by Bob Backlund
—Ron Nelermoe, Bob’s wrestling coach at Waldorf
In the fall of my second year, everything was different. I tried to be the first one on the field and the last one into the lunch line. I wanted to show them that I was totally dedicated to sports.
Always Worked Harder Than Anyone Else
Oh, he was dedicated all right. I met Bob when we were both freshmen at Waldorf College. It was a new environment for all of us, and it was interesting watching all of the ballplayers size each other up as we arrived. One of us, in particular, stuck out. Backlund. He wasn’t that tall, but man, was he put together. And quiet. The guy didn’t say two words for about the first three weeks of practice. But I knew that if he ran into somebody with that body of his, he was really going to be a show. I think one of the things that really stands out about Backlund was the way he was able to reach down within himself when he really wanted something. He had intestinal fortitude like none of us had ever seen. We’d practice football for two hours a night, get done, and then he’d go to this little side room off the locker room and pump iron and then be the last one into supper—often making it just before the dining hall closed. One day, he asked me and another guy to spot for him and there was this bar on the weight bench that had more weight on it than I’d seen anywhere. It was 405 pounds. I spotted him one rep with that, and his muscles and veins were standing out so tight and the sounds that were coming out of him were sounds that can only come from deep within your soul. That’s how Bob was. He always worked harder than anyone else.
In our freshman year, it was a tradition that all of the freshmen got thrown into the showers by the sophomores. You had two ways to go. You could either go peacefully and let them walk you in and drench you, or you could put up a tussle. But no one escaped getting drenched. I put up a pretty good tussle, but about six or seven of them finally subdued me and got me in there. Well, then, I saw that they were headed for Backlund’s dorm room, so I decided to hang around and watch the show. When they got to Backlund’s door, he opened the door standing there in blue cutoff shorts and no shirt, with his arms folded in front of him. The posse of sophomores informed him that he was going into the shower, and he politely informed them that he wasn’t in the mood to take a shower. They looked him up and down for a few seconds, and then just went to the next door down.
—Paul Felix, Bob’s friend at Waldorf
We went 9–0 that season and Waldorf was ranked ninth nationally. I was named a first team All-American defensive end.
A Standing Ovation
At the Waldorf Athletic Awards Banquet that season, Bob was presented the Honor Athlete Award. I’d been at Waldorf eighteen years, and that was the only time I have ever seen a standing ovation for a student. Bob was just so dedicated and respected.
—Dick Bosdorf
During my sophomore wrestling season, we had a new coach—Neil Boyd. Before that season started, we went over to Luther College in Luther, Iowa, for a scrimmage against their JV team. I was in the locker room getting dressed and watching a guy who was strutting around in there acting pretty full of himself. He looked familiar but I couldn’t place him. Eventually, he came up to me and introduced himself.
It was Randy Brekke.
He had changed quite a bit. Instead of the hardworking humble guy he was when we were juniors in high school, now, he was cocky. I had no idea what weight class he was in, but I was really hoping he was wrestling at 190, because from the moment he introduced himself to me, I was totally focused on getting him onto the mat that afternoon and righting an old wrong.
Unfortunately, it was not to be. Brekke was still wrestling at 177, while I had moved up to 190. If I could have physically done it, I would have jumped into the sauna and sweated off those 13 pounds right then and there just for the chance to take him down. I kept telling Ron Pierce, our 177 pounder, how Brekke had beaten me as a junior and what to expect from him. I think I was more excited for Ron’s match than I was for my own.
When Pierce’s match started, it was clear that Brekke had gone backward rather than forward. Ron went out there and whipped Brekke easily. He was ahead 8–2 on points when he pinned him!
It was obvious to me that day that I had gotten more out of losing that state championship match to Randy Brekke in St. Cloud than he had gotten out of winning it. He had become cocky and less dedicated. I had become hungrier and sharper and more focused—and notwithstanding the very public defeat, had continued to progress forward. Seeing Brekke there at that scrimmage was reinforcement for me of what had already been a very important lesson.
