Ben Marcus Rules

Because I grew up in Santa Cruz as a fan of the World Champion San Francisco Football 49ers, I remember exactly where I was on January 10, 1982 when Dwight Clark made "The Catch” against Dallas. It was third and three with :58 seconds left and the Niners were on the Dallas 6.

I remember that, too, from a sideline view.

As a Cowboy, how did you experience that very famous catch? 

I will never forget it. We were in the lead the entire game, with my fellow rookie, Everson Walls, picking off two of Joe Montana’s passes. Meanwhile, Ronnie Lott was flagged twice for rough play. San Francisco was practically giving us the game.

Danny Spradlin and I were already celebrating in anticipation of our trip to the Super Bowl. The closing minutes brought out desperation as Joe Montana slung a hope and a prayer to Dwight Clark. Everything entered slow motion as Dwight sprung for an amazing touchdown forever labeled The Catch. 

Yep, you don’t want to get Montana’s back against the wall. That’s when he gets mad and gets even.

It was a collective slap to our faces as their prayers were answered. Candlestick Park exploded with elation as fans poured onto the field. The volume of people overtaking the area grew exponentially, and security panicked. 

We were told to bolt for the locker room door as fast as possible, but it was an obstacle course of humanity. The safety hatch seemed miles away. I started to freak out as I was grabbed from all sides. Then my survival instincts kicked in like never before. Anyone between me and the locker room door was roadkill. I was agnostic to age, gender, friend, or foe as I ran over everything in my path as if my life depended on it. Other players flooded into the locker room in shock, minus a helmet, jersey, or shoe, but we all made it to tell the tale of the almost Super Bowl of 1982.

You got some nice endorsements from Howie Long, Marcus Allen, Eric Dickerson and Tony Dorsett.

Thanks, I was very lucky to play with some of the game’s best. They are all exceptional humans, on and off the field.

You went to high school in Minnesota which means you're probably Scandinavian descended and would have been a Viking berserker in a past life.

Sure, there’s a bit of Scandinavian in there, but I’m a proud mutt. I’ve also lived all over the map, but no place feels like home more than Malibu.

How tall were you in high school and how much did you weigh? Were you the biggest guy on your team or was it all massive farm boys?

I was actually a late bloomer. I was 6’4” and weighed in at about 230 lbs my senior year of high school. It would be fair to say I was on the larger end, but nothing abnormal, except for my hands and feet that were probably a good indicator of my future size.

You played football, baseball, track, hockey and ran track. Sheesh. Did you consider playing pro anything other than football?

I never even considered going pro in anything. Despite my passion and ability, not a single childhood, high school, or college coach ever suggested I had what it took to make it to the NFL. Yet that didn’t deter me one bit. I was playing with a pure heart, not an agenda. I loved sports, was a team guy to my core and could turn on my competitive streak when I needed it. 

Three years as offensive tackle at University of Northern Iowa then they switched you to tight end.  If I were 6' 6" and 300 pounds I'd either want to be a linebacker or a tight end. A big Scandinavian mutt dude running everyone over and laughing - like Gronk, like Kittle.

I loved tight end, but in hindsight, the offensive line was where I belonged.

When were you drafted and how high did you go? Dudes who are 6' 6" and 300 pounds don't exactly grow on trees.

I actually wasn’t drafted. It’s a bit of a miracle that I made it. At the start of Cowboys camp, I was one of one hundred and twenty top athletes attempting to secure five, possibly six, spots on the roster to scrounge like a beggar for momentary playing time. The odds were stacked against me since the Cowboys picked up a first- and third- round draft pick to fill out their 1981 offensive line.  Given these high selections, an underweight… 

Underweight? What qualifies as underweight?

Most guys on the line were averaging 275 lbs… an underweight undrafted rookie out of Northern Iowa was an unlikely pick. But I clung to one sliver of hope: the Cowboys were known for finding players passed over by other teams. 

I wasn’t even all-conference in college, so my diamond was far from flawless, but anything was possible and I chose to believe.

Who did you want to play for?

I couldn’t have picked a better team to start with than the Cowboys. I got to play for Tom Landry who was one of the most successful coaches of all time. Landry was a coaching god. When he commanded the room at the start of a meeting, it would be dead silent to convey the utmost respect. Then he would zero in on a few select points regarding an upcoming game but never carried on with the rah-rah crap. 

