Bucky Irving, Tom Moore and a unique NFL player-coach relationship

New York Times

6 days ago

TAMPA — It's outer-space silent at 5:30 a.m., except for a few birds chirping at the suggestion of dawn.
Tom Moore, who would be on the Mount Rushmore of NFL assistant coaches if there were one, has been sitting at his desk at One Buc Place for more than two hours. He is going over a stack of plays higher than a seven-layer cake when in walks Bucky Irving, the day's first ray of light.
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'I just come to check on my dog, make sure you doing all right,' Irving says.
'Just doing my therapy,' Moore says, pointing to his work.
Moore and Irving are people of routines, and this routine plays out every morning the Bucs gather. When Moore was a boy, his father, Howard, taught him to leave early enough to change a flat tire and still arrive on time. For decades, the Bucs' senior offensive assistant has been getting to work at 3:15. Irving, a second-year running back whose phone is always set to DND, is in bed by 9:30. He doesn't need an alarm to be up at 4:50. His first stop at work is Moore's office.
Sixty-four years separate them, but seeing them together you'd never know it. Moore, born before a U.S. flag was raised on the beachheads of Normandy, is 86. Irving, who came into the world after the Twin Towers fell, is 22.
Irving inquires about Moore's wife, Emily, and their dogs. Moore tells him about Patsy, a rescue named after Patsy Cline; when people wonder what kind of dog she is, Moore says she is a 'Carolina Brown,' as fitting a description as any. They thought Patsy was shy, so they gave her a companion, a Sheltie named Reba (as in McIntyre).
Moore tells stories about players he's coached. He says that before every game, Barry Sanders ate one green apple. Irving, who has been compared to Sanders by NBC analyst Rodney Harrison and others, says he eats a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. They look at one another and smile — not like coach and player, maybe more like grandfather and grandson.
Bucs coach Todd Bowles says he understands their connection because he saw the animated movie 'Up.' 'Their relationship is kind of like the old man and the little Boy Scout kid in that movie,' Bowles says. 'Somehow, they formed this unlikely bond. I mean, it's coach-player, but they're damn best friends too, and I love it.'
Irving and Moore might seem like an odd couple, but if you knew them, you'd understand.
On the back right side of Irving's neck is a tattoo of three crosses. One represents his father, Marcellius Washington, who was killed — shot, and stabbed three times — when Irving was 2. Another signifies his grandmother Darlene Irving, who died at 59 when Bucky was a junior in high school. The third is for his half-brother Jordan Raybon, who was shot and killed when he was 16, when Irving was a freshman at the University of Minnesota.
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Irving wonders how it would have been different if his father had lived. He has asked his mother, Latisha Irving, what his father was like, and what he would have thought about him. But he doesn't think of what he's been through as injustice. He thinks of it as incentive. 'The things I had to see growing up made me pray to God every day that I could go in a different direction and not get caught up in the things that were going on around me,' he says. 'I feel everything happened for a reason and God gave me some challenging things to go through so I could get where I am now. I know they are watching over me and really proud.'
When he was 5, Irving started playing organized football for the Hazel Crest Mustangs in suburban Chicago and led them to their first championship in about two decades, Latisha says. Bucky was usually the smallest kid in his grade, but he played at a level with kids who were older than him.
At Hillcrest High, he played wide receiver, quarterback, defensive back and kicker in addition to running back. In two seasons, he had 3,264 rushing yards and 587 receiving yards.
After one year at Minnesota, Irving left in search of an offense that was a better fit. He found it at Oregon, where he had 2,238 rushing yards, 712 receiving yards and 21 touchdowns in two seasons.
NFL scouts were skeptical though, partly because he is 5-feet-9, 192 pounds, and partly because his combine performance — 4.55 40-yard-dash, 29.5 vertical jump, 9-7 broad jump — wasn't as impressive as his tape. 'I'm not really a guy that's into running around in T-shirts and drawers out there,' Irving says. 'I'm a guy that plays real football.'
Five running backs were chosen ahead of him in the 2024 draft, and he wasn't picked until the fourth round. 'You know, we're kind of small people, but we've got big hearts,' says his mother, who is 4-11. 'Sometimes people underestimate you, and that was really stressful to him because it meant so much to him. But I just prayed that he end up where he wanted to be, and he loves it in Tampa.'
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That became evident during his rookie season when Irving averaged 5.4 yards per attempt, the third highest in NFL history among rookies with at least 200 carries. Of his 1,514 combined yards, 609 came after forcing missed tackles, second most in the NFL last season, according to Next Gen Stats. His 4.03 average in yards after contact per rush led the league, according to The 33rd Team.
'He's blessed,' says Moore, who defers to running backs coach Skip Peete when it comes to Irving's technique and fundamentals. 'He has great vision, the ability to make people miss and can go the distance.'
Irving's production last season was especially impressive considering he started only three games and had fewer carries than 18 running backs. This year, his opportunities are likely to increase substantially. Bowles says he expects greatness, as the game has slowed down for Irving and he's improved his footwork and pass protection. 'He got to where he needed to be, but his footwork wasn't always the cleanest last season,' Bowles says. 'He's cleaned that up.'
Irving lights up a room as easily as a scoreboard. His mother, a chef who is changing the name of her catering company to Bucky Soulfood & Catering, says her son always had a warm, welcoming spirit.
'I always try to bring others up, ask how they doing or joke around a little bit,' says Bucky, whose idea of a hobby is taking walks. 'You never know if somebody's having a hard day.'
Bucs receiver Chris Godwin has been taken by Irving's smile. Bowles, Peete and others sometimes see that smile when he pops into their offices after he sees Moore. 'He's the most outgoing, gregarious person,' Moore says. 'He just loves life.'
