Dan Snyder

[Blue Falcon]

This article is a few years old but is still considered the best one on Danny Boy Snyder here in the DC area:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/conte...6112800720.html

Forward Motion

Dan Snyder has an $800 million football team, the splashiest coach in the NFL, devoted friends, a beautiful family. If that were enough, maybe he'd be able to sit still for a second

By Peter PerlSunday, September 15, 2002; Page W01

The hard rubber ball smacks off the front wall, and, just as it hits the polished wood floor, Daniel Snyder, the owner of the Washington Redskins, is all over it. He smashes it hard and low into the right corner, so I have no chance. Now it's Snyder's serve: He wins the first point, then the second. I haven't played racquetball in years; Snyder plays, quite competitively, at least three times a week. Very quickly, Dan Snyder is getting bored.

"I'll spot you 11 and we play to 15," he says.

"No way," I say.

"I'm spotting you 11. You got 11, I got 2; 11 to 2, and I'll still beat you."

We'd been talking about playing racquetball since I'd first met him six weeks earlier in his office at Redskins Park to propose writing an article about him. He'd had decidedly mixed feelings. "You're gonna trash me. The media always trashes me," he'd said, eyeing me skeptically over the rims of his eyeglasses as he sat, swigging a bottle of water, his shiny black shoes propped on his large, handsome rosewood desk. He seemed convinced this story would be like others that he said have portrayed him as brash, arrogant, aggressive, greedy, meddlesome. I assured him that trashing him was not my intent.

"You smoke cigars?" he said, abruptly veering the conversation.

"Uh, once in a while."

"You drink beer?"

"Yeah."

"You play racquetball?"

"No, not really. . ."

"Good, I can beat you," he said, smiling. "We'll play for money."

I laughed. "How much we playing for?"

"How much you got?" He smiled boyishly.

"Not quite as much as you," I said to the man who by age 34 had built a $2 billion international advertising empire and put together the $800 million bid for the Redskins, the most ever paid for a North American sports franchise, and who now, at 37, owns arguably the richest team in the National Football League and still has probably a few hundred million left over. Despite wealth and fame, he described himself in our first meeting as a fundamentally simple fellow: "I smoke cigars. I drink beer. I play racquetball," he said. "I'm a guy's guy."

Having thereby established how much we had in common, Snyder agreed we would "hang out" a bit, do some interviews and play racquetball. But in the following days and weeks, he lost interest in all of that, even the racquetball. "I don't want you to see how competitive I am," he said in a phone call. "I'm insane when I play. I wanna win." But finally, he relented and scheduled a match at Redskins Park, with a challenge: "Hey, Pete, you ready for a can?" Snyder asked, his voice oozing locker-room bravado.

"A what?"

"A can," he said. "I'm gonna open a can of whup-ass!"

Racquetball is the ideal sport for Dan Snyder. It is intense hand-to-hand combat in a confined space. He likes the action fast and furious. He plays all the angles, and he loves to go for the kill shot. It's also a sport in which he is not hampered by his somewhat diminutive stature: He's almost 5 foot 9, although in various media accounts he's been shrunk to 5-6 or even smaller, while being labeled, among many other things, a "pint-size pompous jerk."

Even with the handicap, he beats me, 15-13. I ask if we can take a break for a drink of water. He says no, we have to play again, right now. This time he spots me 13 points, and still beats me, 17-15, barely breaking a sweat.

But then we are joined by his regular racquetball partner, Redskins personnel director Vinny Cerrato, a lean, muscular former college quarterback at Iowa State. They play a ferocious match for the next half-hour, and Snyder is getting beaten. Only now do I see what Snyder meant when he told me several times in the past weeks, "I'm still a kid . . . I'm just a kid." As he is losing, he pouts. He grimaces. He curses. He shakes his head in disgust. He hits the wall with his fancy racket. Then he kicks the wall with his new Reeboks. He gets so mad at one point, he jumps up and down in a tantrum, pounding both feet simultaneously.

