Three and Out

by John U. Bacon

  Hoke’s good fortune continued the next week, when Michigan hosted Notre Dame. The first night game in the history of the Big House attracted 114,804 people, another NCAA record.

  Michigan started the fourth quarter down 24–7, with the ball on Notre Dame’s 1-yard line—and fumbled. If the ball had bounced toward the Irish, the fans would have headed for the aisles, and Michigan’s first night game would be declared a failure. But on this night, the luck of the Irish had switched to the Wolverines. The ball bounced right to quarterback Denard Robinson, who trotted into the end zone for an easy touchdown.

  What happened next is hard to believe, even now. Michigan’s coaches switched to the shotgun snap, then watched the Wolverines score two more unanswered touchdowns to take the lead, 28–24, with just 1:12 left. But Notre Dame responded with its first touchdown of the quarter, leaving Michigan with just 30 seconds to overcome a 31–28 deficit.

  When you lose, no matter how heroically you played, people talk about what you did wrong. The critics would have asked what happened to the high-powered offense the team inherited, and why the defense wasn’t any better than the historic mess from the year before. But when you win, all people talk about is what you did right. And Michigan did a lot right in that fourth quarter.

  With eight seconds left, the normally unassuming Roy Roundtree—who hadn’t caught a pass all night—told Robinson, “Give me the ball.” And that’s what Robinson did, sending the ball soaring to the edge of the end zone. The defender was all over Roundtree—but the ball was his.

  Thanks to a full day of partying, the new skybox acoustics, and the almost surreal feeling that night, no crowd, anywhere, could have been louder. And the fans didn’t stop. Not when the players jumped into the student section to sing “The Victors.” Not when Denard actually skipped off the field. Not when he returned for a postgame interview. Not even when they turned out the lights. The fans just moved their celebrations elsewhere.

  This team had a lot of work to do. But who cared when the fans just witnessed the greatest fourth quarter in Big House history?

  The Wolverines rolled through their next four games, with the defense improving every week, before heading up to East Lansing to avenge three straight losses to the Spartans. Michigan’s coaches, however, could not seem to decide what to do with the most exciting player in the Big Ten: put Robinson in the shotgun, under center, at tailback, at slot receiver, or on the sidelines, while Devin Gardner tried his luck? They tried all of them, succeeding only in rattling Robinson’s confidence. Michigan went down, 28–14.

  Yes, criticism followed. But then, a funny thing happened: not much. No one was calling Hoke stupid or a misfit or asking for his head. It was a loss, no more, and the overwhelming consensus was that Michigan was going in the right direction. The era of endless do-or-die games was over.

  Three weeks later, the 20th-ranked Wolverines ruined Nebraska’s first visit to the Big House with a 45–17 whitewashing, then faced an Ohio State team reeling from just about every problem it could have: an NCAA investigation, Jim Tressel’s departure, quarterback Terrelle Pryor’s early exit for the NFL, and a 6–5 record, the Buckeyes’ worst this century.

  This Buckeye team was led by a freshman quarterback, Braxton Miller, and an interim coach named Luke Fickell. Just days before the game, reports surfaced that Urban Meyer would be named the permanent head coach after the game.

  All this only put more pressure on the Wolverines. If they couldn’t beat the Buckeyes at their worst, when would they? But win this game, and the Wolverines would have ten wins for the first time in five years, and the monkey—scratch that, the full-grown gorilla—would finally be off their backs.

  The Wolverines were hanging on to a 37–34 lead late in the game, when Brendan Gibbons kicked a long field goal, something they rarely attempted—let alone converted—the year before.

  The Buckeyes still had enough time to score a touchdown—and if they did, the upset would be theirs. When Ohio State wide receiver DeVier Posey slipped past Michigan’s defender, making himself wide open with nothing between him and the end zone, a hundred thousand Michigan fans held their breath. But the freshman quarterback panicked, threw it too far, and the Wolverines survived.

