When the Game Stands Tall, Special Movie Edition

by Neil Hayes

  ★ ★ ★

  They take their football seriously in Hawaii, and nowhere is it taken more seriously than on the hilltop campus of St. Louis High School.

  It has become increasingly obvious that school officials will spare no expense to gain an advantage against an opponent they’ve been itching to play. They’ve ordered new uniforms for the De La Salle game. An assistant athletic director traveled to the Bay Area to film De La Salle’s pre-season scrimmage against James Logan. Former Crusaders coach Cal Lee came to Concord personally to scout De La Salle’s season opener against Archbishop Mitty.

  A quiet confidence has spread throughout the St. Louis community. The Spartans don’t look unbeatable at all. Instead, they appear ripe for an upset.

  First-year coach Delbert Tengan relied on basic vanilla game plans and played his best players sparingly in the first two games—both blowout victories.

  Adding to the intrigue is the cameraman spotted filming De La Salle’s practice at the University of Hawaii from atop a circular dormitory overlooking the field. Security guards shoo the intruder away, and HHSAA officials promise to investigate.

  “Delbert claims [the cameraman] had no affiliation with the school,” said Blane Gaison, a former NFL player who is serving as De La Salle’s liaison during the trip. “We’ve heard that before. It has happened, especially before crucial games, in the past. They won’t do it all the time, but if a big game is coming up they’ll send someone around.”

  Tengan denies any wrongdoing: “We don’t do that over here. There are certain ethics in football. We’ll film scrimmages and pre-season games but not practices. I don’t know who that was up there. It could’ve been a Long Beach Poly alumnus.”

  Ladouceur has been on edge all week, as he is during most big-game weeks. The Spartans are representing Northern California football, and Ladouceur takes that responsibility seriously.

  “Word trickled in from Hawaii about how they could beat us and how we’ve ducked them and they’ve done well against California teams,” Ladouceur later said of the tenor going into the trip. “I’m thinking, ‘Man, I’d hate to go over there and not win that game.’ The Hawaiian people were wonderful, and all the peripheral people were wonderful and supportive, but I never felt that from their [former] coach, Cal Lee, or their players. It was more like, ‘You guys are afraid of us. You guys won’t play us.’ I don’t like that.”

  He remembers coming to Honolulu as a college player with a San Jose State team that needed a win to secure a bowl bid and perhaps even a national ranking. That team treated the trip as a vacation and was upset by an inferior University of Hawaii team. The memory of that painful defeat has made Ladouceur uneasy since the moment the St. Louis game was first announced.

  Leisure activities have been scheduled. The highlight of the trip comes when Eidson is summoned to the stage to dance with smiling Polynesians during a beachfront luau. The players laugh and point and chant Eidson’s nickname “Cobra! Cobra! Cobra!” as the defensive coordinator wiggles his hips and waves his hands. Much to his embarrassment, footage shot by a local television crew is later broadcast on the local news in the Bay Area.

  They are taken on a tour of the USS Missouri with Long Beach Poly players, and you can sense the testosterone in the air. Poly players look at the much smaller Spartan players with expressions that say: We got beat by these guys last year?

  Several coaches and players talk with an elderly woman visiting Pearl Harbor for the first time. She tells them she had been engaged to a sailor on the doomed USS Arizona when the Japanese attacked in 1941. She received a letter from her fiancé on December 9. He expressed his love for her and promised to send a grass skirt as a souvenir. By the time she read the letter he had been dead for two days.

  Eidson asks if any of the players are interested in visiting a Shiners hospital he saw on the way from the hotel to the practice field. Every player raises his hand to volunteer. Eidson arranges the visit.

  For the most part, however, this is a business trip. There is much to accomplish in a short time. Another week of uninspired practice will result in certain defeat. The players need to focus despite the distractions. They respond with what Ladouceur would later call one of the most intense weeks of practice in De La Salle history.

