KANSAS CITY, Mo. — Before dawn on a fall Friday, Steve Spagnuolo enters the Kansas City Chiefs facility with a large aluminum pan. The defensive coordinator finds a place for it in the defensive line meeting room, returns to his car and comes back with another pan, this one for the linebackers room. Then he does it again, delivering the final pan to the defensive backs room.
In each pan, there are 15 generous portions of banana pudding. Chiefs defenders will find the pans waiting for them when they come off the field after a light practice. They will have to move quickly to get their highly coveted treat lest invasive offensive linemen move in.
Four days earlier, Steve’s wife, Maria, bought eggs, butter and other ingredients. Then she went on a banana hunt. She needed 25, starting at Aldi and taking only the ones that met her requirements for size and ripeness. She found more at Price Chopper and the rest at Cosentino’s Market. Some were a bit too green, but she put them in the oven or in plastic bags to expedite ripening. Freshness matters, so Maria waited until Wednesday to start the two-day cooking process.
Steve delivers Maria’s desserts every week during the NFL season. Of course, he’s more famous for devising blitzes so bold that no other coach would dare imagine them and coverages so complex they leave quarterbacks cross-eyed. Coaches and commentators testify about his insidious game plans that lure opponents into his web and praise his ever-evolving scheme.
But that’s only part of the story. The rest? It’s in those aluminum pans.
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Sports were the center of Spagnuolo’s universe during his childhood in Grafton, Mass., but were less important to his father, who worked long hours as an accountant and spent his free time listening to music, reading and writing. When Spagnuolo was 12, his parents split up, and his dad wasn’t around much in the years that followed.
Richard Egsegian, geometry teacher, guidance counselor and football coach at Grafton High School, took an earnest interest in every child in his sphere and a special interest in Spagnuolo, who happened to be his quarterback. Egsesian may not have been a wizard of a strategist, but his coaching touched the heart. “He was,” Spagnuolo says, “a man of character.”
Egsegian and Spagnuolo had long talks on bleacher benches after practices. Egsegian once loaded up a few of his players in his Volkswagen Beetle and drove them to the University of Massachusetts to watch one of his former players practice. He treated Spagnuolo to a day at Patriots training camp.
Egsegian set Spagnuolo on a path to being a coach. After playing wide receiver at Springfield College, Spagnuolo hopscotched like young coaches do, working for six colleges and two World League teams. Then, in 1999, new Eagles coach Andy Reid hired Spagnuolo as a defensive assistant. He worked with Reid in Philadelphia for eight seasons, eventually coaching defensive backs and linebackers.
Those years had an indelible effect on him. In Reid, he found a mentor and someone who always had his back. Defensive coordinator Jim Johnson helped Spagnuolo develop his defensive mentality. Spagnoulo sensed a certain peace in fellow assistant coach Les Frazier, who brought him to church.
Then he met Maria. The first time they were alone together, he looked at her as if he was about to say something romantic. Instead, he said, “You must be a hard worker. Your hands are very strong.” Regardless, she decided to stick with him.
Steve and Maria Spagnuolo make Chiefs defenders feel like family. (Dan Pompei / The Athletic)
He was the Giants’ defensive coordinator in 2007 when the team started 0-2 and gave up 80 points in the first two games. Defensive end Michael Strahan recalls Spagnuolo telling his players he believed in every one of them and wouldn’t trade them for anyone else. And then he pushed them to where they did not know they could go.
“He challenged guys to be better, but he did it in a way that didn’t demean anyone,” Strahan says. “It was like, ‘I know there’s more there. And I believe in you.’”
In the subsequent Super Bowl, Spagnuolo’s Giants prevailed over Tom Brady and the Patriots — “He’s been the bane of my existence,” Brady said on a recent Fox broadcast.
The victory propelled Spagnuolo to the St. Louis Rams’ head coaching job in 2009. With the Rams, he admittedly didn’t lean on the people around him enough. Given a precious opportunity he knew might never come again, he found it difficult to trust.