  Well, survived is not quite the right word. They went crazy—fueled by joy and relief and the secure feeling that no one could take this away from them. The students rushed the field to join the teary-eyed players in a massive group hug replayed on thousands of Facebook message boards that week, a picture of pure salvation.

  The record seven-game losing streak to their rivals was over.

  No, it wasn’t one of the best Michigan–Ohio State games of all time. But for Michigan, it was one of the most important.

  * * *

  This book came out during the bye week between the Wolverines’ games against Michigan State and Purdue. Readers were immediately struck by the remarkable access to a big-time football program that no reporter had ever been granted before—and, thanks to this book, probably never will be again.

  In the course of three years of research, I filled two dozen notebooks, eight bankers’ boxes of documents, and 10,000 pages of single-spaced notes from observing thirty-seven games, hundreds of practices and meetings, and transcribing several hundred interviews. That effort resulted in more than 2,000 pages of copy, which we had to slash to the 438 pages that comprised the final manuscript.

  All that cutting forced us to drop photos, source notes, and an epigraph from Oscar Wilde: “The truth is rarely pure, and never simple.”

  In researching this book, I did not encounter any angels, but I did not discover any devils, either. Almost everyone involved made some mistakes—most unintended, some not—but everyone in these pages had redemptive qualities, often quite remarkable ones.

  People, it turns out, are complicated.

  The transition in 2007 was marked by a lack of preparation, communication, and transparency, not to mention severe undermining of the process and the candidates themselves by people inside the program. It resulted in the famously unified Michigan football family fracturing before Bill Martin had even named Rodriguez Michigan’s next coach—and it only got worse from there.

  For his part, Rodriguez naively assumed he was walking into the same program Don Nehlen had gushed about so often, and he honestly believed the bigger the program, the less time the head coach has to deal with peripheral duties like connecting with former players, alumni, and fans. He was wrong on both counts. The head coaches at schools like Michigan, Texas, and Alabama become spiritual leaders of those schools.

  I tried to report unflinchingly on Rodriguez’s flaws and mistakes, including his press conference gaffes (starting with his failure to connect with the Michigan faithful at his introductory press conference); the seven missed “match points” I identified in 2009 and 2010, any one of which I believe would have been enough to keep his job; and his historically horrendous defense.

  Many readers wanted to hear more about the latter, but there wasn’t much more to say. Whatever could have gone wrong—recruiting, injuries, and coaching—went wrong, a perfect storm of failure. Rodriguez’s Michigan defenses were historically horrible, but they were hardly mysterious.

  When I consider the Rodriguez era, I’m reminded of his comment to his staff minutes after he had been fired: “It was a bad fit here from the start.”

  Perhaps it didn’t have to be, but even now, more than four years later, it is hard to argue with that simple statement.

  * * *

  Most readers knew many of Rodriguez’s mistakes before they picked up this book. Michigan’s mistakes, however, tended to be private, and therefore more surprising—particularly the revelation that Coach Carr had played middleman between Rodriguez and Martin, then invited all his players to transfer the same week Rodriguez was hired.

  I took no pleasure in these discoveries, nor in reporting them. I have often joked that researching and writing Bo’s Lasting Lessons was a labor of love
. Three and Out was labor.

  I was not out to take sides. That doesn’t mean everyone came out equally well, any more than a fair referee can ensure both teams will be penalized equally. But I tried to call everything as fairly as I could, and let the readers sort the information for themselves. I simply tried to get as close to the truth as I possibly could, no matter the consequences. The reader can decide how close I came to achieving this goal.

  The skills I needed to produce this book—researching, writing, and thinking critically—I learned from world-class professors at the University of Michigan. But the most important principle they taught me was pursuing the truth without fear, wherever it leads.

  The official seal of the University of Michigan, which the president, the athletic director, and other officials stand behind when they represent the university, features three Latin words, Artes, Scientia, Veritas: Arts, Science, Truth. If that seal merely represents some clever corporate branding, then no one should be offended when the university does not strive for the truth but attempts to squelch it—which seems to be commonplace in big-time college athletics these days. But if the founders of the university actually meant what they wrote, and their successors still profess to believe it, their conduct should reflect the university’s first values.

