All eyes are on the NFL’s most atypical owner. Where will her curiosity lead her next?
SOURCE:The Athletic|BY:Jourdan Rodrigue
Carlie Irsay-Gordon is younger than her peers, with her own distinctive vision of how an NFL owner can lead. It is about to be tested.
INDIANAPOLIS — The clocks in the most important rooms throughout the Indianapolis Colts’ training facility are all identical. Large and rectangular, they hang inside the general manager’s office, the team meeting room and a brightly lit conference room on the other side of the building. Their LED numbers tick toward and away from the large and small moments of the franchise and the family that owns it.
A game planning session; a special teams meeting; a signature charity event. A quarterback signing. A Sunday of football. A funeral.
In early December, a quote Carlie Irsay-Gordon had written on a whiteboard underneath the clock in the conference room particularly stood out: “The things which hurt, instruct.” She drew a box around the words in hopes that nobody would erase them while wiping away various meeting notes.
At that time, the locals grumbled about the first sticking snow of the season and worried about quarterback Daniel Jones’ fractured left fibula. They had no idea that the team was just days from the tipping point of its season.
The Colts had won eight of their first 10 games. It was a burst of joy for a mourning franchise and city still in shock over the May death of Jim Irsay, the former owner and the father of the 45-year-old Irsay-Gordon and her sisters and co-owners, Kalen Jackson and Casey Foyt.
But that Sunday, Jones tore his right Achilles. The Colts went on to lose six consecutive games and by late December were out of postseason contention.
The franchise now faces its most significant offseason in years. It’s Irsay-Gordon’s first at the helm. Crucial and potentially painful decisions include whether to extend Jones, who has a long recovery ahead and would otherwise be a free agent. She will have to consider the futures of Chris Ballard, the Colts general manager for nine seasons who has just one playoff win, and head coach Shane Steichen, who is 25-25 in his first three seasons. Irsay-Gordon has strong relationships with both Ballard and Steichen, who have staunchly supported her during the personal and professional strain of the team’s transition following Irsay’s death.
All eyes are on Irsay-Gordon — but they have been for months.
Carlie Irsay-Gordon refers to her extensive notes during her weekly meetings with the team’s coach and GM. (Gary A. Vasquez / Imagn Images)
“Most people don’t like change,” she said then, a few days before that fateful Week 14 loss at Jacksonville. “I think there’s something wrong with me, but I feel like it is the one thing that is a guarantee. I think it can be exciting.”
Irsay-Gordon leaned comfortably in a thickly padded chair in the Colts’ team meeting room as she spoke. She sat still but for her hands, which moved through the air as she talked, and the light caught little flashes of the diamond rings on her fingers. Her large blue-green eyes were sharply intense and probing, though she spoke warmly.
The room was once an indoor racquetball court that Jim Irsay used to play on several times a week with friends. Irsay-Gordon had it refurbished a few years ago. It’s been years since the renovation, but she and other longtime employees sometimes think they can still hear the thwack of the ball hitting the walls.
Jim Irsay never pushed Irsay-Gordon or her sisters into football, but Irsay-Gordon, like her father famously did before her, worked in nearly every department in the organization for years, even while pursuing other interests, including an undergrad degree in religious studies and geoscience from Skidmore College, and work toward a doctorate in psychology.
In her teens and early 20s, she interned all over the organization, from ticket sales to marketing to internal media and management before she eventually moved into a fuller football operations role. She has represented the Colts at the NFL’s annual meeting for over two decades.
Casey Foyt, Kalen Jackson and Carlie Irsay-Gordon with Colts running back Jonathan Taylor and a guitar they used to honor their late father. (Courtesy Indianapolis Colts.)
But the ownership transition in the spring coupled with the team’s early success this fall inspired new and viral interest in the NFL’s youngest ownership group — especially Irsay-Gordon, who had been captured by cameras on the sideline during an early-season game wearing a headset like a coach and scribbling down notes between plays.
“Well, why wouldn’t I be?” Irsay-Gordon said, chuckling softly. Many in the Colts’ building — from players to coaches to members of the front office — were also bewildered by the greater public’s fixation on that detail. Irsay-Gordon has worn the headset on the sideline for years, and before that was stationed up in the booth with the scouts and executive team. She never speaks into it, but writes down what she hears people say, charts every play and additionally notes sideline observations and interactions throughout the game.
