From blue-collar beginnings to black-and-gold glory, Merril Hoge built a life on grit. He played 122 consecutive games as a running back in the NFL, beat cancer, survived open-heart surgery, raised a family, and wrote a bestselling book. Today, he's a sought-after speaker inspiring others to do the same: Find a Way.
PVCL’s Nadine Bubeck sat down with Merril for an intimate tell-all interview. Having ties to Arizona, Merril's Q&A isn’t about highlight reels—it’s about what happens when the lights go out and life demands more. He opens up like never before about the hits that shaped him—on the field, in the hospital, and everywhere in between.
You’ve worn many hats—NFL player, analyst, speaker—but as we chat on Zoom, I have to ask: what’s the story behind the jersey hanging behind you?
That’s my Bears jersey. For their 100th anniversary, the Chicago Bears sent everyone who’s ever played for them a framed jersey. Growing up, Walter Payton was my hero—so to get something like that from an organization he made iconic… surreal.
Where did your own story begin?
Pocatello, Idaho. People hear Idaho and think “potatoes”—and yeah, I worked the fields. I moved pipe, harvested potatoes, worked 5,000 acres as a cowboy trapping gophers. I rode horses, ranched, lived that life. But when I saw football on TV at age eight, I fell in love. That was it.
When did you first suit up?
Eight years old. Our team was sponsored by McDonald’s—if we won, we got to eat free. That first season, we didn’t win a single game. But we came back the next year and went undefeated. Eleven Happy Meals later, I was hooked.
Your college career at Idaho State set 44 records. How did that work ethic take root?
At 12, I was up at 5 a.m., out working the fields. Summers weren’t for sleeping in. That mentality—that grit—never left me. It’s what fueled my whole career.
Take me to Draft Day, 1987. What stands out?
I was projected to go in the fifth round to the Raiders. Fifth round passed. Sixth. Seventh. Nothing. I dropped to my knees by my mom’s side of the bed—she had passed the year before—and just prayed. Not to be drafted, but for peace. I walked away, went to play basketball. When I got home, my dad said, “There’s someone on the phone.” It was the Steelers. Life changed in that moment.
Then you played 122 straight games—longest active streak at the time. That’s unreal for a running back.
I didn’t even know I had the streak until Dan Marino went down the year before. But yeah, to take that many hits, week after week, and show up every time—that’s something I’m proud of.
What does it take mentally to sustain that?
IQ, quickness, and then speed—in that order. People think it’s all physical, but the NFL is a mental game. Talent gets you there. Mental toughness keeps you there.
Eventually, though, the game forced you out—not from injury, but from what happened after.
People say a concussion ended my career. That’s not true. Improper handling of head trauma did. I was hit during a preseason game, started answering questions wrong—thought I was in Tampa when I was in Kansas City. They pulled me off, did scans, sent me home. Five days later, a doctor cleared me over the phone asking: “how do you feel?” I responded saying I felt fine and he cleared me. This was archaic even in 1994... you must at least go see the player.
That sounds terrifying.
It was. I trusted the system—we all did. But after another hit, I went into cardiac arrest in the locker room. Ended up in intensive care. I had to relearn how to read. Battled depression. There were no protocols back then. No roadmap. But I kept moving.
You landed at ESPN. Did that help?
Absolutely. It challenged me mentally in a new way. That stimulation helped my brain heal. And the Steelers gave me my first chance in broadcasting, which I’ll always be grateful for.
Then came cancer.
I was 38. Three-pound tumor in my lower back. The doctor didn’t sugarcoat it: brutal chemo every three weeks. He said, “I can’t guarantee this is going to work.” And then he hung up.
How did you process that?
I spiraled. Thought, “This is beyond me.” But my daughter—she was nine—climbed in my lap, looked me in the eyes, and said, “You better find a way.” That flipped the switch. My son Beau, who was seven, goes, “Hey Dad, can we go to Walmart?” That balance—serious and light—it grounded me.
How did you approach the fight?
Like football. I studied, planned, trained. The chemo was hell. They called one drug the “Red Death.” It felt like that. But I showed up. Eventually, they told me I was cancer-free.
Then came open-heart surgery.
Chemo had weakened my aorta. I needed surgery. Doctors said it would be two months before I could work. I was back on ESPN in two weeks. Preparation saved me. My lifelong investment in health paid off. That’s why I preach fitness—it’s your best insurance policy.
You turned all that into your bestselling book, Find a Way.
The phrase goes back to when I was 12. I taped it to my bedroom door. After my daughter said it during my cancer battle, it became my mission. The book’s not about football. It’s about owning your life. No blame. No excuses. Just ownership.
You say parenting is leadership. What do you mean by that?
I’ve learned more by listening than talking. My kids were shaped more by what they saw than what they heard—because actions always speak louder than words.
What’s your message to youth coaches and parents?
Judge your kids by the yardsticks of their years, not yours. If your kid’s five, remember what five feels like. Give them room to grow. Let them love the game first.
You’re still active with the Steelers and love speaking. Why does that light you up so much?
If I had to choose one thing to do forever, it’s speaking. I don’t have to do it—I get to. My story is made of lessons from Walter Payton, Chuck Noll, my wife, my kids. If I can pass something on that helps someone get off their couch, that’s the win.
What’s your definition of victory now?
Victory is about the process. It’s about ownership—how you prepare, how you show up. That’s what Find a Way is all about.
merrilhoge.com
"People think it’s all physical, but the NFL is a mental game. Talent gets you there. Mental toughness keeps you there."