade school student, mentoring students. You don’t see a documentary on Gerald, but he and other local successes are surely worthy of them. No, it’s all about the bad boy, the headline-making, loud-living, rule-flaunting, yet lovable Johnny Football.

Yes, TAMU made millions off the publicity that he brought the school. No, it’s not fair that he didn’t see a dime of it but that was the way it was then. He didn’t really need the money, though, did he? He was proud of what he and Uncle Nate crafted as the myth behind the “family fortune” to explain away all the unexplained affluence he was enjoying.

People were not as stupid as to believe it. They did what they always do—overlook the obvious as long as the football team is winning—that’s the way of football, and of the Heisman. How do you expect anyone to apply a rule to Manziel when you’ve awarded the Heisman to Jameis Winston, whom Coach Jimbo Fisher couldn’t control any more than Coach Kevin Sumlin could control Johnny.

Spoiler alert: The bon mot dropped in the midst of the film is Johnny felt empty when he was at the top of his game, financially, positionally, and in big-city bright lights. He bought a gun, tried to use it, and it failed. And then the documentary continues on. Didn’t show how certain people in his life (not mom or dad, who he wouldn’t listen to) tried over and over to reach him, ground him, show him a different path…but the train had left the station long before.

Here he is today. A man alone on a bar stool chair in an empty set in a documentary. You don’t see if he lives in a home, condo, apartment, or where he is, whether he has people permanently in his life who are happy to be there with him, and you don’t see what his typical day is like these days. It’s like he’s there, and then he’s gone. It’s a damn shame.

Had he stayed just slightly in the slow lane, he could have been joining a lifetime job for Texas A&M, welcoming and greeting Aggies on campus for the rest of his life, raising money for athletics, enjoying all things Aggie, surrounded by people who were always truly happy to have him here in town.

Image is not always as it seems. While Johnny was a student, even in the midst of some of his high jinks, for every rumor of wild behavior, you would hear how he had been at a party of some “regular people” in town and been the nicest, best behaved guy there, not acting entitled at all, just one of the guys. You’d hear how he would pull into McAlister’s Deli and pick up a to go order for “Johnny” and be the sweetest customer, said thank you with a big smile and left a nice tip. He was the same kid who doted on his little sister and cousin and was as happy as he could be to play a round of golf with a few close friends who weren’t on the A&M football team. When he was surrounded by normalcy, he fit right in.

It’s just that fame came calling, and notoriety put her arms around him and swept him up….now a bar in Northgate is not the path to normalcy for a quiet life but one would hope it brings him peace and contentment, and a group of clients who can appreciate that he wanted to create a place where everyone knows your name, relax, watch a game or two on TV, and hang out.

If he never achieves another iota of success in business in his lifetime doesn’t matter. With good investments, the money he made will hold out. One wishes him the best though, for a happy and successful life, and a new, better documentary to come down the road, one worth watching. Everyone still believes in a happy ending. Make it so, Johnny, make it so.

Zach Calzada Was the Right Young Man for Texas A&M; It Was Just the Wrong Decade

For the five decades I’ve watched Texas Aggie football, for at least the first four of them, it never seemed like big business, a corporation, or anything other than a wonderful opportunity for young men with skill to earn a college education and potential gain entry to the NFL, with substantive hard work, sacrifice and difficult training. [Photo credit: 247sports.com]

During the days of Bear Bryant and Gene Stallings, Aggies gave their all for their coaches. Quarterbacks, tight ends, running backs, and many other players would limp back into the lineup after having been crushed and ground and left for roadkill under a bruising opponent. If they were going to leave a game, it would be on a stretcher.

It was the heart and soul of the Aggie spirit to “give your all” for your team, your teammates, and your school. The 12th Man stood in every space in the student section on the ready, having been taught by tradition what it meant, and cost, to be a part of the proud 12th Man tradition. That was before concussion protocols were developed. Times have changed.

It was disheartening to read the various headlines on social media surrounding Zach Calzada’s decision to enter the transfer portal. To wit:

Houston Chronicle Sports

Zach Calzada is entering the transfer portal and won't play in the Gator Bowl, potentially leaving Texas A&M Football without a healthy scholarship quarterback.

Texas A&M Aggies Football Fans (not an official Aggie affiliated page)

Calzada isn't a fit with the Aggies anymore, but he'll generate interest elsewhere.

San Antonio Express-News That leaves the Aggies potentially without a healthy scholarship quarterback against Wake Forest in the Gator Bowl.

