When the Game Stands Tall, Special Movie Edition

by Neil Hayes

  Anybody can get up for St. Louis. That’s not the test of a true Spartan. Come back the next week and the week after that. This is a bigger game. We expected you to be ready for St. Louis. If you have any balls you’ll be ready for St. Francis.”

  Alumbaugh is more like Ladouceur than anyone else on the staff. He is one of the most decorated athletes in De La Salle history but is unassuming, has the gift of perspective more often found in people twice his age, and has Ladouceur’s ponderous gait. Most coaches would not want to succeed a legend. Alumbaugh’s only fear is that he won’t have the same impact on his players that Ladouceur has.

  He coaches linebackers and offensive linemen and therefore is the only coach aware of the intricacies of both the offensive and defensive game plans. Ladouceur and Eidson have worked together for so long and trust each other so completely that they are often unaware of the specific strategies the other has chosen to employ during a given week.

  Alumbaugh’s sandy blond hair is parted down the middle and he has a long face, a lantern jaw, and an easy smile. He was a two-way star and a three-year starter who was so perceptive that he would often call out an opponent’s play before the snap based on the formation. In ten minutes he could memorize a scouting report Ladouceur took ten hours to meticulously compile. By his senior year, there were times when he was doing as much coaching as playing.

  “He’s got a good heart, good sense of humor that you’ve got to have,” Ladouceur says. “He doesn’t take himself too seriously, which is good, yet he does, which is good. But the most important thing is he’s got a feel for the game and he knows how to solve problems out on the field. He sees how it all fits together. His potential to know a lot about the game is unlimited. He could be a NFL head coach. He’s that smart.”

  Alumbaugh was an all-state linebacker his senior year and had invitations to walk on at several Pac-10 schools, as well as scholarship offers from smaller Division-I programs. Like many De La Salle players, however, he felt dehumanized by the recruiting process and ended his college career before it began.

  He remembers one incident in particular. He was practicing with the baseball team when Aliotti summoned him to meet with a UCLA recruiter. Alumbaugh had his heart set on going to UCLA, where his father had played guard in the 1970s. He didn’t care if he played football or not.

  The recruiter didn’t bother to introduce himself when Alumbaugh extended his hand. Instead, he turned to Aliotti and said: “He’s not six-foot-one.”

  Nice to meet you, too, Alumbaugh thought.

  Ladouceur called later that summer. The fall semester at UCLA didn’t begin until October. Would he be interested in coaching until then? Alumbaugh had worked at Ladouceur’s Championship Football camps but had never seriously considered a future in coaching. He would spend the next four years coaching at De La Salle before leaving for college. He was more surprised than anyone to learn that he was number one on Ladouceur’s list of eventual successors.

  He will be leaving again this year, even though he has already earned a degree in history from UCLA. He plans to tour Europe with his brother, but has promised not to depart until after the Long Beach Poly game.

  “When he leaves our team really misses him,” Ladouceur said. “The last two years he was in tears and his guys were in tears when they said goodbye to each other. That’s something special that you don’t see a lot. He gives nonstop vigilant feedback on every play, whether players are doing the right job or the wrong job. Those kids appreciate that and miss it when he’s gone.”

  The Spartans take a 14–0 lead over St. Francis on their first possession of the second half. A 57-yard scamper by Bates sets up Ottoboni’s 5-yard touchdown run, but the offense resumes struggling after that. The Lancers’ wishbone attack limits De La Salle to three possessions in the second half. A 47-yard touchdown pass to Terrance Kelly is called back because of a holding penalty. De La Salle tries to lure St. Francis offside later in the drive when Hanks jumps from his tight end position, forcing another Tony Binswanger punt.

  Fortunately the defense, Chris Mulvanny in particular, is carrying the day. Mulvanny is wreaking havoc all over the field. He reads a screen pass perfectly and makes a tackle for a 2-yard loss. He sacks the quarterback to end a drive and makes three straight tackles on the Lancers’ next possession.