She has sat daily in the back rows of team and position group meetings for even longer, taking detailed notes and often pulling aside coaches or players for questions about what they just studied. She’s at every walkthrough and practice. She’s been on the road with scouts. She’s in the draft meetings and has a place in the draft room. She keeps the same hours as the coaches, arriving early and staying long after dark.
“I don’t know if I’ve ever been around a more process-driven person than her,” Ballard said.
Irsay-Gordon was a curious, individualistic child. Pete Ward, the Colts COO and a 45-year employee of the team as well as one of Jim Irsay’s best friends, has known Irsay-Gordon since infancy. “She definitely was her own person very young, you know,” he said. “(At) like 6 or 7, the thing that stands out the most is she would wear these kind of eclectic outfits, you know? And I asked her mom, ‘So who picks out her attire?’ And she said, ‘I let her pick out what she wants to wear. I want her to develop her own tastes.’ She’s always been that way. She marches to her own drummer.”
Along came kind Casey, then spirited Kalen — nicknamed “Piper” as a child by Jim Irsay, after the fighter jet. In her sisters, Irsay-Gordon found fellow independent adventurers, all encouraged by their father to pursue what interested them, even if it wasn’t football. “Go be weird,” he used to tell Irsay-Gordon. “It’s cool to be weird.”
“He really liked the different people, if you will, and like the imperfect people,” said Kalen Jackson. “Those are the people who interested him the most. … Having two parents that were like that, I think naturally made us very curious about the world, very curious about what makes people tick.”
As children, the three daughters looked with great interest at the world around them and it did so right back. Jackson referred to the Indianapolis of her youth as a “little-big town” because everywhere they went, Irsay either knew somebody — or was about to make a friend. The family’s open-book relationship with the city grew deeper as the Colts started regularly winning, including Super Bowl XLI in February 2007.
“Growing up, everyone always recognized my dad no matter where we went,” Jackson said. “… We grew up in a world where we always had to share him with everyone else, but not in a bad way. It was a beautiful thing.”
It was also, at times, complicated. Irsay was a man cherished by the city for his eccentricity and outsized heart but also his honesty about his longtime struggles with mental health and addiction. Irsay eventually had to publicly address multiple overdoses. (After his death, The Washington Post reported that there had been additional undisclosed overdoses in the final years of his life.) Irsay-Gordon and Jackson both said they’d been in therapy since early childhood and speak openly about the pain of watching a beloved parent suffer.
Over time, Jim Irsay became a passionate public speaker about his own ongoing demons, and gave time and resources to help others dealing with similar struggles. The Colts launched Kicking the Stigma in 2020 to help fight the mental health crisis in Indiana. Now spearheaded by Jackson (also the organization’s chief brand officer), the initiative has committed tens of millions to funding research on and treatment for mental health issues and organizations providing resources and support, and in raising awareness nationwide.
All the while, Irsay prepared his daughters to lead. If they were curious about how something in the organization worked, he opened the door for them to go learn all about it.
When Irsay-Gordon decided to take on a larger role with the Colts in 2008 instead of pursuing a career in clinical psychology, she knew she had to be all-in. Unlike many other owners, she wanted to be immersed in every part of the building every day. Irsay-Gordon hates titles, and she didn’t want others to think of her position first when they talked with her. She wanted to be a student. She understood that more involvement with the team required a deeper education in football and football operations, so she sought out teachers in the equipment, video and film, data, salary cap and scouting departments, and especially among coaches and players.
Irsay-Gordon prefers to study how a decision got made versus its result. It is why she is especially drawn to position meetings, where specific strategies are taught or concepts installed and there is an explanation of why the team is using them that week. She maps out questions to bring into weekly Monday meetings with Steichen and Ballard. She loves asking players about their techniques and how they do their job; a particularly memorable response came from veteran defensive lineman Grover Stewart.
“Carlie, my job is to be physical,” he said in his pleasant drawl, “I get in my little car, and I just go.”
Ballard said Irsay-Gordon is not judgmental, nor does she rush to conclusions.