While he appeared stern with his tight lips, he was quite soft-spoken, never raising his voice on or off the field. In fact, he would carry a megaphone during practice. If someone screwed up and he needed to yell, he just spoke into the amplifier or delegated the barking to the closest assistant. 

The only negative was having him set the bar so high for every subsequent leader during my career. No one came close.

You played with the Cowboys then were abruptly, shockingly traded to the Colts. Then in 1987, you played for the Raiders until retirement after the 1993 season.

Everything worked out in my favor. Going to the Colts early in my career earned me a spot on the starting line. And the Raiders were a dream spot to land. Los Angeles, really? I couldn’t wait to get to the beach.

You played alongside Howie Long with the Raiders. Someone once described Long as "A black man in a white man's body." 

I just saw him as Howie. The beauty of football for me was that race, ethnicity, origin, you name it, it didn’t matter. We were all brothers and teammates in arms. It was a utopia in many ways.

Howie was an animal. He possessed a little something extra that elevated his game to another plane. In addition to his power and unmatched intensity, he was both physically and mentally quick, with the ability to pivot to plan B or C on a dime. To say that he kept me and many others on their toes would be an understatement. But I was grateful to have him as a practice partner, as he forced me to heighten my reflexes and up my game.

Playing pro football must take a great deal of personal faith, the way you are battered around by players and management. What football achievement are you proudest of?

I am most proud of the lifelong relationships that formed with other players. We can go weeks, months, or even years without connecting and then pick up right where we left off. It’s a community like no other and I am forever grateful. At the end of the day, the relationships are the things that carry on.

You blocked for Tony Dorsett’s famous 99.5-yard touchdown return. That was against the Vikings for Monday Night Football in 1983. You’re RG #73?

You bet. Lucky for me, one of my last plays with the Cowboys was one for the books. 

It took place in the Minneapolis Metrodome, my hometown, in full view of my parents, buddies, and neighbors. The day started off with some disappointment about the thirty-five terrible seats I secured for my crew. They were positioned in the end zone between the goalposts and three rows up. Not ideal, except for this game. Given what was about to transpire, it turned out that their seats were some of the best in the house.  

I started the second half with the kickoff return team, but our returner fumbled the ball. We recovered on the goal line, the worst possible starting position. As I trotted off the field, the offense came on showing their disappointment in our execution. Just as I hit the sideline, Coach Myers, with his bloodshot eyes and a wad of gum protruding from his lower lip, barked for me to fill the right guard position. Meanwhile, the regular starter fiddled with his shoe, trying to shove it back on with no luck.

I was going in at a critical time, with the intensity redlining and our backs against the wall on Monday Night Football. These night games were my religion since I fell out of my highchair. Now I ran headlong into a childhood dream as I scrambled back onto the field. Thank God there was a well-timed commercial break to give me a chance to absorb the scene.

My new vantage point was priceless. It was an out-of-body experience standing in the huddle with guys like Drew Pearson, who, five years earlier, caught a fifty-yard touchdown pass, coined the Hail Mary, to beat the Minnesota Vikings during the playoffs. I remembered the game like it was yesterday. I was in tenth grade at the time, freezing in the stands, and now we were slapping five in the huddle. I was one lucky guy. And standing across from me was Tony Dorsett, whom everyone idolized. He was one of the best running backs in the NFL and my fricking teammate.

I took it all in as the youngest member of the huddle. Meanwhile, the veterans stayed loose and chatted like it was just another day at the office. Beyond discussing game tactics, they mentioned their relief to play indoors on this frigid January night in Minneapolis. These Dallas boys weren’t fans of the cold, and I couldn’t blame them. I took a minute to scan for my family and friends. I found them, eyes glued to us, and I flashed a thumbs-up with my insides screaming, Can you believe my luck? It was the greatest body-wide flood of goosebumps that I had ever experienced.

Our quarterback, Danny White, organized us in the back of the end zone and called the play. As I took my position, the pressure mounted to execute my new assignment flawlessly against my All-Pro opponent, Doug Martin. I was in the big time, with my teammates depending on the other four linemen and me to help get us out of this hole. The play was called for Tony Dorsett to run straight up the gut to secure us some breathing room.

