Foley, then 31 and coming off a breakout season with the Chargers, never played another down in the NFL. The shooting sparked immediate outrage and ongoing scrutiny over law enforcement accountability, racial profiling, and the dangerous ambiguity of off-duty police actions.
Mansker had begun following Foley's restored Oldsmobile Cutlass on suspicion of DUI after reportedly observing him weaving through traffic on a San Diego freeway. But instead of calling in a marked unit, he pursued Foley alone - never activating sirens, never showing a badge. According to court testimony, Mansker shouted commands at red lights and even pulled alongside Foley’s car, demanding he pull over. Foley, unsure whether he was being followed by a fan, a carjacker, or something worse, kept driving.
The chase ended in Foley's own neighborhood. Mansker fired a warning shot into the bushes. Then, two rounds into the hood of the car. Then several more, striking Foley in the leg, hip, and hand. Witnesses reported hearing shouts, the roar of an engine, and multiple gunshots in quick succession. When it was over, Foley was hospitalized. His NFL season - and career - was over.
Mansker was placed on paid leave but ultimately cleared of criminal wrongdoing by the San Diego County District Attorney. Despite failing to show a badge or clearly identify himself as law enforcement, prosecutors ruled the shooting justified. He was back on duty within months and later honored by Mothers Against Drunk Driving for DUI enforcement.
Today, Mansker still serves on the Coronado Police Department. According to online records, he was promoted to Corporal in December 2017 and currently trains new officers, emphasizing professionalism and integrity. His professional profile states that he is "dedicated to ensuring the public's trust." For critics of the Foley shooting, that message rings hollow.
Foley would later plead guilty to misdemeanor DUI. He also filed a civil suit against Mansker and the City of Coronado, ultimately settling in 2008 for a reported $5.5 million. Still, the damage was done. The 6-foot-4 linebacker with Pro Bowl potential never returned to the game. He was released from the Chargers and quietly moved to Houston to raise his daughter and finish college.
The shooting reverberated far beyond the locker room. The American Civil Liberties Union cited Foley’s case in a 2007 letter to the California Attorney General criticizing a pattern of "questionable police shootings" in San Diego. The episode became emblematic of a troubling dynamic: an unarmed Black man shot in his own neighborhood by someone who never looked - or acted - like a cop.
Adding insult to injury, Foley was also docked his full $775,000 salary for the 2006 season, placed on the team’s non-football injury list just a day after the shooting. San Diego’s sports community was shocked. So were residents of Foley’s quiet, upscale Poway neighborhood, who described him as a friendly, low-key neighbor. In the months following the incident, fans and analysts questioned how a football star could be mistaken for a criminal - and how a rookie officer could unleash a hail of bullets without ever flashing a badge.
Even now, no apology has ever been issued by the City of Coronado. Mansker has remained in law enforcement and is still entrusted with shaping the next generation of police officers. What remains is a legacy defined by tragedy, ambiguity, and the lingering question: What if?
What if Foley had pulled over? What if Mansker had waited for backup? What if a badge had been shown? What if one less bullet had been fired? Twenty years later, those questions remain unanswered - and for many in San Diego, unforgiven.
Steve Foley’s story is a cautionary tale about what can happen when perceptions collide with power in the dead of night. It's about how a single decision can end a career, reshape a life, and stain a city's history.
And on this anniversary, San Diego remembers.