This after just two weeks ago reading the TexAgs.com laudatory post regarding the “almost win” vs. LSU:

“After a tough, 3-TD performance that included two second-half scoring drives to give the Aggies the lead, quarterback Zach Calzada is this week's Overnight Sensation:”

And that, just 9 weeks after the first loss Alabama has had since 2019, under the arm of Zach Calzada, the hero of the night, the week, and the next 56 or so days….until the loss at LSU. [Photo credit: KBTX.com]

All of a sudden, people began inquiring as to the health of Haynes King, the former starting quarterback, and then there was the news story about the Aggies signing of a premiere 5-star prospect, yada yada.

And just like that, yesterday’s hero is an afterthought; no mention of Zach Calzada or his future potential as a quarterback who’d been not only a successful backup who led the team with dignity this year, but a true 12th Man who came in and took not one, not two, not three, but multiple beatings, both on and off the football field.

Yesterday’s news and then today, a guy, who according to some headlines, left A&M without a starting quarterback for the “big” bowl game coming up. I think I’ve seen it all now.

Has social media really created all the ingrates or it is instead a place where bullies who buy the Aggie hats get to join in and pile on when someone wants to rag on the one they decided is the cause of all their problems?

It was never this way in the old days—yes, there was the “what have you done for us lately?” attitude in sports, but it was never as visceral. Back then, there was no Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, or other instant means of trashing a person, instantly, as there is today. Players back then were different, too.

Under Emory Bellard, in the 70s, the top football players were also on the (then) GTE (today Verizon) Southwest Conference for Academic All-Americans as well as for football prowess. Ed Simonini ’78, Civil Engineering master’s, Baltimore Colts, Bubba Bean, ’75, Industrial Education grad, Atlanta Falcons, and the tradition of academic strength continued.

Under R.C. Slocum we had more of the same, and then many players found their way into the NFL and would return after their pro careers to get their degrees and get on with life.

We’ll skip Dennis Franchione and zip right to Coach Jimbo Fisher. Pluses about Jimbo include his inevitable good humor, willingness to appear on TV commercials and support anything that brings Aggies to Kyle Field, and he can brighten any game loss with his smiles and promises that the next week, the team will execute the plan and get back on track and get down to business and make all those working parts come together and be the team he knows they can be.

All season long the Aggies had highs and lows, and yet we weren’t breaking through to beat teams we should have handled easily. That’s the “any given Saturday” reason, because some teams simply aren’t as bad as their antagonists think. Others have reputations that far exceed their abilities.

The Aggies bring heart and soul to every game they play and there’s those 12th Man kids in the stands, screaming their heads off for the Aggies to win. Aggies never lose, they’re only outscored.

This season, though, reminded me a little too much of Coach Fisher’s final season at Florida State. Back then, he had the future Heisman Trophy winner to be in the media crosshairs because of some “youthful indiscretions” and “personal matters” that if you actually took the time to read the constant details of the “indiscretions,” well, you wouldn’t be impressed.

No matter how many times he got in trouble, he was the QB leading the #1 team in the nation and was a shoe-in for the Heisman. Jimbo tolerated, placated, and kept talking and they won the national title and the wild child won the Heisman. Win-win, right? Or not.

Before this season started, two Aggie football players got in some “trouble” and the infraction for one of them was such that there was a question whether he would play this season. After a one-game suspension the young man was allowed to play and did pretty well for the team, and the football press called it his “offseason personal matters” that he’d be dealing with after the season was over.

But of course. Two weeks ago, the local paper ran a laudatory article about that player being a mentor for the younger players this season, advising them on learning from his mistakes because he'd really grown up (in 12 weeks). Fine, fine.

Sadly, if you can do something to help the school win a football game, you are golden. It’s hands-off, we love ‘em, and it’s probably always the way it’s been. It’s just that no one talks about it out loud. If you question it, you will hear from social media that you are a “2-percenter” or a “bad Aggie” or “a hater,” a term that came to life during the Johnny Manziel era, where people who questioned his off-the-football field antics were considered haters and “good” Aggies hated the haters and loved their Johnny Football.

Except for one thing. Had any coaches been able to look past their win/loss record to bring some stability and reality into his world, that young man might still be playing professional football today, as he had unparalleled spirit, talent, and a desire to win.

After he left, and his pro days played out in the media, Aggies welcomed him back for a while, and today, whenever he’s in town, it’s only his true friends who welcome and honor him for being the guy who not only beat Alabama, but who got the Aggies positioned to even seriously consider dreams of the national championship. Alabama is in his rearview mirror, though he graciously did a social media shout-out to Calzada when his never-say-die play led the Aggies to victory.