At the snap of the ball, I came off the line with so much pent-up energy that I exploded into Doug like a grenade. To my surprise, I managed to wall him off as Tony’s feet flew by me. I clambered to get up, but he was long gone, through the middle and cutting right up the sideline for ninety-nine and a half yards: the longest run in NFL history.

We all danced in the end zone and trotted off the field after what would be my only offensive play of the game. How lucky was I? Tony’s shoes, the ball, and video coverage went directly into the Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio. I was so glad my family and friends had an enviable vantage point to watch this record-breaking play develop. The starter got his shoe back on and retook his right guard position, and my one play landed in the Hall of Fame. I’ll take that trade any day.

I am reading the Elon Musk biography right now and it's similar to yours. You both showed early traits that lead to your career and destiny. Yours was more physical than intellectual, but clearly you have an intellectual side too. When did you decide to write a book?

While I met my wife over a decade ago, I had no idea that she would help me shape this book. One quiet night during the pandemic, we decided to start putting it together and began the next day. No real plan, just a strong desire.

Lizzy insisted that there was something to my handling of aggression and empathy that was worthy of sharing, as she saw both a rottweiler and golden retriever resting comfortably within. Her drive gave the work life and propelled it forward. 

Books aren't easy. They're a lot of work. But I've written two dozen of them and helped people get there's done, so I know the program.

How long did it take you to produce Aggressively Human? Is writing a book more or less mentally grueling than two a days or banging into Howie Long and Too Tall Jones all day? Did it feel good to get it done?

The period spent writing this memoir was one of the best of my life. It shouldn’t have been, given that the pandemic was raging around me and life after lockdown was anything but certain. Yet, for eight straight months, I thrived in a cocoon of reflection that brought unmatched joy to my life as I unearthed memories and reconnected with old teammates and friends to confirm my account of events.

When people say writing is cathartic, they aren’t kidding. It clears the cellar of your soul in a way. Puts all those thoughts and gremlins out there for the world to see.

I rose each morning thinking about different life experiences, often with a big smile, as the majority of my life has been a source of amusement and positivity. After typing up an event or two, I would surf the web to validate details before a nightly meeting with Lizzy.

Very very good to have another pair of eyes and a brain giving second opinions - especially someone who knows and loves you.

We would dissect the content, rewrite,  polish pieces like a dishwashing machine stuck on rinse. Some nights, we would laugh, and others were red-pen bloodbaths, but all the massaging made the end product something I am proud of.

I learned so much about the writing process through MasterClasses, YouTube videos, books, and websites dedicated to the craft. I even attended a book conference, where I wandered like a gorilla in a birdcage, but I pressed on like a navigator in a new land.

Well when I’m working on books with people I say “You have to spill your Tinker Toys before you build your castle.” First you dump it all out not worrying about length or structure or making sense. And then you go back and shape it. Even when you know what you’re doing, it takes time.

Totally agree.

How long have you lived in Malibu?

I moved to Malibu in 2018 but took off for a year to travel the world in September 2018, missing the fire and returning during the summer of 2019. Even after living in 13 different countries over that year, I can honestly say there is no place like Malibu. When we finally arrived back in the US, it was clear that Malibu would be home.

Still happy with this place? What do you like about Malibu, what don't you like?

I love the chill surf vibe of this community as well as living on Latigo surf point. If I could change anything, it would be improved safety measures on PCH. 

In the mid-1990s you innovated Cloudburst which is used to cool down football players on the sidelines and also used at the 1996 Olympics. I watched some games this year already and wondered what it's like to play football in 100 degree weather, in full gear.  That's not safe.

So much is not safe about football. Don’t get me started ☺ It’s my belief that improvements to equipment would better protect active players and prevent long-term damage that much of my generation now manage with varying degrees of success. 

How are you physically? Any lingering bad effects from football?

I am definitely one of the lucky ones. A knee replacement is likely in the distant future, but it’s not slowing me down. Plus, better equipment would allow the league to promote the big hits players are bred to deliver. I believe bigger, stronger, and faster should be utilized, not handicapped by rule changes.

If answering honestly, most football viewers admit to enjoying the violent hits but never want to see their favorite players injured. Since 2002, the NFL has made over fifty rule changes to eliminate dangerous tactics and reduce the risk of injuries, but these efforts slowed the game. While games average three hours and twelve minutes, there are only eleven minutes of true action . . . and don’t get me started on the hundred commercials—pure insanity.