Wrestling season went well that year, and once again, ended with me in the finals of the Junior College Nationals—this time at 190 pounds against Joe Hatchett, who gave me the toughest match I ever had in my wrestling career. We could both bench over 400 pounds, and we both had to cut weight to get to 190. Both of us had breezed through the tournament into the finals. There was serious intensity on the mat that day as we prepared to square off. We were like two bulls out there. It was a total defensive struggle, and neither of us would give an inch. Ultimately, he beat me 2–1 on points.
He Was An Inspiration
I was there in the stands for that epic showdown. You could just feel the energy and intensity when they squared off. And you know, usually, when you wrestle such an incredible match in a national final, even if you lose 2–1 on points, you’d feel good about yourself. I vividly remember Backlund after that match as we headed back to our dorms. I just said, “Nice try, Tiny,” and he responded with a barely audible “yeah” and then went back into his room and stayed there by himself for a day or two. You could just see the wheels turning in his head, thinking of what he had to do to get by Joe Hatchett and claim the NJCAA championship. I had sort of known this all along, but I knew from watching the way he reacted that day that Backlund was going to end up at the top of the heap of whatever he decided to do. He just wanted to be the best, and he was willing to reach deep down inside and get whatever he needed to get to achieve those goals. He was an inspiration to me and to the other athletes around him. To see him working that hard made all of us reach down and get a little more too.
—Paul Felix
After wrestling season ended, I wanted to transfer to North Dakota State University in time for the spring football season so that the coaches could get to know me there, but, unfortunately, we were in the middle of a semester and NDSU was on the quarter system, so the credits couldn’t transfer to permit me to do it.
Dinner Can Wait
Two years later, I was a little more established, and I convinced the football coaches who had dismissed me previously that we should go after Bob Backlund. I was going to Princeton that Christmas so the plan was for me to talk to him about attending NDSU. They also asked me to visit with a running back at the high school that they had their eye on. I invited both athletes and their parents out to eat, and we were to meet at a place called “The Farm”—which was the nicest eating place in Princeton. The running back and his parents showed up but Backlund and his parents were late. The running back knew that Backlund was out running. It seemed that everyone in Princeton knew of Bob’s habit of running endless miles wearing a football helmet with a large weight strapped to the top of it so he could strengthen his neck while he ran. The Backlunds finally showed up and his parents apologized for being late and, in fact, explained that Bob had been out running, that they never knew when he would finish, and that to him, his workouts came before anything, even a recruiting dinner! We convinced Bob to attend NDSU as a football player and a wrestler.
—Bucky Maughan
As I feared, when I transferred to NDSU, the head football coach, Ron Erhardt, who would later go on to coach the NFL’s New England Patriots, didn’t even know who I was. He just knew that I was a defensive end, my 440 time, and that I was a JC All-American and a pretty good wrestler. Coach Maughan had clearly wanted me a lot more for wrestling than Coach Erhardt did for football. I could sense that almost immed
iately.
I didn’t have a lot of money, and I certainly wasn’t the best dresser. I used to just wear an old wool sweater and overalls everywhere because that’s basically all I had. I know that annoyed Coach Erhardt, especially the one time I went on his local football television program dressed like that. I think I embarrassed him—but I couldn’t afford anything else. Whatever money I made in the summers went toward food and gas, and it went fast.
Coach Erhardt’s record at NDSU, however, was an impressive 46–3–1 over the previous five seasons, which had allowed him to recruit strongly—and the football at NDSU was really good. Erhardt, however, was a tough, remote, and unfeeling guy. It was very hard to break in there starting in the fall. I didn’t get onto the starting squad until Paul Bothof, the team’s starting defensive tackle, was killed in a hunting accident during the season. Obviously, that was a terrible tragedy, and the last way you’d want to make any team, but I resolved to make the best of it and to honor Paul’s memory through my play on the field.
