Korey Stringer's Legacy Resonates 25 Years After Tragedy
By: Lindsey Young
John Randle has always remembered his friend Korey Stringer for the gentle giant he was.
For the way he loved his wife Kelci and son Kodie.
For his jokes. For his spot-on impressions that would have teammates in stitches in the locker room.
For the way he "locked up" opposing defensive linemen on game day.
When Korey tragically passed away on Aug. 1, 2001, Randle couldn't bring himself — in his first offseason away from the Vikings — to travel back for the funeral. He committed himself instead to remembering Korey full of life, and to carrying his legacy forward.
"He was just such a special person," Randle says over the phone, emphasizing the adjective.
It didn't matter that Randle was seven years Korey's elder or that he played on the opposite side of the ball from the Vikings starting right tackle. Korey was the type of guy who just naturally drew others to him.
"You know a lot of times offensive linemen hang out with offensive linemen? That wasn't Korey," Randle recalled. "He would hang out with everyone. Defensive guys, DBs, receivers.
"I loved hanging out with him," he continued. "Because hanging out with Korey — I felt like I'd grown up with him. I felt as if he was someone I'd known a long time. You just felt so comfortable with him. You felt like, 'Man, I know this guy. I've known him a long time.' In reality, you haven't, but that's just what he did for me."
Punchlines and power
Star Tribune staff writer Selena Roberts once wrote, "He is big, but not menacing, massive, but not mean. He is competitive, but soft around the edges."
Korey spoke highly of his parents and grandparents; during the fall of his rookie season, he cited a $579 phone bill due to making calls back home. He enjoyed reading biographies. When fresh-faced rookies joined the Vikings, he helped them find the nearest big-and-tall stores and invited them over for dinner. His nature was perhaps summarized perfectly by reporter Jeanne Marie Laskas, who wrote a longform feature on Korey for Esquire Magazine that ran the day he passed away. Laskas' final line read:
Whenever you finished a conversation with him, whenever you were parting, he never said, "Goodbye." He always said, "Peace."
Korey was, indeed, peaceful … until game day arrived.
It's fair to say Korey Stringer was born — and built — to be a star on the football field.
He received All-American honors as a senior at Harding High School, shortly before his collegiate career at Ohio State, where he measured in at 6-foot-4 and close to 300 pounds. He garnered OSU's Offensive Player of the Game three times during his final season for the Buckeyes and was named to The Associated Press' All-American team — for which he earned a late-night flight to Los Angeles for a taping of the Bob Hope Christmas Special.
Korey was too nervous to watch the NFL Draft (despite the fact he was universally projected to go in the first round), instead viewing VHS copies of The Lion King and Raising Arizona.
And when the Vikings tabbed him 24th overall, it didn't matter one bit to Korey that he'd "slid" a little farther than anticipated. He couldn't imagine a better situation than donning Purple and Gold and playing for Head Coach Dennis Green.
"He was so happy," Kelci remembered. "He respected Denny Green so much. … That was his person. They had a unique relationship. [Green and Mike Tice] really understood Korey as a person — he used to say, 'They let me be me' — and that made him want to give it his all."
Korey did just that, immediately upgrading Minnesota's offensive line.
"He was always learning; he was already good, but he wanted to improve every time he put on those pads," former Vikings guard Dave Dixon said.
Randall McDaniel, with seven seasons of his Hall of Fame career under his belt as Minnesota's starting left guard, had admired Korey's collegiate career from afar and welcomed the youngster with open arms — even taking him to lunch upon his arrival in the Twin Cities.
"His fundamentals, his technique was all sound when he came in," McDaniel said. "Him being a big tackle, I know the body image might have made people think he wouldn't have lateral motion. 'Don't rush him straight on; get on an edge, and that way, he's too big to move.' […] But I saw what Korey could do. He had great hands, great footwork. He could move side to side. All those guys on defense were in for a surprise."
Newspapers published punny headlines on Korey's 330-plus-pound frame, but teammates and opposing players alike quickly were reminded not to judge a book by its cover.
Randle admitted his own questioning of Korey's athletic prowess when the rookie first arrived; he quickly recognized his mistake.
"Once you saw him on the field and you saw the way he moved … he had feet like a dancer, like Fred Astaire," Randle said. "The last [offensive lineman] I saw with footwork like that was Gary Zimmerman."
Added McDaniel: "Once he put his hands on those guys, they weren't going anywhere."
Former Vikings WR Chris Walsh, who played with Korey during the duration of his career, reflected on Korey's off-field demeanor and on-field command.