“Sometimes when you get that job for the first time, you either think you have all the answers or you’re kind of eager to do things the way you thought they should be done,” he says. “And you learn that it’s best to use as many resources and ask other people as many different questions as you can.”
Current Los Angeles Rams president Kevin Demoff, who had a hand in Spagnuolo’s firing after three seasons, posted about it earlier this year on X. “The team & organization he inherited in STL was a mess, nobody could have had success,” Demoff wrote. “Yet he changed the culture/staff & players believed. An amazing human deserving of the real shot we couldn’t give him.”
Time has been good for Spagnuolo. A conversation with him always made you feel like you sipped warm brandy, but now the finish is smoother.
“There’s more of a gentleness with people now,” says Maria, who has likewise been good for him. “I’ve seen him have a really tender heart towards some of his players, like a father’s heart.”
Like Egsesian, Spagnuolo never had biological children. He and Maria married when he was 45 and she was 40. Her stepchildren Jeffrey and Crissy and their families make up the extended Spagnuolo family, but many others are considered adopted members.
When safety Quintin Mikell was a rookie defensive back with the Eagles, Spagnoulo asked him how he was settling in. Mikell said he missed home cooking, soul food specifically. Not long after, he found an aluminum pan in his locker with fried chicken, collard greens, black-eyed peas and sweet potato pie.
Maria can cook anything, learning from her paternal grandmother, Angelina Damiani, during her childhood in West Philly. The most important thing she learned from her grandmother: cooking was about more than just cooking.
“The first thing Jesus did was feed people, and then he showed them kindness and love,” Maria says. “Steve loves the fellas and likes to show them.”
They bring Greek food to Chiefs defensive end George Karlaftis, a native of Athens. His favorite is Giovetsi. “It takes me back home whenever she makes it,” Karlaftis says.
For former Chiefs cornerback L’Jarius Sneed, it’s the banana pudding. “She even cooks better than my grandma, and I don’t put no one above my granny,” says Sneed.
They recently gifted defensive lineman Chris Jones with a bottle of Maria’s homemade Limoncello, which he couldn’t help but sample during a workday. “Oh my God, it’s serious,” says Jones, who had dinner at the Spagnuolos’ home before the season with safety Justin Reid and linebacker Nick Bolton. Each player left with a doggy bag too large to carry on an airplane.
Jones has called Spagnuolo a father figure, as have Reid, Sneed and others. Spagnuolo particularly resonates with players whose relationships with their fathers are strained or nonexistent.
“I lost my father when I was 13, so I look up to him as a father figure,” Karlaftis says.
Sneed, who was traded to the Titans in the offseason, still texts Spagnuolo weekly and tells him he loves him. Chiefs safety Bryan Cook calls him one of the top five or 10 people he’s ever met. Reid had T-shirts printed in January that read, “In Spags We Trust.”
“He completely changed my life on the field and off the field and post-career,” says Strahan, who became a Pro Football Hall of Fame inductee and host of “Good Morning America” and “Fox NFL Sunday.” “Winning that Super Bowl gave me a life after football that I don’t think I ever would have had if not for him. And I attribute that win to him and his incredible game plan.”
Before their first meeting of the week, Chiefs defenders usually see a Bible verse or a statement about gratitude or another value displayed on the screen. Spagnuolo often begins the meeting by reflecting on the sentiment. Jones, who sits behind Spagnuolo at chapel every Saturday night, calls him his “spiritual muse.”
In December 2021, Sneed’s older brother was stabbed to death. When Sneed found out, his first call was to Spagnuolo.
“I called him crying,” Sneed says. “He said, ‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong?’ I couldn’t get my words out. ‘Speak to me, LJ, speak to me.’ I said, ‘My brother passed.’ Then he started crying as well.”