  Wherever De La Salle players went that week, they were met with puzzled expressions and double-takes, which only added to their anxiety. Locals had heard so much about high school football’s most dominant team, but the players they see don’t look the part. This is mighty De La Salle? One man who sees players passing through the hotel lobby wonders aloud if they are members of the junior varsity team.

  The Spartans are by far the smallest team participating in the doubleheader.

  “They look more like a cross-country team,” notes Gaison, the Spartans’ liaison. “They don’t have the athletes that Long Beach Poly has, but they have a little magic from somewhere.”

  The St. Louis Crusaders’ size advantage is weighing heavily on the minds of the De La Salle players as they address their teammates the night before the game. The St. Louis offensive line averages 280 pounds compared to 231 for De La Salle. The Crusaders’ defensive line averages 264 pounds compared to 218 for the Spartans.

  “I know I’ll be going up against guys who are bigger and stronger than me,” one offensive lineman begins.

  “Whoa,” Ladouceur interrupts. “Do you really think they’re stronger?”

  Senior lineman John Chan admits that he didn’t play like a captain against Mitty but promises to change that against St. Louis.

  There is no one on the team more respected than junior Cameron Colvin. He has been through an excruciatingly difficult family life and lost so much, but he remains appreciative of what he has. All eyes are upon him when he stands up and promises to make a name for himself the following night. “It’s my coming-out party,” he says.

  “I’ll go until I’m dead on the field and they have to carry me off on a stretcher,” senior lineman Erik Sandie declares. “I will not give up. I will not let you down.”

  “Spent,” Ladouceur says, breaking the tension. “The word is ‘spent.’ It’s still just a game.”

  “There was no reason for me to scream like that on Thursday,” Drew says, embarrassed. “Don’t worry about my ankle. I’m going to come back and play like I did last Friday. I’m going to play better. I’m going to give it everything I’ve got.”

  “When I got here I had a message from my dad, who said this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to play in a game like this,” says soft-spoken linebacker Parker Hanks, choking back emotion. “Here we are in paradise playing football and we’re all together. In twenty years we’re going to have vivid memories of this game. We’re going to remember the roar of the crowd and the expressions on our faces. I’ve gotten to know you guys even better this week, and it makes me want to play even harder. I’m going to make mistakes but I promise you I won’t come off that field and I will not quit.”

  “Parker brings up a good point,” Ladouceur interjects. “You’re going to make mistakes, but that just means you have to put together more good plays. That’s why this is such a great team sport. I’m going to do my best to call the best game for you. But I’m going to call some plays that won’t be good plays. We make mistakes, too, but we count on you guys to pick us up. But I guarantee you one thing: You’ll do more right than wrong, and we as coaches will put you in situations to be successful.”

  Several other players mention St. Louis’s size advantage. Finally, Eidson can’t contain himself any longer. There is trepidation, even doubt, in their voices. This is a fragile team, and the players are psyching themselves out.

  “We’re not playing the Miami Hurricanes tomorrow. They’re big. They’re strong. Shit! Have you watched film? I’ve seen midgets block those guys. I’ve seen little guys run in and sack the quarterback.… You’re acting like you’re the little sisters of the poor. Get your keys, unlock your brain, crawl out of your head, p
ut your pads on, and go hit someone. Quit thinking so much.… Get out of your heads and play!”

  Eidson is getting more excited by the moment. The raspy voice is so strained, the gesticulations so wild that at times he almost appears to levitate.

  “These guys are good, but you are too. You will make mistakes. It’s what you do after you make a mistake that’s important. If you make a mistake you have to make someone pay. That’s football. That’s the best part of this game. If you make a mistake you’ve got a thousand chances to make it up, to hit, to strike. It’s a simple game. It really is. These guys have some weight on them but give me a break.…

  “I can’t stand these guys. I couldn’t stand them for the past eight years when I heard them say [in a mocking voice], ‘We keep trying to get a game with De La Salle but they keep avoiding us.’ That’s a bunch of horseshit.… I get one call from St. Louis, they never call me back, and they tell everybody we don’t want to play them.