Walsh laughed as he recounted the way Korey would impersonate coaches (one newspaper story specifically praises his Tice rendition) and other pop culture icons or personalities, such as Eddie Murphy's multi-character role in The Nutty Professor 2.
"Remember the Klomps? He would go, 'Her-cuh-les, Her-cuh-les.' It was so great," Walsh said, chuckling at the memory.
Former Vikings center Matt Birk similarly laughed out loud when asked about Korey's propensity for impersonations.
"He did an excellent Chef Jim," Birk quipped, referencing the team's chef at the time.
Birk and McDaniel each referenced Korey's mastery of Dixon, a New Zealand native with a quiet, soft-spoken presence.
"They would sit right beside each other in the locker room, and sometimes Korey would have a conversation with Dave while doing Dave," a still-amused McDaniel said. "And Dave wouldn't catch on until late into it. I used to fall off my stool laughing."
Former Vikings RB and fellow Ohio State alum Robert Smith said in a 2020 interview Korey was "just a genuinely good and fun person."
"We'd always talk about South Park," Smith quipped. "I remember the movie Half Baked was part of the line of jokes we'd use so many times."
And to Smith's recollection, Stringer never actually uttered the running back's first name.
"I don't know that Korey ever called me Robert," Smith laughed. "My nickname at Ohio State was 'Juice,' and then that name carried over to the pros, as well; a lot of nicknames do that. And then the other one was just a silly name – he'd call me Rupert, on purpose. It was never Robert; it was either Juice or Rupert."
Korey's sense of humor and quick wit won Kelci over when the two met on Ohio State's campus. Those qualities were far from his only traits, however.
"He wasn't just some jolly old happy-go-lucky guy, you know? He was a very deep person, a deep thinker, very intense," Kelci said. "And his laughter and silliness, it was very intelligent. If you weren't sharp, you wouldn't get his jokes. That's what was so impressive to me: he was so smart, but he showed that intelligence often through humor."
Korey's comedic timing couldn't be topped.
"You wouldn't think our starting offensive tackle would be that funny of a guy, but he was, and we needed it," Randle said, a smile in his voice. "Sometimes you just needed something to make you laugh if you were having a bad day, a bad practice, and he was that guy."
"When you're playing football, especially when you're a lineman, your world's not super glamorous. You need those moments of levity," Birk added. "And it wasn't just that he was funny; he always seemed to know exactly when it was needed."
Korey had an excellent pulse on play versus work, though. And when time for the latter, he was all business.
"When you put the pads on, he was a different player," Walsh said. "Not everybody can do that. Korey was able to have fun, be a free spirit in the locker room and then flip that switch."
Added Birk: "When he was serious, he was really serious. That's what made him a great player."
Walsh noted how much confidence Korey's presence at right tackle provided Minnesota's offense.
"If you don't hold your own, you're going to get a guy in your face and in the quarterback's face," Walsh said. "From Warren Moon to Brad Johnson, to Randall Cunningham, Jeff George, Daunte Culpepper, all right-handed quarterbacks, so if you're not solid, if you're not able to keep that defender out of the QB's line of vision, it's tough for them to see, and they feel that pressure."
Korey held his own against some of the NFL's top pass rushers. Dixon and Randle each specifically named Hall of Famer Reggie White, who had 10 seasons and nine straight Pro Bowl nods to his résumé by the time Minnesota drafted Korey.
"It was unbelievable," Dixon said.
Randle shared an anecdote of Korey's first matchup with White in a Border Battle against Green Bay. Randle and the other Vikings veterans advised the rookie, "Don't get loud. Play him, but keep your mouth shut."
"Korey was doing a great job of it. But I guess we went in at halftime and a couple guys were like, 'Hey, Big K, you've got Reggie White locked up," Randle said. "And we go back out for the second half, and Korey grabs on Reggie and goes, 'Yeah, I got you.'
"He looks over at me on the sideline, and I'm shaking my head like, 'No, no, no,' " Randle recounted with a laugh. "And the next thing you know, Reggie took out Big K. Knocks the wind out of him. And Korey's looking to the sideline then like, 'I need a break.' Green grabs his headset, pulls him out, looks at Korey and says, 'Where are you going? There's nobody else behind you; you've gotta get back in there.'
"That was a game-changer," Randle said. "Korey from that point on, 'Hey man, I know when I play against these great ones, I'm gonna keep my mouth shut and just play.' And he did. But it was such a funny story later on."
