The wild side of Z-Man: Redskins coach Jim Zorn takes another risk

The river took control, spinning their kayak around. Next thing they knew, they were headed backward over a 12-foot waterfall sloped at a 70-degree angle. As they hit the riverbed, the boat stood straight up, with Zorn at the bottom.

The kayak bobbed to the surface, face down, then flipped over. The two men gaped at each other. Zorn spoke first.

“This,” Trezise recalls him saying, “is fun stuff!”

Adventure is Zorn’s companion. Now 55, he rode dirt bikes as a kid, graduated to ice skating, snowboarded long before it became the rage, picked up surfing as a teenager, developed a love of mountain biking, and even became an accomplished speed skater. He once attended a one-day, car-racing school in Seattle, pushing his Volkswagen Jetta to 130 mph.

“I ruined my car,” he said, “but what an experience!”

Exclamation points often punctuate Zorn’s conversation when he discusses his adrenaline-laced outings.

He typically vacations each summer in Whistler, British Columbia, where he spends hours riding his mountain bike. In Logan, Utah, Zorn rode trails with 80-foot drop-offs to one side. Other trails were so steep that he had to stand up and lean back behind the back tire to prevent from tumbling over the front.

“He likes living on the edge,” says Trezise, a director of faith-based youth groups and a close friend since 1991.

“There’s a desire within me to experience things,” Zorn says, “and to push myself. One of the things that comes from deep within me is that I don’t think a person should be embarrassed about trying something new if you really desire it.”

“He would try anything if it’s not illegal or crazy,” says Redskins offensive coordinator Sherman Smith, who has known Zorn since 1976. “Z-Man is out there a little bit. He’s a little eccentric.”

This is Jim Zorn. This is how he survived in the NFL and why he excelled, even though he didn’t play organized sports until the ninth grade (cross country) — and didn’t go out for football until the 10th grade. It explains how an undrafted quarterback from a small college became the leader of an expansion franchise and Seattle’s favorite adopted son.

“He was driven by the fact that he was a free agent,” says Steve Largent, his best friend and former Seattle teammate. “He wouldn’t prepare for a game the week before or the month before, he would do it six or seven months before.”

There’s a reason.

“He competes hard,” says Joy, his wife of 29 years. “He is brutal. He got angry with me once when we were first married. We were playing dominos and I thought it was a casual game and you chat while you’re playing. He was so frustrated with me because he felt like I wasn’t competing. I’m like, ‘Jim, what are you talking about?’ He was like, ‘You’re not strategizing.’”

This is Jim Zorn. At peace with himself — a blessing, he believes, that he owes to his faith in Jesus Christ (he once was dubbed Magic Christian in Seattle). His interest in religion began to take root after he was dumped as a junior in high school by a girl who wanted to date only Christian boys. He started attending Bible studies to win her back, hit a spiritual crossroads, and opted for the path of true believer.

Maybe that’s provided him inner security. How many star quarterbacks would cross-stitch a garden scene for his wife, even working on it during team flights. He gave it to her one Mother’s Day.

“I thought he bought it at an antique store,” his wife says. “It was beautiful.”

Art engages his creative side. A number of friends have pieces of his artwork — when Largent retired, Zorn made him a wooden ship. Zorn listens to all sorts of music, borrowing CDs from players to stay current.

“He listened to a lot of guys that turned out to be very popular,” Largent says, “but we’d never heard of them when Jim listened to them.”

His wife, a former viola player, taught him how to play the instrument in the late 1970s shortly before Christmas. He learned three songs: “Silent Night,” “Hang Down Your Head Tom Dooley,” and Beethoven’s “Ninth Symphony.”

The Seattle Symphony Orchestra heard about his musical talents on a local TV program and invited him to participate in a holiday show. He and his accompanist, a 9-year-old bass fiddle player, walked onto the stage in matching outfits: jeans and tuxedo T-shirts. They played Zorn’s three songs.

“They brought the house down,” Joy Zorn says.

This isn’t Jim Zorn. He’s not obsessed with winning, despite his competitive streak. He’s not trying to prove himself to be Mr. Coach — he conducts practices in khaki trousers, for goodness sake. This a man who, long ago, played Barbies with his three daughters. His teenage son, Isaac, is often at practices. During the season, football commands his full attention, but it doesn’t strangle him.

“His family takes first place in his life,” Largent says.

Sherman Smith calls him a role model.

“This is a guy I want my son to be around, a guy you want to be good friends with,” he says.

It’s a familiar refrain from those who have known Zorn since he entered the NFL.

“I like to say that Mike [Holmgren] is the most balanced head coach I’ve ever been around,” says Gary Wright, who has worked in the Seahawks public relations department since their inception. “I can see Jim being the exact same way.”

But he’s also not perfect.

“Jim does have a short fuse,” Trezise says. “What gets him angry is irresponsible drivers on the highway. He loses it pretty quickly. The funny thing is, he’ll go down the highway and clean his windshield. He has a bottle of Windex in the car. That’s one of his quirks.”

And that’s Jim Zorn. He’s taken the elements of who he is — adventurous, competitive, focused but balanced — and knotted those traits together to become an NFL head coach.

“You’ve nailed it on the head,” Joy Zorn says. “He’s all of those things. He’s hard to fit into a box, even for me. Just when you think you have him figured out, he squirts out the other end with something completely different. He’s definitely not boring.

“If, heaven forbid, he loses every game and gets fired, he’ll live on. He won’t have to crawl under a carpet. It’s not who he is; it’s what he does.”