  For those who say this book will hurt Michigan, I can only respond: not the Michigan I know.

  Michigan football fans are very demanding—they expect a first-class program on and off the field—but they also want the truth, they can handle it, and they will appreciate your best efforts to find it.

  The University of Michigan remains a very rare place.

  * * *

  As I wrote in these pages, in 1905 college football had arrived at a moment of truth. That season alone, eighteen college students had died playing the game. Not surprising, many critics and most college presidents were calling for an end to this spectacle forever.

  President Theodore Roosevelt saved the game, which quickly became one of our nation’s most popular pastimes.

  One hundred and seven years later, by just about any measure—attendance, TV ratings, revenues—college football has never been more popular. And it might be headed for its greatest crisis since 1905.

  College football’s many critics have produced proposals to address everything from protecting players from concussions to paying them, capping coaches’ salaries, boiling down the Bowl Championship Series division to just four major conferences, creating a national playoff system, and even separating the teams from their universities to form a school-sponsored “minor league.” Other proposals have called for ending the NCAA’s antitrust protection, forming a federal enforcement agency for athletics, or killing this unwieldy beast once and for all, as many university presidents have urged.

  This rumbling is telling us that college football is a volcano about to erupt. Can this uniquely American marriage between academics and athletics long endure?

  The answer might well be found in the Big Ten, the world’s oldest academically based athletic conference, home to the biggest research universities, stadiums, alumni bodies, and conference television network. However the Big Ten goes, the rest of the country will likely follow.

  The Big Ten has probably never seen more turbulence than it has the past two seasons, particularly among its leading programs. If Michigan had to go through hell to get to heaven, it might be nothing compared to what Ohio State and especially Penn State will be facing in 2012.

  If there’s one lesson from Three and Out, it’s that even under the best of circumstances, transitions are much trickier than we usually think. They’re tough for any organization, and particularly for established college football programs, where tradition is sacrosanct and coaches become icons. The coach who follows you is going to do things differently, like it or not, and if he succeeds, your critics will say he’s better than you were, and if he falters, they will say you set him up for failure. It is truly a no-win situation—and that’s under normal circumstances.

  Handling this well is not the rule, but the rare exception—with Michigan standing as proof.

  * * *

  During the 2011 season, Rodriguez had been rumored to be a candidate at Ole Miss, North Carolina State, Tulane (which he declined), and Arizona, among others. The Wildcats’ athletic director, Greg Byrne, first interviewed Urban Meyer. He lost him to the Buckeyes, but not before Meyer told him if he hired Rodriguez, he’d be getting “one of the top five football minds in the game.” Byrne apparently believed Meyer, hiring Rodriguez shortly after the 2011 regular season.

  If Michigan had already demonstrated what it had learned by how it handled Brady Hoke’s first year, Rodriguez showed how much he had learned once he arrived in Tucson. He clearly had prepared for his first press conference, saying all the right things and closing with the Wildcats’ signature slogan, “Bear Down!”—which is how he now ends every speech at alumni events and virtually every conversation with fans on the streets of Tucson.

  Rodriguez immediately went to work getting the band back together, including Cal Magee, Rod Smith, and Tony Dews. He could not convince Mike Barwis—who now has four young children—to move to Tucson, but he was able to hire Barwis’s longtime assistants, Parker Whiteman and Chris Allen. While many were surprised to see Rodriguez rehire defensive backs coach Tony Gibson, it was telling how hard Rodriguez worked to convince West Virginia defensive coordinator Jeff Casteel—the missing piece in Ann Arbor—to join him in Tucson. During six weeks of stubborn negotiating, Rodriguez would not take no for an answer, and finally got his man.

