“Coaching in Pittsburgh is unlike anywhere else,” Mike Tomlin said in his farewell statement as head coach of one of the most important franchises in sports.
What does that really mean? Tomlin cited the “passion, loyalty and high expectations” of Steelers Nation, but those traits are far from unique. Tomlin did not elaborate because that is not his way. When he resigned Tuesday, under intense criticism from that same Steelers Nation, the door to Tomlin’s inner thoughts remained as hermetically sealed as ever.
But in my circle of friends in the Pittsburgh area, where I’ve lived for 13 years, and in my group chats with the homies across the country? We talked about the meaning of Pittsburgh’s racial dynamics – and this current moment in American history – in relation to Tomlin’s tenure and departure.
Calm down, Outkick fans – nobody is saying Tomlin lost his job because he’s Black. In fact, a good number of the homies thought it was time for Tomlin to go, especially after his offense got outscored by the Houston Texans’ defense in the Steelers’ first-round playoff loss Monday night – the last straw in Tomlin’s 8-12 playoff record, including seven consecutive defeats.
No, this is what we’re talking about: In a place like Pittsburgh, Mike Tomlin could never escape the shadow of race.
A Black man simply becoming an NFL head coach is no small thing. There have only been 26 of them. Since 1990, there have been only 20 non-interim Black head coaches, compared with 154 white ones. Add in the fact that Tomlin was 34 years old when he got the job, with no prior head coaching experience; that the Rooney family, which owns the Steelers, is the namesake of the NFL’s program to hire more Black coaches; and that diversity is now under intense political attack. … And that Pittsburgh is the whitest major metropolitan area in the country; and its football team – no disrespect to Heinz, Mellon, or Warhol – is by far the most important institution in the region.
Yeah, Tomlin had to contend with way more than the Texans’ defense.
Pittsburgh Steelers fans during the wild-card playoff game against the Houston Texans at Acrisure Stadium on Jan. 12.
Joe Sargent/Getty Images
When Tomlin was hired in 2007, “I was more surprised that we had a Black coach than when America had a Black president,” said the writer Damon Young, who was born and raised here.
“Some of that shock was because he was a relative unknown, but there’s definitely the Pittsburgh part,” said Young. “People don’t necessarily realize how white Pittsburgh is until you come here.
“It’s a solidly blue city, but it’s a conservative blue, an older population – not that older populations are necessarily more likely to have biases, but this is a white city with people who have their attitudes about race and about racism. You’re not going to see overt racism every day, but there are things that are entrenched here.
“You have this stew of Pittsburgh culture and NFL culture, where race is still an extremely thorny and wrought subject. There’s no getting away from the reality that one of the reasons why the NFL has retained its popularity in America is because even though something like 60 percent of the players are Black, it still kind of feels like a white-run sport. When you have all that context, and then you have this young Black man who has been anointed to lead the city’s most important institution – our greatest cultural export is the Steelers – taking all that into account, I was shocked, right?
“And then he immediately became my favorite coach.”
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The irony to all this context is that no NFL team has done more for Black advancement than the Steelers. The franchise was founded by Art Rooney, who was inspired by the legendary Black sportsman Cumberland Posey. In 1968, the Steelers hired Black journalist Bill Nunn (father of Radio Raheem) to scout historically Black colleges, whose players fueled much of the Steel Curtain dynasty. In the early 2000s, Dan Rooney led the NFL’s efforts to promote equal opportunity for Black coaches, leading to the Rooney Rule.
But still – being Black at a Steelers game can feel “like you’re a fly in the milk, brother,” said Ed Dawson, head football coach at Cornell High School, 12 miles west of Acrisure Stadium. “You do have a guarded feeling depending on where you sit.”
I asked Dawson, who is turning 52, what it’s like being Black in western Pennsylvania, which is far closer to West Virginia than Philadelphia.
“As my mom always tells me, you realize that you’re a Black man in the world because the doors are so thick and hard to break through,” he said. “It’s a hard fight to get anywhere that you want to go. That’s life in general, but just being even another step behind being a Black man in western Pennsylvania, it’s not an easy thing to do.”