Meanwhile, in an average year, 68 percent of players suffer injury.

Well as a Niners fan I can vouch for that. Three years ago they lost some of their best players in one game against the Jets: Bosa, JimmyG and Mostert in the same game. And then last year, JimmyG got a second chance after Trey Lance got hurt, then JimmyG got hurt and the Purdy came in and won all his games until the Eagles got him. Otherwise…

Safer equipment thoughts screamed to get out of my head as my entrepreneurial instincts fired. I put pen to paper to develop a proposal for the evolution of NFL equipment. Think Terminator meets Gladiator but with real and available technology, not science fiction. I did my research, hired a designer, and laid out my vision Jerry McGuire style. I was on a mission with firm conviction and the science to back it up. I shared my proposal with the NFL, NFL Players Association, and various local chapters but only got a few polite responses. The league and players were just not ready. Not then, not now.

Bottom line, the sport is inherently violent. But there are plenty of other professions, equally dangerous, that have made vast upgrades and additions to their gear. Hockey, motocross, and even the military aggressively improved their equipment to better protect their resources. Why not football? Sure, helmet and shoulder pad materials have modestly advanced over the years. But if you look at the equipment from the 1970s and compare it to today’s gear, it’s sorely lacking in substantial improvements.

It’s also hard to watch 330-pound athletes get tangled up in a mosh pit of mayhem with bodies flying, yet only a handful of knee braces are donned for protection. Almost every game, a player is assisted off the field because of a leg injury: knee, ankle, hamstring . . . you name it. Why aren’t knee braces required for interior offensive and defensive linemen? Everyone would win—the fans, player, teammates, coaches, owner, family—and his bank account would be safer, too.

Meanwhile, I’m no engineer, but I believe there are ways to connect the helmet to the shoulder pads while still providing full mobility, with the pads helping to absorb blows to the head. This would reduce the chances of violent head snaps that rattle the brain and cause long-term damage. Then there’s heat stress, not often talked about, but it also negatively impacts player performance and leads to fatigue, cramping, and a host of injuries. Where are the cool vests or suits to help alleviate this risk? My desire is to see better protection for the players and to reduce the penalties so a fundamentally violent game can be enjoyed.

It saddens me to think it may take more severe injuries or deaths for player safety to earn the attention it deserves. In the meantime, I’ll continue to share my message with those who will listen. I maintain my steadfast conviction that changing football for the better is possible.

When I go to Kelly Slater's artificial wave at the Surf Ranch in Lemoore, they have water misters in the VIP area and they are lovely and much appreciated because Lemoore is hotter than stink in summer. Is that your Cloudburst system in Lemoore?

We’ve covered many places throughout the desert, so not sure. Our big break came when we pitched to the 1996 Summer Olympic Committee in Atlanta. As small as we were, we went for it, believing we could cool the largest sporting event in the history of the world, yet we hadn’t even handled a town fair. That was blind confidence, and it paid off. We were David competing against Goliath, a.k.a. General Electric, and many others, so we did our thing, thanked the committee, and flew back to California. As far as we were concerned, the mere fact that we went for it was worthy of celebration. Two weeks later, much to our shock, we were awarded the contract for the Summer Olympics, which would turn out to be the hottest Olympic games on record.

How the heck did we land this gig? During the pitch in Atlanta, I noticed a face on the committee that looked vaguely familiar. But I was so focused on hitting every pitch point that I avoided any distractions. As it turns out, one of the key decision-makers was Mike Arellano, the director of field operations. He met me years prior in the Raiders’ locker room when he was a football cleat salesman for an emerging brand. Few paid attention, and he was dismissed outright by most; however, I noticed his effort and wanted to make sure he didn’t leave the locker room discouraged. I offered to try the cleats, and I distinctly recall his gratitude. This was karma: doing the right thing to help someone else without thinking about how I could benefit..

A very very important lesson. Do good deeds every chance you get because you never know how they will come back to you.

Because I showed support for Mike Arellano all those years ago, he was now offering it in return. We just needed to deliver. And we did it through sheer will and nonstop work.

Well good luck with the book. I’m sure it feels good. I gotta go watch the World Champion San Francisco Football 49ers go beat somebody now.

Thank you.