Paterno believed his last team had lacked heart and character. They hung in games until adversity arrived and then, typically in the fourth quarter, folded. Penn State had blown late leads to Nebraska, Northwestern, and Ohio State in 2003. They drew close to Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Purdue but extinguished themselves late in those losses.
Though he remained convinced physical conditioning was not a major reason why the 2003 Lions collapsed, he had his players lift more in the winter, run more in the spring.
“He wants to see who are the guys who are going to step up and make plays in the clutch, when you’re tired, fatigued, sweating, breathing hard, because that’s what it’s going to take to win those fourth quarters,” junior center E. Z. Smith said.
The needs of their legs, arms, and torsos addressed, he turned to where he felt the real problems existed—in their hearts and minds.
“I don’t think we’ve been tough enough mentally in the clutch,” Paterno said.
He had been disappointed with some of his now-departed players, particularly guys like Tony Johnson and offensive tackle Chris McKelvey who were constantly in his doghouse and didn’t seem to care. The locker room lacked leaders. There had been few wise elders for the underclassmen to turn to in tough times. As a result, bad easily made the leap to worse.
“We had a lack of leadership,” conceded kicker Robbie Gould. “Seniors didn’t want to take that role. This year, there’s guys that want to get it done and show the young guys how it’s supposed to be done.”
Penn State hadn’t elected permanent captains in five years, but now Paterno felt this youthful 2004 team would need them. The coach discussed his plans with the players. He told them two of his favorites, fifth-year seniors Mills and linebacker Derek Wake, would be ideal. Not surprisingly, the two strong, silent types were selected.
“We’ve run the gamut,” said wide receiver Gerald Smith, discussing the new captains’ personalities. “In the past, we’ve had guys who, just because they were seniors, acted like leaders, jumping around and yelling. But in the back of your mind you’re thinking, What have you done? You haven’t done anything.”
The team assembled before Paterno that morning in Holuba Hall was a remarkably young one. Of the ninety-seven names on its spring roster, only fourteen were seniors in their last year of eligibility. That reflected an off-season purge of sorts, one that was further evidence of this new Paterno.
Traditionally loyal to veterans, often criticized for sticking with seniors over apparently more gifted underclassmen, he had decided Penn State would go with youth in 2004. He urged several fifth-year seniors to leave the team and a few, including offensive lineman Nick Marmo and linebackers T. C. Cosby and Tim Johnson, did so. At least two other players, linebacker LaMar Stewart and center Dan Mazan, already had decided to transfer.
That meant more time to work with freshmen. Most freshmen had difficulties adjusting to college life. Many were away from home for the first time. There were the pressures of dorm life and schoolwork. And Paterno knew his ways took some getting used to.
“Kids coming out of high school just aren’t prepared for it,” said Robinson. “Coach will say something to reporters that’s meant for you. In meetings, you’ll think he’s talking about somebody else but he’s really talking about you. He’ll yell things at practice and you’re not sure how to take it.”
Three of the Penn State players on the field with Paterno that morning were freshmen whose high school classes hadn’t even graduated yet. Linebacker Dan Connor, offensive lineman Greg Harrison, and defensive lineman Elijah Robinson had accelerated through their senior years so they could enroll for the spring semester and participate in spring drills.
Connor, Pennsylvania’s outstanding scholastic defensive player the previous fall, had taken an extra load of core courses at Strath Haven High to finish early.
“One thing I don’t need to be doing is getting lazy, developing bad habits,” he explained to the Philadelphia Daily News. “I can avoid that by going up there and getting a jump on things. . . . It looked like they might need help [at linebacker]. If they needed me to play in September, I didn’t want to go through the whole freshman thing, getting acclimated and trying to fit in football. This way, I get that taken care of. I’ll know my way around, have classes already done, and it will be easier.”
Paterno was ambivalent about the trend. A sentimentalist by nature, he hated to see youngsters pass up things like senior proms and senior weeks at the Shore—even though most managed to squeeze in those activities anyway.