Then Snyder rallies, and he comes back to tie Cerrato at 10-10. Now, he's taunting, "C'mon! C'mon!" He turns to shout a challenge at Cerrato after winning a point, "C'mon, [two-word expletive]!" After much more cursing, kicking and theatrics, finally, Cerrato prevails.

Afterward, I ask Snyder why he is so driven to win, all the time, in all aspects of his life. He answers dismissively: "I don't have a clue." Then he and Cerrato share a laugh about just how competitive they are: Not long ago, Cerrato learned his wife was pregnant with their first child, a boy. Snyder and his wife, Tanya, who have two young daughters, were coincidentally expecting their first boy. So, from the obstetrician's office, Cerrato announced his big news by calling Snyder and leaving a message on his cell phone: "My boy's gonna kick your boy's ass." Then Snyder called back and left his friend a most unusual congratulatory message that consisted of only two choice words.

Daniel M. Snyder gets so nervous on Redskin game days, he spends a good deal of his time in the bathroom. He has the seemingly boundless enthusiasm and energy of a child, an internal engine that is always running at one of two speeds: fast and faster. He is excited by new things: products to sell, players to sign, marketing ideas to try out. He often just can't wait until morning, conducting much of his business in late-night phone calls because he doesn't like to sleep. He wolfs down burgers and ice cream, and loves going to movies. His frenetic pace and constant motion prompted Tanya, his wife of eight years, to give him the nickname "The Torpedo."

Like a willful child, Snyder sometimes can appear impetuous or insecure. After buying the team in 1999, he quickly fired or otherwise eliminated dozens of Redskins employees, including some he had assured, in writing, that their jobs were safe. He then hired but rapidly lost a handful of new executives who were turned off by his blunt, demanding style. The next season, he became the talk of the NFL by spending an unprecedented $100 million on payroll, buying free-agent superstars like Deion Sanders and Bruce Smith in what seemed a frenzied need for immediate fulfillment. His big spending, coupled with his highly publicized firings of three head coaches in a 13-month span, earned him a reputation as hotheaded and impulsive. In the merciless world of 24-hour sports journalism, Snyder became "Boy George," a reference to much-reviled New York Yankees owner George Steinbrenner, and "The Danny," a comparison to the self-importance of onetime billionaire "The Donald" Trump. The nationally syndicated comic strip "Tank McNamara" parodied him for months as a money-mad mogul and named Snyder its "Sports Jerk of the Year" for 2000. "I get the impression that if Dan Snyder went one-on-one with Saddam Hussein," a Fox sports commentator said then, "you'd root for Saddam Hussein."

Young, rich and forceful, Snyder became the embodiment of the 21st-century sports owner, a sort of Rorschach image of wealth and power: Some saw in him the shape of a cold, calculating bully who raised prices while ruthlessly eliminating all traces of the previous paternalistic Redskins owners, Jack Kent Cooke and his son John. Others saw in Snyder a marketing genius bringing a long-overdue vitality to a proud but faded franchise, the ultimate diehard fan whose love for the team and whose wallet are joyfully boundless.

In Snyder's early tenure, "the mind-set that permeated was management through fear and intimidation," says John Maroon, the former Redskins public relations director who quit less than a year after he was hired. That first year, "it was my way or the highway . . . There was a palpable fear among game-day employees," says Phil Hochberg, the longtime voice of the Redskins public-address system until retiring after the 2000 season.

"People do get intimidated by Dan, and by me," says Karl Swanson, a self-described Snyder "henchman" who worked for his advertising firm and is now a vice president of the Redskins. Snyder is a challenging boss who relentlessly asks questions, expects answers, rewards excellence and doesn't tolerate mediocrity, Swanson says. "Everybody knows it can get rough-and-tumble--and it's fun. Unless you have the confidence and the ego to support your own beliefs, then you won't be very happy here."

As he begins his fourth season owning the Redskins, Snyder is trying to achieve a new maturity and stability, both for the team and for himself as owner. "He wants instant gratification. He says that's not true, but I tell him, 'You have to learn to be patient,' " says former Redskin quarterback Sonny Jurgensen, a Snyder friend and confidant. "He understands it, but he gives you the impression that he does not--but he really does, I think."