Around that time, I also kept seeing this young woman around campus. Up to that point in my life, I hadn’t really had much time for girls, so whenever a girl came up to talk to me, I blushed a lot and didn’t really know what to do or how to act. I found out the woman’s name was Corki, and that she was a swimming instructor on campus.
One day, after practice, I met her in the fieldhouse where she was helping to set up for a wrestling meet. She took a look at me and said, “You know what, you’re in pretty good shape, you should try out for the wrestling team.” Someone clued her in as to who I was, and it made for a nice moment—and she was the one who was blushing! My friend Keith Maring eventually got fed up with my shyness around Corki and just told her that I wanted to ask her out. Fortunately, she said “yes!”
We had a successful season, and ended up beating Montana 31–16 in the 1970 Camelia Bowl. I had twenty-two tackles and recovered two fumbles in that game. It was a real thrill to travel to California as a team, and to play on television in front of a national audience. Toward the end of that first season, though, I started to figure out what Coach Erhardt was really like. He used up a lot of his players, and put the school’s win-loss record ahead of a lot of players’ physical well-being. He was very competitive and wanted to win at any cost, and he made a lot of choices to rush players back from injury and get them out on the field in what might have been in the best interest of the team, but not necessarily in the best long-term interest of the individual players.
I think Erhardt’s goal was to get a professional coaching job in the NFL, and he was making the choices he needed to make to accomplish that for himself. Rather than having a good relationship with his players, and trying to develop their talent, it felt like he was using them to run a factory. Erhardt was also the athletic director at NDSU, and I think he used that position to his advantage and to the advantage of the football team. I know that Coach Erhardt had a reputation in the NFL for being a nice guy and pretty popular with his players, but he and I never connected on any level.
After our Camelia Bowl victory, I joined up with Coach Maugham’s wrestling team. I had missed a lot of the wrestling season because of our late Bowl game appearance, and at my first workout with the team, I weighed in at 230 pounds. I faced the prospect of having to lose 40 pounds through a combination of diet and exercise to make weight at 190.
I did it in eight days.
I ran in place almost endlessly, and lost 10–15 pounds per practice wrestling in layers of sweats. I’d drink water, but ate no food, so I’d gain by fluid replacement at night, but lost it all and more during the next day’s practice. On the last day of that crash diet, I was within 4 pounds of 190 and went to the wrestling room, turned the heat all the way up, and ran in place for two hours. I would jog for ten seconds, then run fast for twenty seconds, over and over. Given what I was trying to do, it was better to run in place than to jog around because when you run in place, no cool air hits you, so your body temperature stays higher.
I was so dehydrated, I couldn’t sweat. I got within a half-pound of 190 and then took a shower and started to walk back to my dorm. I had to lay down in the snow because I was so weak. One of the football coaches came upon me lying there and helped me back to the fieldhouse, where I just laid there spitting, trying to get rid of that last half pound.
That was the day of our match with Morehead State. The weigh-in was at noon, and I was committed to making weight and being able to wrestle. I made it, but the process of shedding 40 pounds in eight days had left me so weak, that I was useless to the team. Needless to say, even though I am telling this story to explain how I transitioned from being a 230-pound defensive end to a 190-pound wrestler in eight days, I would strongly discourage anyone reading this from ever trying to replicate what I did. It was a very unhealthy and dangerous thing to do, and it could have had deadly consequences.
I wobbled my way out onto the mat that day against Morehead State, and although I gave it my best shot, I had no strength or stamina and was a sitting duck for my opponent at 190. Nevertheless—it felt good to be back out there, and was a relief to be working with Coach Maughan after enduring a season under Coach Erhardt. After taking that loss, I went 8–0–1 in the dual meets the rest of the way that season, and made it to the North Central Conference Tournament Final. In that final, I was coasting along with a 6–0 lead when I got caught in a cradle and pinned by Randy Omvig of Northern Iowa. The hometown Iowa fans were thrilled by Randy’s win. Disappointed, I looked ahead to the NCAA Division II tournament, which started a week later in Fargo.