A 'big kid' who cared
Korey moved from rookie to vet, somehow elevating his play each of his six seasons in Minnesota.
He helped the Vikings reach the playoffs consecutively from 1998-2000, twice in that span reaching the NFC Championship Game.
Korey loved the game of football. Kelci called him "football savvy," noting his knowledge of the game's history that went back to specific players of the '40s and '50s.
"I think he would have been a historian in sports; he had such a love and adoration," she said.
Korey held an equal love for making a difference, particularly in the lives of youth.
He regularly participated in "Community Tuesdays," the social impact program developed by Green that encouraged players to give back and, unbeknownst to many, Korey formed a relationship with a group of young boys who managed to sneak into a Vikings game. He took them under his wing, took them to lunch on days off and even invited them over to the family's home to keep them out of trouble.
Randle noted Korey was "a big kid" himself, which enabled him to relate to and encourage young people.
Spend even a short amount of time with Korey, Birk said, and "you knew just how much he cared about other people."
McDaniel recalled the 2000 season, when Korey finally received a much-deserved Pro Bowl nod and signed his entire all-star game check over to a community center in his hometown.
"He was always giving back," McDaniel said.
A tragic day
Entering the 2001 season, Korey had started 91 of 93 regular-season games played for Minnesota.
He was fresh off helping the Vikings finish 11-5 and come to within one game of the Super Bowl. He'd helped anchor an offensive line that had seen the departure of veterans McDaniel and Jeff Christy — and the next season, longtime left tackle Todd Steussie.
A loving husband to Kelci and proud father to 3-year-old Kodie, Korey faced the prime of his career as he stepped on the field for Vikings Training Camp practice on July 31, 2001. Temperatures that day in Mankato, Minnesota, reached 88 degrees, with a 79-degree dew point and 75 percent humidity, by noon.
Korey completed the morning practice session and afterward walked to an air-conditioned tent, where he exhibited signs of heat stroke that prompted Vikings athletic trainers to immediately call for emergency services. A full team of emergency room staff met the ambulance at the hospital, with multiple physicians treating Korey.
Sadly, despite all efforts, Korey's heart failed at 1:50 a.m. on Aug. 1, 2001.
"It was a very, very tough time," Walsh recalled. "I just remember they woke us up at, like, 5 in the morning and brought us downstairs and told us what happened."
Teammates and coaches were shellshocked. McDaniel, who the year prior had signed with the Buccaneers in free agency, received the devastating news in Tampa Bay. He flew back to attend the funeral service for his friend.
The Vikings worked to process their grief while somehow also attempting to prepare for the upcoming season — a task difficult for many.
"It's not like you can just turn off your emotions," Walsh said. "And it's like, 'Guess what? They're not going to change the schedule for us. We had training camp to work through it, but it was so tough."
Korey's locker became a memorial, a special way to remember Big K and a space that would be encased and remain in the Winter Park locker room. His No. 77 jersey was retired in November of that season.
The Vikings struggled on the field in 2001, finishing the campaign last in the division a year removed from the conference championship. Korey's presence simply could not be replaced.
He wasn't present to lift spirits through tough times.
"Korey's passing emotionally killed you," Walsh said.
In every way, Korey was missed.
Korey Stringer Institute improves health & safety
The Vikings of course moved forward from an on-field standpoint; but the impact Korey left on the locker room, the organization and the community was truly indelible.
Even after his death, he continued making a difference.
Korey's tragedy spread across the NFL, prompting near-immediate alterations by teams to their hydration practices and policies. Water breaks were increased and required; players were more closely monitored, including through mandatory weigh-ins before and after practice to measure lost water weight and avoid dangerous levels.
Vikings Director of Equipment Services Mike Parson had just started his NFL career, serving as an intern with the New Orleans Saints that summer, and recalled the ripple effect of Korey's passing.
"Back then, football was so macho and bravado that water breaks and things like that were honestly frowned upon," he said. "When Korey died, it changed the way practices are monitored, the way everything is structured, and it gives the athletic trainer full power to say, 'We can't be out there' if it's too hot.
"Back in the day, if a guy was kind of lagging behind in a drill, the coach would be on his butt," Parson continued. "Even coming through high school, it was like, 'You don't need water.' But this changed the way everything was coached. You didn't hear things like that anymore. Coaches started doing a really good job of making sure guys got their hydration breaks and understanding the impact of athletic training and nutrition."
Concurrently, an investigation into Korey's death — "It was just something no one could wrap their head around … I felt like it had to be something beyond heat stroke," Kelci said. — began to reveal the lack of education and true understanding around hydration.