The problem for Snyder is that he is not winning. Not enough to suit him, anyway, as underachieving Redskin teams have gone 8-8 the past two seasons and haven't made the playoffs since 1999. That's why Snyder this season spent a record $25 million on a five-year contract to hire the University of Florida's Steve Spurrier, one of the most successful and charismatic coaches in college football history. The size of the Spurrier deal infuriated other NFL owners, because it raised the salary bar for all other pro coaches. It renewed Snyder's image as the man who would pay anything for a Super Bowl and, therefore, the man everyone loves to beat.

His will to win is so consuming that Snyder has little time or inclination to look backward on his humble past. He grew up in a close-knit but financially struggling family, occupying modest apartments in Silver Spring and Rockville. He was an unremarkable student with little interest in school, a notably limited attention span and few close friends. He dropped out of the University of Maryland soon after he dropped in. His greatest passion as a kid was putting on his white Redskins jersey, with Sonny Jurgensen's No. 9, and eating his mother's special "Redskins chili" while watching on TV with his sister and parents as the legendary quarterback led his beloved team to victory.

Now, the same kid with the perpetually youthful face is preparing to move into a spectacular 14-acre compound overlooking the Potomac River that formerly belonged to King Hussein of Jordan. Snyder paid $10 million to buy the estate in Potomac--and tore down the king's 11,444-square-foot limestone and stucco mansion to build something better. His sister and parents still live nearby, except now they are all multi-millionaires from the years they worked, often without pay, to help him build a company that became Snyder Communications Inc. He flies cross-country and abroad in his 12-passenger Challenger jet with the Redskins logo. His shorter hops will be aboard his new $6 million Eurocopter, painted in the team's burgundy and gold. He spent $20 million to build a 166-foot yacht in Rotterdam, with a crew of 12, but then sold it when he decided he didn't have the time to enjoy it. And the nerdy kid who had few friends in high school is now almost constantly surrounded by his business and sports buddies, a devoted posse of Snyder followers including Jurgensen, the Hall of Fame quarterback and broadcaster who is now his cigar-smoking comrade and trusted football adviser.

The transformation of Snyder from a little-known businessman into a Washington celebrity has been at times bewildering for him. He proudly displays the photographs and positive stories, reveling in his presence in gossip and society columns, but he still covets his privacy and smolders with anger about each of the shots he has taken in the media. "I became portrayed as a meddling jerk and a rich Harvard kid driving daddy's BMW," he says. "[Expletive]! I dropped out of college, and we didn't even have a car till I was 17 . . . The people who've trashed me don't even know me," he says. Yet for weeks Snyder remains evasive; he repeatedly avoids requests for a sit-down interview; he proffers an invitation to his home, but changes his mind; he agrees to a private dinner, but midway through the meal calls a close friend to join us, suggesting I interview him instead.

Snyder goes through five newspapers a day and has three television monitors in his office, but says he's finished paying attention to media criticism. He believes he remains quite popular with the one constituency that he says really matters to him, the one he says shows him an overwhelming approval rating by faithfully renewing season tickets: "I represent the [expletive] fans, and the fans are good! The fans are right!"

In his first years owning the team, Snyder acknowledges, "I came on too strong. I made mistakes . . . I just do stupid things sometimes." But he points to his remarkable business career as evidence that "I can be patient. I didn't get where I am without being patient." He says he is trying to learn how to apply that quality to his greatest passion. "Winning? It's just me. I like to compete . . . Show me someone who is comfortable with losing and I'll show you a loser."

On the lush green field, all four potential Redskin quarterbacks are taking snaps simultaneously in a synchronized sequence that looks beautifully balletic. They backpedal, dip their heads, swing their hips, swivel their shoulders, and unleash tight spirals under the watchful eye of Coach Spurrier. It is opening day of June minicamp at Redskins Park, and Snyder's attention is riveted, particularly upon No. 11, Patrick Ramsey, the 6-2, 217-pounder from Tulane University who is the Redskins' first-round draft choice and designated "quarterback of the future."