“It’s their last year in high school,” he said, “and it should be such a good time. . . . If I had my way, we would have freshmen ineligible. That is the way I would look at it. Let [the NCAA] come in and give us eight to ten more scholarships and have freshmen ineligible. I would prefer that.”
In his mind, Paterno was mildly optimistic. Penn State’s strength would be its sophomores and juniors, players who would be at their peaks in ‘05 and ‘06. They would be supplemented by a class of freshmen recruits that Sports Illustrated ranked twelfth best in the nation. And that was before Pittsburgh-area quarterback Anthony Morelli (rated the third-best high-schooler at that position in the U.S.) decided to rescind his verbal commitment to Pitt and come to Happy Valley.
Morelli’s February 5 decision illustrated some of the benefits and drawbacks to Penn State recruiting. Paterno remained a first-rate closer. His charm, his legend, his commitment to academics could sway almost any recruit’s parents. But his reputation for rigidity, and the uncertainty his age created, often worked against him.
Rival coaches for years had been persuading recruits that the Paterno era might end at any time. “All these years when everybody was telling kids [not to go] to Penn State because Paterno won’t be there, about seven hundred of those [coaches] are gone,” Paterno had said.
A six-four, 212-pounder, Morelli originally had been the Lions’ second choice. Paterno wanted Chad Henne, from Wilson High, in West Lawn, Pennsylvania, Kerry Collins’s alma mater. The feeling was mutual. But Henne, who ended up at Michigan, told those around him he had not been impressed with quarterbacks coach Jay Paterno, and the head coach wouldn’t promise him that he’d play as a freshman.
It brought to mind the situation with Tony Dorsett, who, as a phenomenal high school running back in western Pennsylvania in 1972, had expressed a desire to play at Penn State. Paterno told him he would have to sit and learn for a year behind John Cappelletti. Dorsett went to Pitt instead and on to a Hall of Fame career with the Dallas Cowboys.
“I never tell a kid he’ll start, no matter what,” Paterno said.
What also drew Henne to Michigan was the knowledge that nearly every Wolverines quarterback in the last two decades had made it into the NFL. “What’s Penn State done with its quarterbacks?” asked Henne’s coach at Wilson, Jim Cantafio, who also coached Collins.
Henne ended up starting for the Wolverines and helping them win a Big Ten championship and a Rose Bowl berth.
In the meantime, Morelli had verbally committed to Pitt, apparently convinced the Paterno era was ending. But on a January 24 visit to Happy Valley, when the coach persuaded him he’d be around at least another four years, Morelli got on board.
The indecision Morelli exhibited was typical. For the last few years, conversations among recruits about Penn State football had increasingly been dominated by concerns about the coach’s status. Just that morning, in fact, a bizarre rumor was wending its way through Internet chat rooms and radio talk shows. It claimed Rick Neuheisel, the former Colorado and Washington coach, would be hired as a graduate assistant and, eventually, become Paterno’s successor.
Paterno laughed it off. “I’d have to call him up and give him directions to State College,” he said of Neuheisel, a close acquaintance. The coach blamed the speculation on the Internet, even though this man who still didn’t use a cell phone or a computer admitted he knew nothing about the technology. (“What the hell do I k
now about downloading music?” Paterno once said when a player had been accused of that popular campus offense. “I can’t download a jar of peanut butter.”)
He enjoyed this time of year. With no travel, few media obligations, and the absence of in-season pressures, it was a time when he could focus on teaching. But concerns about the health of student athletes had led to recent limits on just how much teaching he could do. After NCAA medical personnel discovered that injury rates among football players were higher in the spring than during the season, guidelines were tightened. New NCAA rules restricted the number, length, and nature of the spring drills.
Schools were limited to fifteen days of practice, which could take place anytime within a twenty-nine-day period. On three of those days, contact was banned and the only protective equipment a player could wear was a helmet. Tackling was prohibited on four of the remaining twelve days, and on five others it was permitted no more than fifty percent of the time. The workouts could go no longer than four hours a day, including meeting time, and twenty hours a week.