When Irving was at Minnesota, coach P.J. Fleck gave him a figurine of Mr. Incredible, the Pixar superhero with superhuman strength and stamina, because he wanted Irving to play like Mr. Incredible might. Irving fulfilled his coach's wish and still carries the figurine with him to every game, an old soul with an action figure in his backpack.
Irving is beginning a journey that Moore has survived better than almost anyone.
Moore was a backup quarterback and kicker at the University of Iowa so long ago that, Bowles teases, he shared a backfield with Moses. In the early 1960s Moore served in the Army, including a period as an officer in Korea, where he was the head coach of the First Calvary Division football team. It was the only time he was a head coach. He's won four Super Bowl rings as an assistant, coming 42 years apart — two with the Terry Bradshaw-led Steelers, one with Peyton Manning's Colts and one with the Tom Brady Bucs.
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In 1975, Moore unknowingly increased his chances of survival in the coaching world by aligning himself with a quarterback from Parkside High in Jackson, Mich. Moore, then the offensive coordinator at the University of Minnesota, successfully recruited him then tamed his wild streak. He later convinced the Steelers to sign him as an undrafted free agent and converted defensive back, then helped him get into coaching and eventually worked alongside him and, later, for him.
Of all the relationships Moore has had with players, that one with Tony Dungy is the most similar to the one he has with Irving, he says. When Moore arrived at work in the small hours, Dungy would sometimes be waiting outside in the cold for him to let him in so they could visit. 'He loved football like Bucky,' Moore says.
Says Irving: 'Every day he gives me advice to keep my head on straight, not to get comfortable and stay humble.' On the grease board in Moore's office are six words that Moore believes lead to many downfalls. He and Irving talk about them regularly.
1. GREED. Moore has advised Irving to not confuse contentment with compensation. He told him when he started working for the Steelers, he was one of six assistant coaches on staff, each of whom was paid the same yearly salary: $28,000. All of them were more focused on the next Super Bowl than on the next pay raise.
2. JEALOUSY. Moore has coached players who see others' statistics and become disenchanted. He warns Irving not to be like them. Eighteen NFL running backs had more carries than Irving last season, but he says he was not frustrated. 'I've never been the type of guy to go to a coach and ask for more carries,' he says. 'I want everybody in the room to have success and as long as we get the win, I'm happy.'
3. BOREDOM. To Moore, champions don't become champions without rehearsing the same mundane steps repeatedly and without wearing out the rewind button on a remote control. Being invulnerable to boredom, Moore says, enabled Brady to win a Super Bowl with Moore when he was 43. 'I don't think Bucky will get bored,' Moore says. 'No. 3 won't get him.' Says Irving, 'For real.'
4. DEATH BY INCHES. Many start to get comfortable and cut corners, Moore says. Moore remembers the 13 years he coached Manning, saying the quarterback prepared for the last game they were together just as he had for the first. Even though Manning knew shortcuts, he didn't take them. 'It's easy to say, 'I know it all, I'll watch three hours of tape instead of five,'' Moore says. 'Peyton didn't, and that's why he was great.'
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5. B—-ING. The 2021 Bucs had a lot to complain about, but they weren't complainers. That's a reason, Moore has told Irving, he believes they won the Super Bowl during the COVID-19 pandemic. 'We had every situation possible you could complain about,' he says. 'We had half the guys dressing in the indoor facility and an outdoor shower for them. It was like a MASH operation. We had a trip from hell when we got to the airport at 1:30 and didn't get to Charlotte until 11 at night. But I never heard one player or coach b—- the entire season.'
6. AGENDAS. Moore has seen many assistant coaches become preoccupied with a promotion, or with becoming a head coach. He could have been one of them, having interviewed and been a runner-up for head-coaching jobs with the University of Minnesota and the Detroit Lions.
The closest he came to having an agenda was wanting to coach pro football in 1974. He told Irving about leaving the University of Minnesota to join the New York Stars of the World Football League. But the Stars struggled financially and didn't pay Moore for six months. A $5,000 loan from fellow coach George Perles and an offer to return to the University of Minnesota saved him, and he learned a lesson. Since then, he's been pleased with his role, whatever it has been.
With the Bucs, he takes a macro look at the offense, sharing ideas on pass concepts, the red zone and third-down situations. And he does much more, including contributing to the defense. 'When Tom has something to say, you listen because he doesn't speak all the time,' Bowles says. 'When he sees that I'm agitated, he calms me down.'
As long as Moore can share his passion, the light within continues to shine.
'Bucky…. My Great Grandson.'
That's what Irving wrote on the grease board in Moore's office. Beneath it is his phone number.
Moore has two children, two grandchildren, three step-grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. Irving has had a stepfather since he was 12. His high school coach, Morgan Weaver, also treated him like a son, taking him to visit colleges and sharing life lessons.
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But the bond between Moore and Irving, in a league often devoid of sentimentality, is unlike any other.
'I just look at him like the grandfather I always wanted to have, who knows about football and can coach you in football,' Irving says.
When players like Irving trust Moore the way he does, it makes his life's work seem worthwhile. 'I love the kid,' he says.
Before games, Moore stands beneath a goalpost to watch warmups. As Irving talked with Moore in the end zone before one game, a photographer took their picture — Irving with his arm around Moore, one of them with so many yards ahead of him, the other with so many yards behind.
Irving made two copies of the photo. One is in his locker. The other, framed, sits on Moore's cabinet behind his desk. It's the only photo in his office.
(Illustration: Demetrius Robinson / The Athletic; Photos: Kim Klement Neitzel / Imagn Images; Cliff Welch / Icon Sportswire via Getty Images; Julio Aguilar / Getty Images; Mike Ehrmann / Getty Images)