"You see that arm? You see the zip? You see the way the ball moves?" Snyder asks, his voice rising, his cadence quickening. "Watch his arm! Watch this! Watch this!" Snyder is sitting on the sidelines in a plush white boat chair, alongside Jurgensen and Snyder's longtime business mentor and minority Redskins owner, Fred Drasner. Snyder is literally bouncing in and out of his chair. Jurgensen's quietly puffing his way through a big stogie at 10 a.m., and Drasner is talking about a diet that lost him 21 pounds, which brings up one of Snyder's favorite topics: food. At play, Snyder is often planning one or two meals ahead, asking his friends where they want to have lunch or dinner. Or he is reminiscing about great meals past. "Man, I had the best piece of pie last night," Snyder tells Drasner. "Old Angler's Inn. Oh man! Great pie!"

His enthusiasm quickly swings back to the field. He seems to know most of his players--strengths, weaknesses, work habits, personalities, salaries, wives' or girlfriends' names. But he's particularly interested in rookies he helped recruit, like Ramsey and Rock Cartwright of Kansas State, who's just made a great play. "You see that catch?" Snyder exclaims. "He's like 5-6, 240. I call him 'Thumper.' You see him run? See that?"

"You just like him 'cause he's your height," Jurgensen says. "Maybe the only guy you're bigger than." Jurgensen laughs and so does Snyder.

The quarterbacks take turns throwing, and now it is Ramsey. "You see that zip on his ball?" Snyder exclaims. "He is a big boy! He's a man! . . . Whaddya think, Sonny?"

The moment has come for the legendary No. 9 to make his pronouncement, which he does with the solemnity of a papal ruling. Sonny rests a hand on his ample gut, lets go a puff of white smoke from his cigar and declares: "He's got the best arm of the four."

Snyder smiles. For the moment, all is right with the world. It's not just a promising QB that makes him happy, particularly because Snyder knows a strong arm alone doesn't produce a winning quarterback. More important is the promise of a new coach, the hope that Spurrier can rekindle the magic of Joe Gibbs, who led Cooke's teams to three Super Bowls. Dan Snyder does not like to dwell on his turbulent, almost comical history with coaches. He still harbors harsh feelings for Marty Schottenheimer, whom he fired a year after excitedly declaring that Schottenheimer was his coach of the future. He believes Norv Turner also had to go, although he acknowledges now it was "stupid" to fire him with three games left in the 2000 season, when the team still could have made the playoffs. Neither former coach would comment about Snyder for this story.

Soon, Snyder lights up a big cigar. "It just feels much better this year," he says. Snyder insists his relationship with Spurrier is the real thing, not like all the others. "With Spurrier, just watch him out there. He is coaching. He is not managing the team, but coaching the players. He is inspiring them. He is talking to them. Teaching. It's a wonderful thing to watch . . . Now, this is enjoyable."

The appeal of the Redskins to Snyder sometimes seems mystical. For years as a kid, he constantly wore his lucky Redskins belt buckle. After he bought the team, he had a silver Redskins buckle custom-made by a jeweler in New York as a charm to bring victory.

As a child, he rarely got to go to games, and then usually in the nosebleed seats. At RFK Stadium and on television, the avid young fan would catch glimpses of Jack Kent Cooke, the city's long-reigning sports monarch, holding court in his owner's box. As Snyder rose in the business world--and languished for more than a decade on the season-ticket waiting list--he told friends and family that he harbored the dream of one day owning the Redskins, although today he likes to claim, unconvincingly, that he only became seriously interested after Cooke's death in 1997.

Snyder says he regrets never knowing the flamboyant, often-outrageous elder Cooke. Then, in one of the few anecdotes he offers about his past, he volunteers that he actually met Jack Kent Cooke once, briefly, when Snyder was 27 and he took a young lady on a weekend date to see the Redskins play the Buffalo Bills in the 1992 Super Bowl in Minneapolis.