In the aftermath, Spagnuolo reached out daily. Spagnuolo still texts Sneed scripture from time to time, and the cornerback finds comfort in knowing Maria prays for him every morning. “He’s someone I call on when I need help, when I’m in danger, whether it’s on the football field or not,” Sneed says.
Early in Cook’s rookie season, he felt lost. He was trying to find his place and needed reassurance that he was on the right path. Spagnuolo had noticed some growth in Cook, and he wanted Cook to see it, too. In his office, Spagnuolo showed Cook a video of his combine interview earlier that year. The player who sat in Spagnuolo’s office looked and carried himself differently.
As he watched, Cook broke down.
“I don’t remember that guy,” he told Spagnuolo. “I’m a different guy now.”
Cook says it was a major pivot in his life. “I was going through a lot of personal things as well as things with the team,” Cook says. “It reminded me of how far I came, and it inspired me.”
The Spagnuolos made sure Nick Bolton (third from left), Justin Reid (third from right), Chris Jones (right) and guests left dinner with full stomachs — and plenty of food to take home. (Courtesy of the Spagnuolo family)
Despite his velvet touch, Spagnuolo does not coach meekly. His tenacity helped develop Sneed into one of the game’s premier cornerbacks.
“I was kind of lackadaisical when I came into the league,” Sneed says. “He showed me how to practice and run after the ball. He’ll come on the field yelling, ‘Run to the ball!’ He’s going to be on your tail like white on rice.”
Jones, who jokingly calls Spagnuolo a dictator, says they butted heads initially. “I spend a lot of one-on-one time with him,” Jones says. “And it’s not all good times. Sometimes, it’s a cursing out.”
This season, Spagnuolo is leading a Kansas City defense that ranks in the top 10 in points allowed for the fifth time in six years. He won his fourth Super Bowl ring earlier this year — the most of any coordinator in NFL history. Yet he has not had a legitimate interview for a head coaching job in 16 years (not including a token interview after serving as interim coach of the Giants for four games at the end of the 2017 season).
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The legacy of his 10-38 record with the Rams explained things for a while. It didn’t help that Spagnuolo followed that up with a dumpster fire of a season with the Saints — with Sean Payton suspended for Bountygate, Spagnuolo’s defense gave up the most yards in NFL history.
Reconnecting with Reid in 2019 made those memories fade. But now, three championship parades later, Spagnuolo is 64 years old. His cholesterol is a little high. One of his hips wore out and needed to be replaced, but he still can sprint down the sideline to call a timeout, even if he isn’t supposed to.
Will he ever get another chance?
“You’d like to think you’re evaluated not by a number,” Spagnuolo says. “And I think somewhere along the way, somebody may do that. But if they don’t, I’m OK with it. It’s in God’s hands.”
The failure he experienced has led to a profound appreciation for all he has. With the Chiefs, he provides the yin to the yang of Patrick Mahomes, rides shotgun to the masterful Andy Reid and builds bridges with banana pudding.
This, he knows, is not a bad life.
Inspired by comedian Tony Baker, Steve and Maria instituted a “Cram Award” for the defender with the best hit in a Chiefs victory (Baker posts videos of rams ramming, which he calls “crams”). Saturdays after a win, Spagnuolo plays a video of highlights mixed with Baker’s posts, then a drum roll precedes the announcement.
The winner is presented with an Italian dinner from Maria in an aluminum pan. Recently, it was homemade gemelli in a blush sauce and chicken parmesan in gravy.
“Getting a game ball, I don’t really care about,” Jones says. “But the Cram Award, I mean, you get a dish from Maria.”
After a recent Chiefs victory, Spagnuolo received texts from Jones and defensive tackle Tershawn Wharton, who had been given Cram awards the previous Saturday. They sent messages of gratitude along with photos of the pans that had contained their dinners.
The pans were empty. Hearts were full.
(Illustration: Dan Goldfarb / The Athletic; photo: Kevin C. Cox / Getty Images)