That year, as the national tournament came around, I hadn’t compiled a qualifying record because I couldn’t wrestle while we prepared for our Bowl Game appearance in football. In the tournament, only the top ten wrestlers in each weight class were seeded. Because of my short record, I wasn’t seeded. Although Coach Maughan had lobbied the tournament directors to seed me based on my win-loss percentage and my unusual circumstances, the tournament officials took the position that I simply hadn’t wrestled enough matches earn a seed. Based on the way they build the brackets at the national tournament, the top-seeded guys wrestle the unseeded guys first, and the middle seeds face each other—much in the same way that they do it at March Madness. As an unseeded entrant, I would have to wrestle all the top-seeded guys first.
On the first day of that NCAA Division II National Wrestling tournament, which we hosted at NDSU, I probably had the best single day in wrestling that I’ve ever had. I won all my matches, and mowed down a bunch of unsuspecting top seeds in the process. Because I was unseeded, a lot of the top seeds took me for granted and underestimated me. There were a bunch of pretty unhappy coaches fuming at the tournament directors that day!
On the second day of the tournament, I faced Randy Omvig from Northern Iowa in the semifinals in a rematch of our North Central Conference tournament final where he had snuck a cradle on me for a pin. This time, there would be no such luck for Randy, and I thrashed him and punched my “unseeded” ticket to the finals. There, I would meet the tournament’s number-one seed, Gary Maiolfi, from Cal Poly, in the championship match.
Electrifying
The NDSU fieldhouse was standing room only, and place was buzzing with energy. After sparring around on their feet for much of the first period, Bob ended up in a whizzer (double overhook) counter applied by Maiolfi, the Cal Poly Wrestler. Bob bearhugged Maiolfi to counter the whizzer and the two just stood there like two titans in a deadlock for what seemed like forever. Backlund just stood there and squeezed and squeezed while the entire place was on its feet. Finally, Maiolfi was just completely spent, and collapsed to the mat. Backlund had completely squeezed the life out of his opponent with the bearhug, and used it to become national champion. The response he got from the crowd when Maiolfi went down was the most electrifying thing I have ever heard at a collegiate wrestling match.
—Bucky Maughan
Throughout that tournament, I had used a sin
gle-leg takedown as my go-to hold, so that’s what Maiolfi was expecting and guarding against. Once I made it to the finals, though, I decided to change up my game plan and try to surprise my opponent with something different. I had used the bearhug in a few of my matches back in high school, but Maiolfi hadn’t seen me use it before. It worked like a charm. Winning the 1971 NCAA Division II National Championship in front of my home fans in Fargo was a dream come true for me—as it represented the end of a very long, hard road. The fact that I had to come from the bottom to win it from an unseeded position was symbolic of that road—and made it just that much sweeter.
Meanwhile, Corki and I had been dating awhile and things were going well between us, so I asked her to come home with me to Princeton to meet my parents. I told her that we had a swimming pool, and that we could make a nice little vacation out of it. She thought she really had something in me, a collegiate NCAA wrestling champion from Princeton with a swimming pool at home! I didn’t understand her misperception until we got to St. Cloud, and there was a sign for Princeton, Minnesota, and she realized that we weren’t actually going to New Jersey.
Anyway, we got to my parents’ farm, and of course, she asked where the pool was, thinking that we had our own pool! I, of course, meant that there was an outdoor pool in town that we could hang out at—that Princeton had a nice public pool. I didn’t even comprehend that there were families wealthy enough to have their own private pools.
We had a really nice time, though!
By the time we were seniors, Corki and I knew that we were going to get married, but we both wanted to have some money in our pockets before we did. We also decided not to have a wedding because we wanted to save the money for something better later on in life. Some people want to have a big wedding. We thought it would be better to have a house to live in!