When I moved to this area and started following the Steelers, one of the first things I noticed was that during Tomlin’s press conferences, most of the almost entirely white press corps called him “Mike.” Not Coach Tomlin, or even Coach – just Mike. I don’t know if that happened with previous Steeler coaches, but it bothered me.
“You too?” exclaimed Dawson.
A similar undercurrent of disrespect was felt by a Black man I’ve known for 25 years who was in the stadium for Tomlin’s final game. He grew up in the Pittsburgh area and is a lifelong Steelers fan. I will quote him without using his name, because his professional or personal life could be hurt by speaking honestly about race in these parts.
“Walking back to the parking lot (after the loss to the Texans) and listening to talk radio sounded like a lynch mob for some of the views expressed,” he texted me. “At times I felt very uncomfortable based on the tones. … Tomlin coached within Trump country. To set that aside and do his job is an incredible epoch in the journey of Black progress.”
This person had been telling me for several seasons that Tomlin should lose his job. His opinion was based on the Steelers’ poor personnel decisions, which he said Tomlin was part of, and his unimaginative offense.
“I’m saddened that my objective analysis of Tomlin has to mix with the racist vitriol,” he said. “I’m glad he took control of the narrative.”
There are many tangled strands in Tomlin’s failure to win another Super Bowl after his 2009 victory, from the Steelers’ refusal to rebuild to contending with the AFC dynasties of New England and Kansas City. Even Tomlin’s record of never having a losing season is subjective: Does it mean he overachieved or underdelivered?
What seems clear, though, is that the fan anger – “fire Tomlin” chants were heard inside the stadium this year – played a major role in pushing him out. “It was getting f—ing ridiculous,” one player told The Athletic. “I felt bad for him. I started thinking, if that was me, how long would I want to put up with that? Every time we lost it felt like the sky was falling.”
The Steelers’ franchise sticks with its coaches. Even if Tomlin had coached next season, which it seems was a decision he could have made, he would have been dealing with an expiring contract, an aging roster, no viable quarterback – and an inescapably negative narrative.
Leaving on his own terms? Seems smart to me.
‘Fire Tomlin’ chants were heard inside Acrisure Stadium throughout the season.
Joe Sargent/Getty Images
There is another backdrop to Tomlin’s time in Pittsburgh. Perhaps the most consequential one.
Without the Rooneys, there is no Mike Tomlin, one of the most successful and respected coaches in NFL history. But their Rule is now being targeted.
One year ago, the America First Legal Foundation, founded by the powerful President Trump adviser Stephen Miller, urged the Equal Opportunity Employment Commission to investigate the NFL and its rule. The America First argument is that the Rooney Rule discriminates against white men. Broadly speaking, opposition to the Rooney Rule comes from Trump’s belief that as a result of our civil rights laws and the policies that followed, “white people were very badly treated.” In 2024, Trump won western Pennsylvania by 15 percentage points, compared with about 2 percentage points statewide.
How much did the Trump movement motivate fan furor toward Tomlin, who was the living embodiment of the Rooney Rule?
I suspect Tomlin would answer that question the same way he famously responded to the challenge of playing 13 straight weeks without a bye: “We do not care.” The environment was what it was. His job remained the same.
That said, “I think that what happens in Washington pollinates down,” said Young, the writer. “People are more emboldened, people are more confident, people are more willing to actually put their names behind thoughts they wouldn’t have said maybe five or 10 years ago.”
Like what was heard on talk radio.
“I don’t think Tomlin left because of what’s happening in Washington,” Young continued, “but you can’t not pay attention to the power of the bully pulpit. It gives people more power to be their worst selves instead of striving to be something better. I think that we’ve seen some of that in how Mike Tomlin has been treated, how people criticize his intelligence, how people are just discounting the excellence that he’s been able to maintain for almost two decades.”
Dawson, the football coach, put it in more physical terms.
“Did he jump,” he asked, “or was he pushed?”
“I don’t think that Tomlin needed to step down,” Dawson continued. “I understand the complaining, with myself being a Black coach and not really having the access to a ton of talent. I understand that the world is driven by results and the ultimate result is to be a champion, and he was falling short.
“But I think that we, as fans, fail to see the bigger picture.”
Jesse Washington is a journalist and documentary filmmaker. He still gets buckets.