That left just three days—including the April 24 Blue-White Game—when live scrimmages could take place.
“I’m comfortable with the new rules,” Paterno said. “But we can’t cut back any more. If we do, we might as well eliminate coaching altogether. The game will simply be about recruiting.”
At the news conference marking the start of spring workouts, Paterno had drawn snickers from the assembled reporters when he said one of his big worries in 2004 would be tackling. Penn State’s defense, though terribly inconsistent in 2003, particularly against the run, was deep in returning talent.
Junior cornerback Alan Zemaitis led the Big Ten with eighteen pass breakups and the team with four interceptions. Safety Mike Guman, one of just two senior defensive starters, and hero back Calvin Lowry were well above average. There were several young and talented linebackers, including sophomore Paul Posluszny, Tim Shaw, J. R. Zwierzynski, Connor, and converted fullback BranDon Snow. And the line had a host of returning veterans in Hali, Johnson, Chisley, Rice, Scott Paxson, and Jay Alford.
It was the offense, as Paterno and everyone else at the news conference knew, that needed serious help. The previous season, Penn State had ranked 103rd nationally in total offense out of 117 teams in Division I-A.
In 2003, Paterno had alternated Mills and Robinson at quarterback—getting little efficiency from either. Asked last November who would be his starter in 2004, he irritated both players when he said the job would be won in the spring.
Mills, who would be a fifth-year senior, felt the position should have been his. He had been sensational at times as a freshman, most memorably coming off the bench to lead the Lions to the stirring comeback victory over Ohio State that made Paterno college football’s winningest coach. But shoulder and knee injuries, offensive-line troubles, and a lack of capable wide receivers had diminished his production and made the native of Ijamsville, Maryland, a favorite target of frustrated fans.
“I just look at it as just another thing I have to deal with,” said Mills of his battle for playing time with Robinson. “It’s part of the job. It’s part of the responsibility.”
Robinson, a junior from Richmond, Virginia, was more athletic, explosive, and versatile, with the ability to play wideout, running back, or even safety. Paterno persisted in saying he “may be the best all-around football player in the country.” But he had serious flaws as a quarterback, not the least of which was his passing accuracy.
Robinson completed less than forty-five percent of his passes in ‘03 and had the same number of interceptions as TD passes (five). Mills was barely better, with six touchdowns and five interceptions.
“My passion to win would help me swallow my pride and play receiver or tailback,” Robinson said. “But the only thing that would totally satisfy me would be to be the quarterback.”
While neither appeared capable of single-handedly transforming the sputtering offense, they clearly were the most threatening weapons Penn State possessed.
“[Robinson] and Zack Mills are going to carry this football team,” Paterno predicted. “I hope we can keep those two kids healthy.”
So that spring he and his staff began to devise an attack designed to keep opponents off balance. Both QBs frequently would be used simultaneously. Each would get plenty of snaps. Each would line up as a slot receiver from time to time. Robinson might even run the ball from the tailback position.
“We are going to try to use him [Robinson] in a lot of different ways,” predicted Paterno. “He can throw the ball. He can run the ball. He can catch the ball. As a wideout he would be a great blocker. As a running back, he can break tackles.”
What continued to make Robinson appealing as a quarterback was Penn State’s offensive line. The unit, which figured to consist of Smith, Brown, Tyler Reed, Charles Rush, and Andrew Richardson, had been dreadful in ‘03. That helped explain the lack of production from the tailbacks.
While it was widely known as Linebacker U., Penn State also had an incredibly successful tradition at tailback: Cappelletti, Lenny Moore, Lydell Mitchell, Curt Warner, Blair Thomas, D. J. Dozier, Curtis Enis, Ki-Jana Carter, Larry Johnson. But in 2003 Robinson, with 107 rushes, had carried the ball more often than either of the top two returning tailbacks, sophomores Austin Scott and Tony Hunt.