  Mulvanny had met with defensive line coach Geldermann on Wednesday. He was distraught over his performance in Hawaii and felt that problems at home were carrying over onto the field. His parents are divorced and his mom suffers from a medical condition that causes swelling in the lower legs, making it difficult to walk. Her son was trying to ease her load by running errands and helping out around the house. Coming off the Honolulu trip, it had taken a toll.

  “I bring my emotions to practice,” he explains. “If I have an episode at home I dwell on it. I’m constantly thinking of ways to help my family.”

  Mulvanny has piercing blue eyes and a boxer’s pug nose. He is one of the few players on the team who didn’t enter the school as an incoming freshman. He attended Deer Valley High School in Antioch through the tenth grade and was carrying a 3.8 grade-point average. He had been called up to varsity midway through his sophomore year. But Chris Mulvanny felt unsatisfied, as if he were stuck in a routine. He wanted to do more.

  He had always been infatuated with De La Salle and even once served as a ball boy. He made the inquiries himself. He filled out all the applications, asking his mother only for her signature, and was surprised to learn he had been accepted for his junior year. His mom sold their house in Antioch to pay for his tuition and moved with his brother and sister into a townhouse closer to campus.

  “I wanted to go to De La Salle since the fifth grade,” he said. “From what I saw and heard, De La Salle students were highly thought of, because it takes a lot to go to that school and succeed. That’s where I wanted to be.”

  His new teammates had already spent two years studying and working out together. He didn’t fit in. He spent his junior season on the scout team trying to figure out what it all meant. The alcohol policy, for example. Who enforced it? When he asked Ladouceur this question, the coach pointed his finger right back at him. That’s what he didn’t get. How could they be expected to police themselves?

  On the field he relied on his instincts. It was a simple game. Tackle the person with the ball. The team concept at De La Salle was much more complicated; in fact, everything at De La Salle was complicated. It wasn’t until the summer before his senior year that he realized he had to look inward to succeed.

  “When I came in as a junior I was a cocky kid and very cavalier,” Mulvanny recalls. “I had to learn true humility. I had to have more respect for other people.”

  Nobody knew what to do with Mulvanny when fall practices began. De La Salle rarely accepts transfer students unless they are coming from another Christian Brothers school, and they rarely make an impact on Ladouceur’s teams.

  They didn’t need Mulvanny at linebacker or safety. Geldermann thought his quickness might make him an effective pass rusher as an undersized defensive end. The other coaches were content to let Geldermann deal with Mulvanny.

  Geldermann rode him harder than anybody during fall practices. Mulvanny was maddening to coach. You could tell him he was responsible for outside containment, drill it in his head, and he would take off after the quarterback like a retriever chasing a tennis ball.

  Mulvanny had high expectations for himself but felt inadequate during his first two games. He threw himself into preparation leading up to the St. Francis game, studying film and memorizing his scouting report. So many emotions were festering. He wanted to show his teammates what he could do, which was why he stood up in Thursday night’s team meeting and said what he said.

  “I’m ready for this game tomorrow,” he told his teammates. “I’ve been mentally preparing and physically preparing and I just want to unload on someone. I want to be one of the people who makes something happen.”

 
It’s moments like this that make the Spartans program so special, at least in Blasquez’s opinion. He admires the way players stand up and call themselves out in front of their teammates. It takes guts. When several players are willing to do it, he knows the team is on the verge of something special.

  Colvin and Drew called themselves out before the Hawaii game and delivered. Now Mulvanny was doing the same, but as Blasquez looked around the garage twenty-four hours before the St. Francis game, he wondered about everyone else. What was it about this team that made players so tentative?

  Ladouceur had been asking himself the same question. It takes courage to stand up in front of your teammates and reveal what lies deep in your heart. But that’s the kind of courage it takes to play for this team, which is what Ladouceur had said the night before. He had seen players call themselves out hundreds of times through the years, and what impressed him most was they almost always followed through. This team wasn’t like that. This team played it safe.

