FLASHBACK: Where Are They Now? Terry Tate: Office Linebacker

With Super Bowl LVIII just days away, here’s a look back at Terry Tate, who made his television debut during the Super Bowl in 2003 - and my chance encounter with him nine years later. Whether or not Terry Tate rings a bell, the following ad will either trigger your memory or, at the very least, give you all the context you need.

The following story was originally published June 11, 2012.

Sitting at my desk the other day, drifting in and out of productivity, I heard a resounding thud outside my office. Startled, I ventured into the hallway to see what had caused the commotion.

What I saw made my heart drop into my stomach. A large, overweight man was curled up in a ball outside the office adjacent to mine. He was tightly clasping his head, rocking back and forth in agony.

In the next instant he turned my way, revealing his face in my direction.

“Oh my God!” I cried. “It’s Terry Tate. The office linebacker. From the commercials.”

Before I could approach him to see if there was any way I could help, he turned and let out a loud decree.

“Don’t leave your crap in the sink, woman!” He was obviously referring to the woman who was quickly scampering away in the opposite direction. That’s when I knew exactly what was going on.

Terry Tate was going to tackle the woman to teach her a lesson not to leave her coffee mug soaking in the sink. She did it all the time and drove everybody crazy.

Who knows how long she planned on leaving it there? The rest of the day? Overnight? Too long, that’s for sure.

Realizing her total disregard for office courtesy, and seeing that Terry was in no shape to finish the play, I promptly tackled the woman in the hallway, unintentionally slamming her head into a wall-mounted mailbox outside another office.

The whole thing is still being ironed out with HR.

But when I got back to Terry still lying on the floor in a great deal of pain, my discovery left me severely saddened. He wasn’t how I had remembered him, back when he was still on TV punishing office violators with bone-crunching hits and demeaning taunts.

Frankly, he looked worn out, like his body had been draped over a clothesline for weeks in the hot summer sun. A bulgy shield of flabby stomach had replaced his once distinguishable abs. But worst of all, he just seemed confused, unsure of where he was or where he was going.

Though the volume of his orders vibrated the halls, his words were jumbled and slurred.

“Terry,” I said. “What happened to you?” I thought he was going to cry.

“I used to be fierce, you know?” he said. “People didn’t screw with me. Their heads were always on a swivel.”

“I know, I know,” I nodded with genuine approval, trying to be comforting. He was right. In his prime, there was nobody who could command an office quite like he could.

Like the time he blindsided a guy who was eating cake from the refrigerator that wasn’t his. That guy went on to lose 60 pounds over the next three months, kept it off and wound up marrying the woman of his dreams. Terry Tate may have punished with the force of a freight train, but he did so out of love.

Now, I could think of five or six little old ladies off the top of my head who could outmaneuver him around the office.

Terry enjoyed hearing my memories of his old self, and he briefly cracked a smile.

“But what happened to you?” I repeated.

“The doctors say concussions,” he replied. “All these high-octane hits I’ve been laying out over the years have caught up to me.”

I looked on with concern, knowing that the best thing I could do at that time was simply listen.

“All I ever wanted was to make the office a better place. But I must have hit my head so many times—on doorknobs, the corners of desks, the copier—that my brain just finally said enough is enough. I came back today for one last go-around, to prove that I still had what it took. But I think it’s clear I am no longer cut out for this business.”

A sad admission from no doubt one of the fiercest office linebackers of our generation.

“And what’s worse, I’m afraid I may have given other people concussions too,” he said. “I mean, just look at them, they have blank stares on their faces. I haven’t seen anybody make expressions of any kind.”

“Oh don’t worry about them,” I reassured. “Most office workers walk around like drones anyway. It might be tough to tell of any damage.”

I could tell this was a difficult moment for him, as it would be for anyone upon realizing that their life’s passion was no longer something they could pursue. But he appeared to be gaining his senses again and I helped him to his feet.

“I’ve got a lot of reflecting to do,” he said. “All is not lost. I will just have to find another direction in life.”

I was happy for him, for Terry. He was going to be OK. Life’s obstacles were not going to dictate what he was capable of.

As I said goodbye and turned away, I was filled with a sense of promise. How many life lessons could I take from this moment, I wondered. Upon finishing that thought, I heard a loud roar coming from the lobby and a man screaming.

Could it be? I thought. Maybe Terry had conjured up enough courage and strength to land one more big hit—a grand finale of sorts.

When I went to check it out, I noticed Terry in the lobby standing over a fake decorative tree in front of the reception desk. Some of its leaves had been ripped off and its limbs were badly bent, as Terry had surely tackled it with all his might.

“What did I tell you about cutting in line?” he demanded.

I slowly retreated and headed back towards my office, past the coffee mug still soaking in the sink.