  It is not yet clear how well Rodriguez will do in Arizona—there are still more questions than answers—but it’s worth remembering he has been fired just once, and that was not at Glenville State or Tulane, Clemson or West Virginia, but at Michigan, the nation’s winningest program. While Arizona can’t offer the kind of resources Michigan has, Rodriguez has a few things going for him this time, including Jeff Casteel and a unified football family. He is also not following a Hall of Fame legend who still has an office down the street, but a good friend and fellow outsider in Mike Stoops, who finished his last season at 4–8, and was fired for it.

  The transition to come at Arizona will not be easy, but it’s hard to imagine it won’t go better than Rodriguez’s last one.

  * * *

  If there was one great privilege I had that I hope every reader can share, it was getting to know the young men in Michigan’s program not as gladiators but as human beings—some of the best I’ve met—which erased much of the cynicism I too often feel for college football. They were, quite simply, the real thing.

  Shortly before we completed this edition, Western Kentucky hired Nick Sheridan to serve as the Hilltoppers’ quarterback coach. His dream of becoming a college football coach has come true.

  After leaving Ann Arbor, Tate Forcier announced he would be transferring to the University of Miami in the fall of 2011, but never attended. He was rumored to be considering Hawaii, among other schools, but enrolled instead at San Jose State University. Although he was slated to be their starting quarterback in 2012, after sitting out a season per NCAA rules, he left the SJSU football program in February 2012. In May, Forcier signed with the Hamilton Tiger-Cats of the Canadian Football League.

  Denard Robinson did not repeat as the Big Ten’s Most Valuable Player, settling for the All–Big Ten second team, but he will return to Michigan as the starting quarterback for his senior season. He is scheduled to graduate on time, just as he had promised his parents.

  Devin Gardner was frequently unhappy with his lack of playing time in 2011—which generated rumors of a potential transfer—but is expected to return in 2012, as well.

  Senior Ryan Van Bergen earned All–Big Ten Honorable Mention, and Mike Martin was named to the All–Big Ten second team, but David Molk was the big winner in 2011, taking home the Big Ten’s inaugural Rimington-Pace Offensive Lineman of the Year award, a spot on the first team All-America roster
, and the Rimington Trophy as the nation’s best center.

  Eleven Wolverines earned Fall 2011 Academic All–Big Ten recognition, including J. B. Fitzgerald, Jordan Kovacs, Patrick Omameh, and Craig Roh.

  Defensive coordinator Greg Mattison took over a unit that had ranked 107th in scoring defense and pushed it a full one hundred places to seventh, a stunning achievement. He was one of five finalists for the Broyles Award, which goes to the nation’s top assistant coach.

  The Big Ten rightly awarded Brady Hoke the inaugural Schembechler-Hayes Coach of the Year trophy, and the Maxwell Football Club followed up by naming him national Coach of the Year.

  In February 2012, the former West Virginia coaches and staffers who had been fired by Dave Brandon a year earlier received their Gator Bowl rings from the University of Michigan.

  In the spring of 2012, Sports Illustrated hired Michael Rosenberg as a senior writer.

  A day after his twenty-seventh birthday in September, Brock Mealer—the man who left his wheelchair behind to walk out, touch the banner, and rededicate the renovated Michigan Stadium in 2010—asked Haley Frank to marry him. She said yes. They will be wed in December of 2012. He is working with Barwis and company to make sure he can walk down the aisle without canes.

  * * *

  The Big Ten is still considered one of the nation’s top leagues, despite its frequent belly flops in bowl games. In 2011, the Big Ten placed a record ten teams in bowl games—then watched them drop, one by one. And not just in the storied Rose Bowl, but in games like the Taxslayer.com Gator Bowl, the Meineke Car Care Bowl of Texas, and the Insight Bowl.

  With only two bowl games left, Big Ten teams had managed to win just twice: the Little Caesars Pizza Bowl in Detroit, over Western Michigan, and the Kraft Fight Hunger Bowl, over a UCLA team that had a losing record and no coach. In non–food based bowls, the Big Ten had no luck at all.