  Mulvanny is the exception, just as Drew and Colvin had been exceptions. Now, Mulvanny, too, is following through. De La Salle, held without a sack in its first two games, begins piling them up in the second half as St. Francis throws the ball to get back in the game. He adds a second and a third sack. He finishes the game with two tackles for a loss, thirteen total tackles, and a fumble recovery.

  The no-longer-suspect defense registers its second shutout in three weeks, but an offense that has averaged forty points per game during The Streak musters only fourteen points for the second time in three weeks. There are four fumbles. Even Colvin, who has played so well the past two weeks, muffs a punt. There have been near interceptions, busted plays, and uncharacteristic penalties.

  Fans crowd around the gate that leads to the locker rooms and slap De La Salle players encouragingly on the shoulder pads after their 14–0 win. “Keep that streak alive!” one man says. “Man, I’m bigger than these guys,” says another. “Boy, you guys are really scary,” a sarcastic voice calls out.

  They have allowed the momentum they generated with the victory over St. Louis to stagnate. They came together in Hawaii only to come home and fall apart. Without Drew, this team was as vulnerable as it had been against Mitty.

  The worst part is, the showdown with Long Beach Poly is two weeks away.

  “The Streak is over in two weeks anyway,” Eidson said quietly before boarding the bus. “There’s no way we’re going to beat Poly.”

  11

  1980 THE SPIRIT OF BROTHER LAURENCE

  Brother Laurence Allen was the school’s most popular teacher. He embraced the new football coach and religion teacher from the start, even convincing skeptical faculty members and students that the inexperienced Ladouceur would fit in. Unlike some other administrators, he believed in the importance of a football program as long as it embraced the philosophy of the school. He quickly became Ladouceur’s friend and ally, but the new coach’s first year at the De La Salle campus would be Brother Laurence’s last. The dynamic young Brother planned a sabbatical and would next pursue a Master’s degree in substance-abuse counseling at the University of Arizona. He would be sorely missed by teachers and students alike.

  “I patterned myself after him on just about everything,” Ladouceur said. “I knew I could always go to him no matter what was going on, whether it was in the classroom, on the field, or in my personal life, and he would help me.”

  Brother Laurence had never felt closer to a group of seniors. He didn’t want to leave until he and his students had one last adventure. He was an experienced whitewater rafter who had saved enough from his stipend to buy his own raft. He was the one who suggested going to the river. There had been a deep snow pack in the Sierras that winter. Conditions would be ideal. It would be the perfect way to end the school year.

  Brother Laurence led a caravan that included nineteen seniors, including numerous football players, and one junior, early one morning, his pickup piled high with inner tubes.

  The Mokelumne River snakes through the Sierra Nevada foothills three miles south of the former Gold Rush boomtown of Jackson. It’s surrounded by rugged country dotted with granite rock formations, old-growth forests, and some of the best whitewater in the central Sierras.

  Brother Laurence was as excited as his students when they crossed a bridge and first saw the rushing water.

  “It didn’t look like a raging torrent from the bank,” Mark Mullen said. “You couldn’t tell how rough it was until you got in.”

  Runoff made the water even colder than they had expected but it didn’t dampen their enthusiasm. The sun was warm as the first group waded into the clear blue water at midmorning.

  Some wore wetsuits, others life jackets. Brother Laurence had neither. He warned them to get out of the river before they reached the bridge or risk the more perilous whitewater below.

  Brother Laurence and Jack Henderson were the last ones in the water. They had developed a lasting bond during the previous four years. Laurence told friends that he had never felt closer to a student. Henderson decided to join the order of Brothers largely because of Brother Laurence’s influence.

  They talked all the way down the river, passing other groups of tubers until they were in the lead. The water was ice-cold and running fast. Everyone was relieved when they rounded a bend in the river and saw the bridge.