  “Well, we’re here to play them now, and I’ll tell you what: if you think you’re psyched up, you’re not as psyched up as me. I’ll tell you that right now. I’ve been waiting eight years to drill these guys. And now you’ve got the chance. The chance everybody else wanted for you. It’s like Coach said, ‘What an opportunity.’…This is a game of a lifetime for you guys. All the grads say, ‘Why couldn’t you get this for us?’ I say, ‘You got Mater Dei, you got Poly. They get St. Louis.’ It’s your turn. Make something of it, for God’s sake.”

  Blasquez passes out cups of water to emphasize the need for players to drink as much as possible to avoid cramps in the tropical climate. Hotel employees finish cleaning up the conference room, which doubles as the dining hall. The meeting is about to break up when Ladouceur stands up for the last time.

  It’s like I said earlier. You wanted to play St. Louis, you’ve got St. Louis and all the responsibility that goes with playing a team like that, and that means you’re not on the street. Get off your feet. From now until game time you’re at complete rest. I don’t want to see anyone on the streets tonight. Go to the room. There’s no bed check. You’re on your own. There’s nothing to see out there anyway. We’ve all seen the streetwalkers out there and I see you looking at them. That’s not a nice way of life. Being men, we like to look at them and check out their costumes and stuff, and when it’s all said and done, we like to think those women like that stuff. They don’t. They have a miserable life and you know it. They’re not out there banging guys because they like it. They come from miserable backgrounds—every single one of them. They’re either hooked on drugs, been molested as kids, been raped by a stepfather; whatever it is, their backgrounds are misery, and every man who pays for them contributes to it. So, it’s really sad, a sad scene. You’re not missing anything.

  ★ ★ ★

  Bob Ladouceur and Frank Allocco run alongside Waikiki Beach, the ground flying beneath their feet, the wind rushing past, reveling in the unspoken bond shared by kindred spirits. Ladouceur and De La Salle’s basketball coach have a bond that in some ways runs deeper than that of Ladouceur and any of his assistants.

  They have a bond that in some ways runs deeper than those between Ladouceur and any of his other assistants. They share Catholic backgrounds, the same core values, and similar coaching philosophies. They are both in good shape. Ladouceur fiercely protects the time he spends on the stationary bike every day. Allocco is a former Notre Dame quarterback who can still beat most of his players in a game of one-on-one.

  Now they run hard along the beach, leaving the other assistants behind. They stride through the park and push themselves before stopping and sucking the tropical air into their thirsty lungs. Drops of sweat fall onto the sidewalk.

  “Do you ever get tired of it?” Ladouceur asks when he has regained his breath.

  “Yes, sometimes I do,” Allocco says.

  Kickoff is only a few hours away, but Ladouceur isn’t thinking about what he might call on third-and-7 or how Maurice Drew’s ankle will hold up on the artificial surface. He has been thinking about this all week, ever since several assistants cornered him in the upstairs office a few days after the Mitty game.

  They told him he needed to be tougher with this team. He had remained patient, but this group wasn’t responding. They needed what former players referred to as the Old Lad. The problem is, the New Lad doesn’t like the Old Lad. He doesn’t like to yell at kids or shame them into performing. He hasn’t had to do that in recent years because his teams have had such strong senior leaders. But this team doesn’t just need to be coached—it needs to be led, and he is the only one who can do it.

  “Do you ever feel conflicted?”

  “What do you mean?” Allocco answers, trying to draw him out.

  “I’m very conflicted,” Ladouceur confides. “People don’t understand how conflicted I feel when I’m trying to get kids to be aggressive that maybe aren’t aggressive by nature. It’s hard for me because I know I’m pushing them to do something that in their hearts they really don’t want to do, and I wonder sometimes if by pushing them like that we’re damaging them. If they’re passive boys, why not let them be passive boys? I know what we have to do to win games against nationally ranked teams, but should we be trying to change their personalities? In some ways it’s positive and in some ways negative. That’s what I deal with every day. I haven’t made peace with how far to push them and when it becomes a negative.”