Zach Calzada made a good choice in entering the transfer portal.

Just as Kyler Murray proved out who he was at TCU, and a Heisman Trophy later, he continues to start for the Atlanta Falcons each week, and A&M is a distant memory in his rearview mirror. Players these days are fortunate to have parents or mentors as advocates looking ahead for their young proteges.

Any “fans” who slammed Zach on social media might read what he posted in response to the slams, excerpted from the edited version on Instagram:

“The overwhelming majority of the 12th Man has given me unwavering support. In exchange I gave you my left ankle against Mississippi State, my left knee against Alabama and my left shoulder against Auburn & again last night, and I will continue to give everything for this team and this University.”

It’s painful to recall watching the injuries Zach sustained, possibly at the inexperience of his offensive line. That we got a bowl game this year, despite his injuries, can be summed up to his willingness to “step into the medical tent,” followed by a worried Jimbo Fisher.

One can only imagine Fisher’s angst as he wondered about the well-being of his player and the outcome of the game that remained to be played. That’s why they pay the big bucks to the coach, to balance their judgments as to when to pull a player or play one who’s been injured a little bit longer.

Each time Zach came out of the tent and resumed play; one can only wonder what pain he had to live through the rest of the week, after the miracle patching up he received in the tent, only to have another injury come his way in subsequent weeks. The adrenaline rush of playing to win surely saw him through the rest of those games. But the minute you might not be useful to the team..."next in line!"

Zach made his choice yesterday, and it was the right one for him, and he’ll be fine after shoulder surgery (he wouldn’t have been able to play in the Bowl game anyway, so he didn’t “leave A&M without a quarterback”). He's been on the sidelines all year as backup and you'll see him in the bowl game. The school that chooses Calzada will benefit from his experience and skills learned this year. Will A&M constantly be chasing that rainbow of the national championship? Yes.

Will Aggies continue to support their team and be the true 12th Man through both wins and being outscored? If the traditions have lasted this long, hopefully they can last a little longer. But will A&M continue to perpetuate a culture that allows cyberbullies to challenge the resounding swell of the 12th Man? One can hope that will go away sooner than later.

When COVID-19 Becomes Real in Your World, How Do You React?

For the past three weeks I’ve stayed atop all the developments of the pandemic that is fueled by the coronavirus called COVID-19 by faithfully viewing TV news channels that report true facts calmly without hysteria, frankly rather than with duplicity, and with practicality rather than delusion. I’ve been proud of Bryan and College Station and Brazos County civic leaders, who acted early and wisely to contain activities that put our community at risk. And I’ve been blessed by friends as angels calling to check on me, bringing me thoughtful things they know I would be out of, and Skyping, Facebooking, IMing and texting daily to share their love. It’s been painless and has only reinforced love for me so far. But that all changed early this morning when the impact of the coronavirus landed safely in my Mayberry backyard, in the death of TAMU Mathematics professor Jack Bryant.

I became aware of the passing of our county’s first victim of COVID-19 only by the name when it was announced. When I saw it, I immediately flashed back to my days as an engineering undergraduate student, and he had been my instructor in what had to have been the most challenging of all the math courses they required, Math 308, Differential Equations, known to most as “Diff EQ,” and named by me as “Difficult Equations.” Derivatives made sense; integration was evil. I made a D and I was so proud of that D. It meant I hadn’t flunked! But I never once forgot that I had a tremendous instructor, Dr. Jack Bryant. Even when I was living in “D-land,” I didn’t blame him or his teaching. In fact, he was a great teacher.

Despite his seemingly unique appearance, this man had the most logical mind, strong voice and gracious manner. As in my lifetime, I’ve been (perhaps unfairly) characterized before as a “Typical Chemist” (code for “nerd”). Similarly, Physicists and Mathematicians are often described as having hair that might not always be combed, a proclivity for t-shirts, sweat shirts and hoodies. In fairness, that’s true of many, but not all, Math folks. Let's face it, science is creative and that means thinking outside the box and intelligence has nothing to do with hair, wild or perfectly coiffed.

After graduation and an engineering career, when I returned to Aggieland to work in academe, I had the responsibility for fundraising for the College of Science. It was part of my job to introduce prospective donors to key faculty members and to help them find common ground and interests in funding and then get out of their way as they forged their own friendships and funding ensued. At the time, the Mathematics department head (long ago deceased) was a truly off-the-charts personality.