  Between Brother Laurence and Henderson and the end of the run stood a standing wave they couldn’t avoid. They braced themselves but couldn’t keep from flipping over. Henderson surfaced in the middle of the river and immediately saw Brother Laurence’s head bobbing downriver. He watched as Brother Laurence flipped his brown hair out of his eyes, sparkling droplets forming a high, arching rooster tail above the water.

  Their tubes floated between them. Henderson swam hard for the nearest one. He was kicking his way toward shore when the current pinned his leg in a tangle of submerged tree branches.

  Mark Mullen played running back and outside linebacker for Ladouceur in 1979. He had seen Henderson and Laurence flip and hoped to avoid a similar fate. He was freezing. He clutched his tube with both arms when he hit the same wave, but he couldn’t keep from capsizing.

  “The water was so cold it was hard to breathe,” he said. “If I hadn’t gotten my arm over my inner tube I would’ve been in trouble.”

  As he was struggling toward the shore, looking for a place to pull himself out of the current, he saw Henderson.

  “The force of the water was crushing him against a tree,” Mullen said. “He was stuck. We looked at each other. He was terrified. He had a look of absolute terror on his face.”

  Henderson couldn’t free his foot no matter how hard he tried. His weight coupled with the current slowly dragged him under until he was eight inches below the surface and resigned to his fate. He looked up and saw the sunlight dancing on the surface and sparkling silt rushing over him.

  “I’m thinking I’ve had a good life and all that stuff,” Henderson said. “I just stayed there, looking at the beauty of the water and everything rushing over me. Then it was like, ‘Fuck this.’ ”

  He began kicking, desperately struggling, finally jerking his foot free, ripping a large piece of skin off the back of his heel.

  John McKenna was swept under the bridge Brother Laurence had warned them about. He negotiated the first series of rapids before being pitched from his tube. He clung to a partially submerged rock but didn’t know how much longer he could hold on. Students formed a human chain and rescued him.

  “I felt very fortunate to get out of that river,” McKenna said. “I didn’t know which way to go underwater. It was all bubbles and murkiness. It was pretty terrifying. I felt I caught a break.”

  Mullen scrambled up the bank to help Henderson. His classmates had already formed a human chain and were fishing him from the water.

  “After I could talk I said, ‘Where’s Brother Laurence?’ ” Henderson recalls. “Nobody had thought about Brother Laurence until I said that.”
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  The thought occurred to them at once: Brother Laurence must have gone under the bridge. They immediately began searching the banks. A few desperate minutes later they realized they had to get organized, and they quickly split up into two groups and began a thorough search of both riverbanks. Laurence was young and a strong swimmer. Maybe he was just hiding somewhere, ready to jump out and scare them. It was something he might do. Or he could’ve hit his head on a rock and be lying unconscious somewhere.

  Nobody wanted to consider any other alternative.

  His injured heel kept Jack Henderson from joining his classmates. Instead he drove a few miles below the first bridge until he came to a second bridge where two men were fishing. The fishermen said they hadn’t seen anything in the water. The river was wide and calm. Anything floating past would’ve been easily spotted. Henderson then drove into Jackson to find help.

  McKenna was searching the banks when he found what he thought was a body trapped under a rock shelf in shallow water. The students, hearts pounding, formed another human chain. McKenna stood in the thigh-deep water trying to dredge the object from beneath the ledge using a long branch. Someone screamed as a bleached log floated innocently to the surface.

  “I distinctly remember having some pretty awful nightmares,” Mullen says.

  Other students broke into a cabin overlooking the river to call for help. Still others found footprints leading up the riverbank. Perhaps Laurence was dazed and wandering.

  Rescue teams arrived to comb the river. A search plane buzzed overhead. There was no sign of Brother Laurence.

  “As the evening wore on and the light began to fade, we resigned ourselves to not finding him that day,” McKenna said.

  Monday was a school holiday. By Tuesday wild rumors circulated around campus. Perhaps Brother Laurence had amnesia and had been picked up along the road. Maybe he crawled into the brush and passed out. “We were thinking a lot of weird things at that point,” Henderson recollects. “Jesus rose on the third day, too.”