“She lets you work,” he said. “She’s gonna ask great questions … she’s gonna challenge your thinking … but she does it out of curiosity, not in a way where she’s judging your decisions.”
Ballard, who became the Colts general manager in 2017, has a reputation for being unfiltered. Watching a Colts game anywhere in his vicinity is a ride on a profanity-laced, emotional roller coaster. After a particularly tough loss to Kansas City some years ago, Irsay-Gordon and Ballard were text messaging back and forth when he snapped, typing out paragraphs of mostly curse words before pressing send. “It was not kind,” he remembered.
The next day, Irsay-Gordon walked into his office. Ballard was surprised — “she could have gone to her dad and said, ‘hey, f— this guy,’ but she didn’t; she came to me,” — but mostly he was embarrassed and sheepish. He told her she should fire him. “No,” she replied, “that’s what you felt. I don’t want you to ever hold back when you feel something.” The exchange altered their work relationship forever. Ballard never holds back his opinion from his boss. Irsay-Gordon treats him the same whether or not she agrees with it.
Chris Ballard, in his ninth season as the Colts’ GM, has forged a strong relationship with Irsay-Gordon. (Michael Conroy / AP)
“I think when people have that connection and you have those relationships, then you don’t get people pointing fingers as much,” she said. “Or, if you get people pointing fingers, someone else stands up and says ‘no — what good is blaming someone gonna do if we don’t focus on finding the solution?’ That’s where you develop learning mindsets; growth mindsets. People not afraid to be curious.”
Irsay-Gordon likes to say that studying psychology actually gave her eight years of “studying to be neutral.” She believes decision-making should be based on a series of facts without emotion, with discipline and process — and few exceptions.
Irsay-Gordon is as invested in the strategy and function of the football team as she is in the franchise’s culture. For decades, she and her sisters watched Jim Irsay act with personal attention and care beyond a typical owner toward the members of the organization, from the star player to the mailroom intern. Irsay was the rare owner chosen to present multiple former players into the Hall of Fame.
Similarly, there is a dynamic between Irsay-Gordon and players that must be seen and felt to be understood. She has the pulse of the locker room in a way only some beloved coaches do.
It’s not just that she is in position group meetings; by now she is expected there. Players are frequently called into her office for check-ins. These conversations have led to changes over the years, from improved nutrition to the quality of equipment to significant investment in mental health programming for players and staff. Sometimes they’re simply called into her office because it’s their birthday and she brought them cupcakes.
“Guys are like, ‘the owner really came to me and asked, ‘Is there anything (I) can do?’” said Stewart. “Other owners, they’re like, ‘Whatever I do, I do.’ That’s a big thing for the guys on the team and the chemistry around the building.”
Tyquan Lewis, another veteran defensive lineman, refers to Irsay-Gordon as one of his best friends. They often exchange Lego-building strategies — Irsay-Gordon and her two kids love the kits, as does Lewis’ younger daughter, Tyla. Recently Irsay-Gordon gifted Tyla a set, the ice castle from “Frozen.”
Irsay-Gordon and Stewart, an avid landscape artist at his large Georgia property, frequently talk about gardening. They each tried to grow hydrangeas, but Stewart lamented he didn’t have the right fertilizer or soil for the picky flower. His didn’t make it, and Irsay-Gordon gave him hell for it (hers thrived). Stewart compares Irsay-Gordon to an oak tree because of her enduring stability.
When photos of Irsay-Gordon wearing a headset, notebook in hand, started going viral over the summer, it seemed like everybody had an opinion. Relatively few women are on NFL sidelines, and even fewer wear a coaching headset. The Colts received pictures from fans of their young daughters or sisters dressed up like Irsay-Gordon for Halloween. Other reactions ranged from genuine curiosity to derision.
Many in the organization found ways to show their support. Some players wore T-shirts featuring her viral images; others reminded inquisitive outside media members how many years Irsay-Gordon had been on the sidelines.
Ballard has generally taken a colorful approach. He said an opposing team called him to complain about Irsay-Gordon being on the sideline three years ago, asking if Ballard planned to speak with her about it.
“Absolutely f—— not,” he replied, “I don’t have a problem with it.” He said that team could call Irsay-Gordon directly. No call was ever made. Irsay-Gordon was amused when Ballard mentioned it to her.