As a senior at Allentown’s Parkland High School, Scott had set three spectacular single-season state records—3,853 rushing yards, fifty-three touchdowns, and 322 points. But his freshman year had been disappointing. Though fans continually clamored for the phenom to play, particularly when it became clear the ‘03 season was another lost cause, Paterno used him sparingly. Privately, the coach felt Scott hadn’t grasped the offense quickly enough and that he had deficiencies as a pass-catcher and blocker. Scott ran the ball one hundred times in ‘03 for 436 yards and five touchdowns.
Hunt, from Alexandria, Virginia, carried it just thirty-four times for 110 yards and one TD. Another 2003 freshman tailback, Rodney Kinlaw, tore up a knee in practice that September and was redshirted.
Paterno hoped Robinson’s versatility as a runner and passer would overcome some offensive shortcomings. But what he really wanted was for him to become Mills’s big-play wide receiver. That was the Nittany Lions’ most obvious weakness. The five leading pass-catchers from a year ago were gone, not that anyone but their opponents would miss them. Lions receivers had dropped twenty-four catchable balls in ‘03, missed blocks, and run the wrong routes often.
Tony Johnson, who had a team-high thirty-two catches, was gone. Maurice Humphrey (thirty), expected to be a gamebreaker, had been expelled from school following aggravated-assault charges. Speedster Ernie Terrell had left to run track full-time. Junior Kinta Palmer, a ballyhooed recruit from South Carolina, had been buried on the third team for some unexplained reason. And Josh Hannum would soon transfer to Division III Ursinus. That left senior Gerald Smith as the top returnee, and he had managed just fifteen catches the previous season. Neither Terrance Phillips nor Terrell Golden would worry too many defensive coordinators.
Paterno hoped that by employing the dangerous Robinson as a wideout from time to time, he could dissuade opposing defensive coordinators from stacking eight players in the box, and maybe earn some breathing room for Hunt and Scott.
“Last year, our wideouts were horrible,” Paterno said. “They were confused at times, they didn’t run routes the same way twice in a row. The quarterbacks got a lot of [criticism], but most of the time, it was not their fault.”
Winning seasons and bowl appearances had been the norm for decades in State College. This prolonged slump had arrived as unexpectedly and mysteriously as the Black Death struck medieval Europe. In the disbelief and panic that ensued, scapegoats were easy to find.
A few believed Paterno’s downfall was predestined the moment the Nittany Lions abandoned the East for the Big Ten. Ostensibly the move into the storied midwestern conference populated mostly by large state instituti
ons looked like a perfect fit. Penn State, despite its location, had always been more midwestern than northeastern in its culture and outlook. But the move greatly increased the football schedule’s degree of difficulty on a week-to-week basis. And, maybe more significantly, it invited schools like Michigan and Ohio State into places where Paterno had enjoyed nearly exclusive recruiting rights. Penn State games against Big Ten opponents were broadcast throughout the region and high school stars from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Maryland had begun signing more frequently at Iowa, Ohio State, and especially Michigan.
More spiritually inclined Penn State supporters, however, were convinced the decline began just after the university decided to add a new level onto Beaver Stadium’s south grandstands. Those new seats, they believed, angered the football gods by forever obscuring the fans’ view of Mount Nittany, the sacred symbol of Penn State.
Others pointed to the Minnesota game on November 6, 1999. On that Homecoming Saturday, LaVar Arrington–led Penn State was 9–0 and No. 2 in the national polls. Trailing, 23–21, with 1:22 left, and facing a fourth-and-16 situation at the Lions’ 40, Minnesota quarterback Billy Cockerham heaved a Hail Mary pass downfield. The ball bounced off a Gopher’s wide receiver and a Penn State defensive back but was caught by a diving Arland Bruce, a senior who had fourteen previous career receptions. As time expired, Minnesota kicker Dan Nystrom made a game-winning 32-yard field goal. Its national-championship hopes dashed, Penn State lost its remaining three games that season and twenty-six of its next forty-eight through 2003.
The Lion in Autumn Page 3