Even as changes were made around the league, Kelci recognized heat stroke occasionally still impacted athletes at all levels of the game. She stood in her closet one day, a couple years after Korey's death, and received a phone call from a friend about a college football player who passed away due to heat-related complications.
"I thought, 'Well, what do they want me to do?' " Kelci recounted. "And instantly — I'm a very spiritual person, and I think God has spoken to me [clearly] maybe twice in my life, and God just said to me, 'You do something.' "
Kelci has never looked back. From starting a hydration campaign for athletes, to speaking with coaches, parents and students, to eventually establishing the Korey Stringer Institute in 2010 — it's become her life's work.
Because of Korey, football at all levels became — and continues to become — safer.
Kelci has worked tirelessly to ensure what happened to her husband doesn't shatter other families.
Headquartered at UConn's College of Agriculture, Health and Natural Resources, KSI's vision is to be a world-renowned leader in developing and disseminating practice strategies to prevent sudden death in sport, military and laborers; to promote health and safety best practices in the physically active; and to optimize performance.
Through KSI, Korey's legacy lives on and saves lives across the country. Kelci and Kodie will be at Vikings Training Camp today, along with representatives from KSI. The team will honor Korey's memory with a tribute.
"Not one time did I wonder if this is something Korey would approve of," Kelci said. "This goes back to Korey's giving. It goes back to him being authentic and genuine.
"It was, 'What information did I learn during litigation? And what if we put that information out there to coaches, to trainers, to athletes?' Things kind of fall in your lap in life, and you have a choice to either listen or not listen. I was obedient to it.
"As much as I wanted to go hide under a rock and just live in my world … I just felt obligated to do this," Kelci added. "And in the spirit of Korey being a person where, 'It's not about me,' but it's about what can we do to not let this happen again."
Kelci is deeply grateful for and proud of the extensive work KSI has done over the past 16 years, particularly in the way of helping change policies and pass legislation like the Zachary Martin Act (2020) and the HEARTS Act (2024).
Most healing throughout this journey for Kelci has been reconnecting with the NFL and the Vikings following the 10-year litigation. She emphasized the care and support NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell and Vikings Owners Zygi and Mark Wilf, who led the purchase of the franchise in 2005, have shown to her and to KSI.
"Just to be able to talk to Commissioner Goodell … he did not know Korey in that way at all, he wasn't in this position when Korey passed, but for him to have that respect and understanding for Korey … that was when the weight really came off and I knew I was doing the right thing and will continue doing it," Kelci said.
"It's where I felt Korey was tipping his hat and riding off into the sunset," she added. "Out of all of this, knowing the NFL [and the Vikings] understand and are committed with me? That's the part that brings me peace."
Changes made throughout the league have been long-lasting — and continue to evolve in response to furthering education. Acclimation periods have become routine, and rules are implemented to limit the number of days players can wear full pads for practice. Water and electrolyte beverages are readily available, and nutritionists keep a close eye on replenishing needs. Practices include scheduled hydration breaks.
"I think he'd be very proud," Randle said. "I think Korey would be very proud the game has become safer."
"It's so important now," emphasized McDaniel, who shared that during a December in Tampa Bay, his final NFL season and four months after Korey's death, he took himself out of a game because of the heat.
"I had never dehydrated, never had a problem with heat, and that day, I did," McDaniel said. "I'm pretty sure the old me, before Korey died, would have found a way to gut it out, play through it. But the new me, I had to come out."
As Kelci, Kodie, the Vikings and so many others recognize the 25-year anniversary of Korey's passing, bittersweet feelings abound.
"Here's the thing: People don't forget how you made them feel," Birk said. "To put it in the simplest way possible, Korey made people happy. And 25 years later, those emotions are still there."
"I just wish other people had gotten a chance to see what we saw — to understand how much we all loved being around him," Randle reflected.
Like Randle, we all wish Korey was still here.
But to celebrate his life and its impact, to recognize the difference that's been made in the game Korey deeply loved, and to spend time in Minnesota with the Vikings is a full-circle moment for Kelci.
"This is such an honor," she said. "It's so humbling. It's such a feeling of gratitude. To come back and see how it's all lining up, being the first day of training camp [open to fans] 25 years later? How monumental is that?
"I'm excited," Kelci added. "And in the true Korey spirit, nothing is ever sad. To have the institute in place to carry that on, it all confirms this is part of my journey in life. This is what I'm supposed to be doing."
