
In 1983, the Pittsburgh Steelers stood at a crossroads. The Steel Curtain dynasty had faded, Terry Bradshaw’s arm was failing, and the franchise faced the delicate task of rebuilding without losing its identity. When their turn came in the NFL Draft, Pittsburgh passed on hometown hero Dan Marino to take a defensive tackle from Texas Tech named Gabe Rivera — a man they believed could be the next “Mean” Joe Greene. Tragically, Rivera’s story would end before it truly began.
Gabriel Rivera grew up in San Antonio, Texas — a towering athlete with unusual agility for his size. At Jefferson High School, he excelled in football and track, earning a scholarship to Texas Tech in 1979.
Originally recruited as a linebacker, Rivera bulked up to nearly 300 pounds but never lost his quickness. By his senior season, he was a one-man wrecking crew in the Southwest Conference. With 105 tackles and 17 tackles for loss in 1982, Rivera earned consensus All-American honors and the nickname “Señor Sack.”
His combination of size, power, and speed was revolutionary for the time. Texas Tech coaches believed he could redefine the defensive tackle position — and so did NFL scouts.
When the Steelers went on the clock with the 21st pick in the 1983 NFL Draft, they faced a franchise-defining decision: draft Dan Marino, the record-setting quarterback from the University of Pittsburgh, or take Rivera, the defensive anchor they saw as their new cornerstone.
Pittsburgh chose Rivera.
It wasn’t an impulsive decision. Head coach Chuck Noll and the Steelers’ front office wanted to rebuild their defense first — the same formula that had built four Super Bowl titles in the 1970s. Rivera’s tape was so dominant that even Marino’s potential couldn’t sway them. There were also persistent, and later discredited, drug rumors surrounding Marino that made the choice easier for team executives at the time.
Gabe Rivera was expected to carry the torch from Greene to a new generation. The Steelers saw him as the future of their identity: toughness, fearlessness, and dominance up front.
Rivera arrived in Pittsburgh humble but hungry. In his first six games, he showed flashes of brilliance — two sacks, several quarterback pressures, and moments where his burst off the snap reminded everyone of “Mean” Joe’s prime. Coaches were convinced they had struck gold.
Then, in a blink, everything changed.
On October 20, 1983, Rivera left a team dinner and drove his Datsun 280ZX through the rain-slick streets of Ross Township, just outside Pittsburgh. He lost control of the car, crossed the center line, and collided head-on with another vehicle.
Rivera was paralyzed from the chest down. The spinal cord injury ended his career after just six games. Police later reported that his blood-alcohol content was above the legal limit, and Rivera himself would later admit his mistake with heartbreaking honesty: “I made one bad decision that night, and it cost me everything.”
Despite his paralysis, Gabe Rivera’s spirit never broke. He returned to San Antonio, married his longtime sweetheart Nancy, and devoted his life to his family and to mentoring others. Rivera frequently spoke to students about the dangers of drunk driving and the importance of personal accountability.
Texas Tech honored him as one of its greatest athletes, inducting him into both the Texas Tech Ring of Honor and the College Football Hall of Fame. When he passed away in 2018 at the age of 57, tributes poured in from across the football world — from Lubbock to Pittsburgh.
Gabe Rivera’s name is often linked to the “what-if” that still haunts Steelers history — the choice of Rivera over Dan Marino. Marino would go on to set passing records with the Miami Dolphins and beat the Steelers in the 1984 AFC Championship Game. Pittsburgh, meanwhile, cycled through quarterbacks and never regained its 1970s dominance until the Bill Cowher era.
Yet reducing Rivera’s story to that single decision misses the bigger truth. The Steelers didn’t draft a bust; they drafted a generational talent who never got his chance. In every measurable way — speed, strength, leverage, explosiveness — Rivera was everything they hoped for. Fate simply had other plans.
Gabe Rivera’s story is one of promise and tragedy — a man destined for greatness whose life was forever altered in a moment. To this day, older Steelers fans still wonder what might have been: could Rivera have been the bridge from the Steel Curtain to the next great Pittsburgh defense?
We’ll never know. But in Texas Tech lore, and in the hearts of those who saw him play, “Señor Sack” remains a symbol of both extraordinary talent and human resilience — a reminder that even in the face of loss, dignity and courage can endure.

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