Snyder says he wangled his way into the VIP area where Cooke was presiding over the gleaming silver Vince Lombardi Trophy. Brimming with joy at the Redskins' victory, Snyder says, he felt a sudden urge to kiss the Super Bowl trophy. So the fresh-faced kid approached the 79-year-old Cooke and asked if he could. The sometimes cantankerous Cooke at first seemed taken aback by the bold request, but then replied, in his characteristic fashion: Of course, my dear boy.

So the young businessman smooched the gleaming trophy. Snyder's date thought he was crazy, and the relationship didn't last. I ask him why he did it. "Too many beers, I guess," he says. "I don't really know."

[JustForFun]

tl;dr

[Coast2CoastAM2006]

Cowboys fans all around celebrates.

[Don]

really imo, there is no owner in the league that would do more for his team to make it successful than Dan Snyder. he may be a spoiled rotten brat as a person, but if you told him it would cost 5 billion dollars to bring the team a Super Bowl, he wouldnt blink an eye. he may not be a popular man, but he would do anything to make the Redskins a winner again, and as a fan, i respect that.

[cappital92]

The thing about Dan is that he's a buisnessman. He knows nothing about football. He just needs to lay off the control.

[Don]

The thing about Dan is that he's a buisnessman. He knows nothing about football. He just needs to lay off the control.

i dont know about anyone else, but if i bought my favorite team, i'd want a say in how to fix it too. but i agree, hire someone who has a good football mind, and let him run the football part and when it comes to big decisions, then step in.

[IronChefShark]

I can point out a worse owner.....

Dr. John York in San Francisco

[FiddySicks]

I can point out a worse owner.....

Dr. John York in San Francisco

Game. Set. Match.

Any owner who charges his players for Gatorade in the locker room needs to be run outta town.

[NJTank]

John York is the worst I can say thats for sure he ruined the 49ers

[DarkJourney]

John York is the worst I can say thats for sure he ruined the 49ers

Eddie D where are you??????????????

[Coast2CoastAM2006]

John York is the worst I can say thats for sure he ruined the 49ers

Eddie D where are you??????????????

Jail?

[charger77]

What about Ford keeping Millen around?

[Mac the Knife]

John York is the worst I can say thats for sure he ruined the 49ers

Eddie D where are you??????????????

Jail?

Eddie D's alive, well, and back in Youngstown, Ohio.

Oh, and for worst owner I submit for your consideration one whose incompetence has proven to be genetic: Bill Bidwill.

[DEAD!]

Eddie D's alive, well, and back in Youngstown, Ohio.

Oh, and for worst owner I submit for your consideration one whose incompetence has proven to be genetic: Bill Bidwill.

End of contest! Ok crew, time to tear down the set.

[ferrousoxide66]

I can point out a worse owner.....

Dr. John York in San Francisco

Thread over. We have a winner.

I'd also call Al Davis a worse owner than Danny Boy.

[rams80]

Georgia Frontiere was a worse owner than Snyder as well.

[ferrousoxide66]

John York is the worst I can say thats for sure he ruined the 49ers

Eddie D where are you??????????????

Jail?

Eddie D's alive, well, and back in Youngstown, Ohio.

Oh, and for worst owner I submit for your consideration one whose incompetence has proven to be genetic: Bill Bidwill.

Nah, Bidwell seems to have mellowed in his old age. Even got a palatial stadium built for his team.

York is utter crap. Singlehandedly destroyed the Niner image with his parsimony. He runs the franchise on a shoestring budget, right down from the coaching hires made at a laughable payscale to the barebones scouting dept. And yes, charging the players for lockerroom Gatorade is an absolute insult to the league. What's even more shocking is that Eddie DeBartolo went the extra mile to treat his players well. Now we get an idiot beancounter in charge who really should **** off back to his medical practice - and take his retarded son with him.

[Sport]

Mike Brown in cincinnati is worse. If you think paying for gatorade is bad then what would say about a player having to buy his own helmet?

[NJTank]

Brown is bad too, as for Al Davis he was a GREAT owner at one time, one of the best in the AFL and NFL up until the 80s when the game changed Davis was not able to adjust.

[Don]

yeah if you wanna talk about interfering owners, look up Al Davis and theres the picture of Skeletor himself.