  Allocco’s teams have been nearly as successful as Ladouceur’s since he arrived at the school in 1997. He shares a conversation he had with a player during a summer league game.

  “I called him over and said, ‘I’m worried about your future,’ ” Allocco tells Ladouceur. “ ‘I see a boy who is a great student, who could be valedictorian of his class. I see a boy who could be a successful musician.’ I mentioned all the things he was good at but told him he wasn’t great at anything because he wasn’t passionate about anything. I told him, ‘I’m concerned that you won’t tap your potential as a man because you’re so good at everything that you cruise. You coast. Until I see you create a passion in your life, I don’t see you making it.’

  “The kid got real upset and teared up. I really felt bad about it. But on the other hand, I think it needed to be said. It was what the kid needed to hear, but I still felt bad saying it and wondered if I should’ve said it afterward. Coaching is like that. It’s like being a parent. You don’t always know if you’re doing the right thing. Only time will tell. But in your heart you do what you think is right and you move forward and hopefully the best occurs. In most cases, it does.”

  7

  1978 A CONTROVERSIAL HIRE

  Bob Ladouceur graduated from San Jose State University in 1976 with a degree in criminal justice. He wanted to help troubled kids, maybe become a probation officer. He spent eighteen months counseling mostly delinquent kids at juvenile hall, but he spent more time managing files than teens. He kept seeing the same faces recycled through the system.

  He watched them make glitter posters when he knew they needed to be force-fed reading, writing, and arithmetic. There wasn’t enough time to give these kids the help they needed. When the courts decided their fate, they were shuffled through the system, seemingly destined to return. It was easy to become disillusioned.

  “It was like putting Band-Aids on amputations,” he recalls.

  He had recently married his high school sweetheart and considered becoming a policeman or fire fighter. He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life, but he knew it wasn’t this.

  “He came home and his attitude became more and more cynical about kids,” his wife Beverly said. “I would stick up for the kids. I would say, ‘Kids aren’t bad, Bob. The ones you work with have a lot of baggage, but they’re not all like that.’ Bob is not an optimist anyway. He had a pretty sour attitude.”

  He was working night shifts at juvenile hall. He decided to fill the days while his wife taught by taking classes that interested him. Theology
interested him. After four semesters at St. Mary’s College, he was close to fulfilling the requirements for a religious studies degree. He would later return to St. Mary’s to get a master’s degree in Physical Education and Administration.

  “I was searching for something—a peace in my life, validation, something to ease my uneasiness,” Ladouceur remembers.

  His shift at juvenile hall ended early on Fridays. An old friend was coaching the junior varsity football team at Monte Vista High School in Danville in 1977. He asked Ladouceur if he would be his eyes in the sky on game days.

  Ladouceur had worked with Rob Stockberger in the local parks and recreation department. Rob was closer in age to Bob’s older brother Tom, and he had spent plenty of time at the Ladouceur house. They were very much alike and had roomed together at San Jose State.

  When he sat in the press box and looked at the game unfolding below, everything made sense.

  “We had an uncanny ability to anticipate what each other was thinking,” Ladouceur said. “I’d say, ‘Rob, do you have a screen pass?’ and he would have already sent it in. It was exciting to think that he was out coaching the game and doing very well and I thought, ‘Hey, I could do this.’ I could call the damn game.”

  When Ladouceur walked into the locker room at halftime he immediately noticed how players responded to Stockberger. If Ladouceur had dropped dead on the floor, the kids at juvenile hall would’ve stepped over him on the way to the snack machine. These kids were attentive. They wanted guidance, were practically begging for it. The look in their eyes said: help us through this, Coach. It was a look Bob had been searching for but had never seen.