Walsh a genius? When it came to managing people, label might have fit

"Go ahead," he said. "Ask me anything."

And I did. I asked about Young's future. And about the futures of wide receiver Jerry Rice and new quarterback Jeff Garcia, forced onto the field by a concussion that would end Young's career. I asked about the offensive line. The draft. Walsh's future. The future of the team.

When we were through, more than an hour had passed, and I realized I never really understood Bill Walsh until that moment. So I didn't agree with everything he said. He didn't agree with a lot of what I said, either. The point was it didn't matter. What did matter is that, for the first time, I understood why he did what he did. Plus, he made an effort -- an effort -- to make me understand.

It wasn't until later I understood why.

At that moment, I left the room thinking I just gained an extraordinary education. I understood more, much more, than I did from watching a hundred 49ers practices. Walsh walked me through decisions, opened the door to his thinking and invited me in.

I was only too glad to follow.

I resolved to start listening more -- I mean, truly listening -- when Walsh explained his next move. Because when you listened to him, you learned. You always learned with Bill Walsh.

We once had a difference of opinion on Garcia, with Walsh firm in his belief that Garcia could win in the NFL and I just as adamant that he was a warm body occupying the position until the next Young or Montana came along.

Walsh was right, of course. He almost always was.

He was the guy who later that season suggested the 49ers have a halftime ceremony honoring offensive line coach Bobb McKittrick when McKittrick was fighting liver cancer.

I didn't understand the move, thinking it was premature and insensitive to McKittrick, in the middle of a battle I wasn't sure he would lose. But Walsh was all about timing, and he thought the time was perfect to honor one of the team's most respected and cherished assistants.

And so the 49ers did, with McKittrick leaving the locker room to appear on the field with his wife and a group of U.S. Marines. I remember thinking how poised McKittrick was and how ramrod straight he stood. I knew he was in pain. Everyone did. But he seemed grateful for the occasion and thanked everyone.

He never made it to the next season.

Afterward, I told Walsh that what he did for Bobb McKittrick that afternoon was give him one of the last great days of his life, and that I would hope that somewhere, someone would do the same for me if I were dying.

And that's when it dawned on me that Walsh always, always was ahead of the curve. He had asked to see me that afternoon in 1999 because he needed an ally to help him with a painful rebuilding program that would purge the club of beloved veterans and rattle its fans.

It would also put the 49ers back on the map, but that didn't matter at the time. Walsh needed someone to explain what he was doing and why he was doing; more, he needed someone to explain why it was good for the San Francisco 49ers.

Walsh would go on to rebuild the club a second time, stocking it with so many starters from the 2000 draft that San Francisco would make the playoffs in 2001 and 2002. It was incomprehensible to me that a team that had grown as old as it had by 1999 could rebound that quickly.

But that was Bill Walsh. He understood when it was time to move forward with one player and to cut ties with another. He understood what made the game work because he understood the players and the coaches who make it work.

And that's what I loved about Bill Walsh. You could never underestimate him. He knew what he knew, and you had better pay attention because, in the end, he would persevere.

I just wish he would've won once more.