That Department Head’s attitude veered from Wally Cox as Mr. Peepers to wild-eyed mad scientist in five seconds flat if you happened to trigger his temper. Simply saying hello could do the trick. Then you had his number two deputy, Assistant Department Head, as the calm, easy-going type who had a joke for you, a smile, and he would out-talk the dean out of funds destined for another department without his even knowing it. He was the good cop to the department head’s bad cop. And all the faculty members were supposed to function normally under the rather rocky steering of bright but unpredictable "leaders."

And yet in the Math department were these wonderful professors who taught and did research and had wonderful, normal, happy lives, though they lived quietly and far under the spotlights usually cast on others in the college. Their headquarters was, at the time, Milner Hall that was freezing in the winter and stultifying in the summer, and that was on a good day. Today they’re in the newer Blocker building. No matter where they were, you could almost count on seeing Jack Bryant any day on campus and he’d be walking to his next destination no matter how far.

He walked everywhere and he was easily recognizable, most comfortable with his early silvered hair below his ears, that hip 1970s look up north and out west for sure, and he had a devotion to Converse basketball shoes and a Polo shirt in the warm weather and a sweatshirt over it when it was cold. And he was one of the kindest people you’d ever want to meet. A brilliant man who didn’t have any trouble discussing any topic with anyone. He was a tad shy though, so if he looked slightly to the right or left of your eyes, he was just thinking on both sides of his brain, and you still had his full attention.

His career began in Wichita Falls where he graduated from high school in 1953. He earned his undergraduate degree from the A&M College of Texas (as we were called then) in 1958; a B.A. in Math and in 1962, he earned his M.S. degree, also in Math. He then enrolled at Rice University in advanced mathematics studies in 1961-1965. He received his doctoral degree from Rice on June 5, 1965. Jack’s dissertation topic was “Theorems Relating Convolution and Fourier Series.” As are all dissertations, new and groundbreaking work was expected and achieved; his graduate advisor was Richard O’Neil, another renowned mathematician.

In September 1964, Dr. Bryant was hired to teach Mathematics at Texas A&M, and in 1990 was named Professor Emeritus. During his career at A&M his research was supported by NASA and others know far more about his areas of expertise than I. He addressed students by their last names, preceded by Ms. or Mr., the way you’d expect in a northeastern school, and it was nice that he actually knew our names as there were close to 40 of us in the class at the time.

Like any Aggie who remembers a professor who stood out in their minds as memorable, the memories become associated with the way we were progressing in our goals and dreams on our own ways to graduation, careers and life beyond Aggieland. He loved A&M and this community enough to not only want to come back but to make this his permanent home. And although Prof. Bryant’s granddaughter was quoted (in the KBTX story online tonight) as saying that her grandfather would not have wanted to be “that kind of statistic,” the fact is he is the first person whose name I knew and whose passing hit home in a personal way. Today’s kids would say, “This just got real.”

COVID-19 today is a real thing in our community. We have tremendous city leaders and county officials who are proactive and in these times of sorrow, loss, lockdown, shut-in, we are finding reasons to reach out together via virtual means via Facebook, FaceTime, IMs, Skype and Zoom.

We are not to fear, we are not to panic, we are to stand ready and stand together, reaching out (at a socially safe distance) for our friends, neighbors, and loved ones, to let them know we know they’re here with us and we are here for them, too. Everyone can do something, even if it is “Just to pray” for the safety and security of all first responders, emergency personnel, health care workers, and teachers who face online challenges, self-employed people and those whose financial stability has been upended with no warning. There is no “Just” in prayers—every prayer helps.

Our childhood passes away from us every day. We lose family members, mentors, neighbors and friends of a lifetime, in our lifetime. Prof. Jack Douglas Bryant will not be remembered as a statistic, the “first” to die in our county from COVID-19. Instead, he will be remembered as a fellow Texas Aggie, a bright Math prof, and a kind and gentle soul.

May his family be comforted at this time of sorrow and loss. As we all prepare to transition from this life into another eventually--now, or down the road--it’s about the amount of love we can share while we’re here that can make an impact. The number of “I love you’s,” and “I appreciate you’s,” and the “Thank you’s” can always be increased, exponentially in fact. The way kindness begets other kindness…it’s exponential; it has to be. And someone can likely find a way to put that in an equation. I won’t integrate it, but I will find its derivative….it’s called love.

Rest in Peace Dr. Bryant. Amen.