“Well, I’m not leaving the sideline,” she said calmly.
“Well, I’m not asking you to!” he shot back.
Irsay-Gordon didn’t need anybody to stick up for her; she is the principal owner of the team, a billionaire and a businesswoman, and just as individualistic as she was as a child. It’s clear throughout the football building that nobody was protective of Irsay-Gordon in a way that patronized or softened her. They did it because she is one of them, and their standard is to look after one another.
“She’s earned that because of her work ethic, because of how she treats others, because she’s so inquisitive and gets to know people,” Ballard said. “She has put in the time and earned her way.”
Irsay-Gordon often refers to the organization as “an organism,” each part requiring its own specific care. Employees of any level are allowed to eat the same healthy meals and snacks provided to players and coaching staff. With Jackson’s support, the Colts brought in a counselor who players and employees have access to if they need help.
“Everyone sees it, how much she cares,” Steichen said. “… It’s refreshing to have an owner that cares so deeply about the people. Like, ‘how can I help you? What do you need?’”
The Colts display their Lombardi trophy in a glass case at the end of one long hallway inside the practice facility. All football teams want to win a championship — obviously, said Irsay-Gordon.
“(But) what makes a team?” she asked. “I think, essentially, it’s the connection and the relationships you have with the people here.”
Can a little-big team from the little-big town keep its soul while once again competing among the heavy hitters in the most brutally competitive sport in the world? It’s a concept Irsay-Gordon is eager to test.
“It’s not change just to change,” she said, adding: “We have to compete with other teams. We have to look outside and define meaningfully what is going on outside and how do we need to pivot inside in order to remain relevant, in order to remain competitive?”
Between the hours of time invested and energy spent, between the wins and the losses, it’s almost easy to forget Irsay-Gordon and her sisters are still grieving the loss of their father. Football continues even when life is happening, and football people are wired to do the same — to push through, no matter the pain.
“They’ve handled it with grace,” said linebacker Zaire Franklin, who is close with Irsay-Gordon.
“People go through things and you kind of forget, man, this is the first Thanksgiving without their dad. This is their first Christmas without their dad. Those type of things really hit you. Those type of things really hurt.”
The team paid tribute to Irsay all season. The former owner was deeply passionate about music, so Steichen had a guitar built with the Colts logo and the phrase “Win for Jim” printed on its face. A different player carried the guitar into the stadium on game days each week. Irsay-Gordon posed with her sisters and star running back Jonathan Taylor for a media promotion and they brought the guitar. They looked like an all-female rock band. Frontwomen. Irsay would have loved it.
Memories of him are all over the building. Ward’s office alone has become a kind of holding place for piles of photos, paintings, tokens from well-wishers, awards and more. Other enlarged photographs of moments in the team’s history — in Irsay’s life — hang on the walls. The business of the organization continues, but it carries with it the weight of loss.
Memories of former owner Jim Irsay are not hard to find around the Colts’ facilities. (Christine Tannous / USA Today Network via Imagn Images)
So does Irsay-Gordon. She rarely reveals it, but those who know her well notice when small flashes of grief peek through: When she and Jackson play Irsay’s famously long voice memos, every one of them still saved in their phones, just to hear him. When they turn to each other mid-conversation and say, “Oh you just know how Dad would respond to this.”
As Irsay’s health declined in the years leading up to his death at 65, the family and many in the organization recognized that they had to plan for what might come next. They wondered how Irsay-Gordon might lead, but they knew she’d be ready. For all of the energy and openness Irsay dedicated to preparing Irsay-Gordon and her sisters to take over, the painful truth was that he did so understanding that if they ever did it would be because he wouldn’t be there to see it.
The Colts’ last-effort swings to make the postseason, including coaxing future Hall of Fame quarterback Philip Rivers out of retirement, became a story of their own in a year that started in grief, crescendoed into bittersweetly tinged joy and ended in disappointment.
But NFL teams are built in the offseason. It begins in one week. Only months after taking over as principal owner, Irsay-Gordon has franchise-altering decisions to make. Many of them will be difficult. As always, she will look squarely at them, without judgment, and with her own blend of honesty and curiosity.
The clocks move onward. The things which hurt, instruct.
