1/29/11
The REAL Football Follies (or Reflections on My College Football “Career”)
The sports world is buzzing with stories leading up to Super Bowl XLV, pitting the Pittsburg Steelers vs. the Green Bay Packers in Dallas, Texas. Certainly, it is one of the largest sports events in the world. Every NFL team and player travels a long and difficult road to get there. As I prepare to partake in what has become an American ritual, the Super Bowl Party, my mind has wondered back to my college football “career” and my own journey to get there. I have italicized “career” because it was not so much a career as it was an adventure. It was short lived, but it was also memorable. I’d like to share it with you.
As a kid, I was always involved in sports and athletics. Although I don’t see myself as a natural athlete, I have a tenacious nature, especially when I want to do something. This allowed me to participate in all shorts of athletic endeavors. My grit was usually enough to make up for whatever shortcomings I had in athleticism. Both my father and uncle were good high school athletes and remained interested in sports their whole lives. So, I had strong role models. I was a hyperactive kid, too. If it involved running, jumping, tackling, grappling, or crashing into something or someone of any kind, then I was interested in trying it. I played football, baseball, and basketball. I boxed and wrestled, too. I pushed a painfully skinny body to the max.
But of all of my athletic endeavors, I loved football the most. For a skinny, relatively gentle kid, it was the ultimate challenge. And I craved challenges. I was the type of kid who if told, “You can’t do that”; would just HAVE to do it. It wasn’t so much to just prove them wrong, as it was to prove to ME that I could.
Football, with its physical nature and lust for violence, proved the perfect activity for me to pursue. I wanted to be tested. And, at that time, it provided that opportunity. So, for a good portion of my young life, I pursued that game with a vengeance. The more people told me, “it’s a stupid game” and “you’re too skinny, you’ll never cut it”, the more I wanted to do it. It was certainly not for everyone and that suited me just fine.
Because I was so skinny at that time (I was going to say “thin”, but I wasn’t. I was skinny), I felt that I needed to build my body to be able to hold up to the rigors of the game and compete on a high level. I started weight training religiously. I was inspired by stories of tough-guy heroes who, by the force of their own will, overcame the odds to become successful players. I KNEW that if I could be as dedicated as they, I could compete too. In fact, I became SO dedicated that I remember coming home early from some high school dates and going into the makeshift “weight room” I had created in my family’s garage for a workout. Now, that’s dedication baby!
And it worked. When I began playing Pee Wee football (we called it Pop Warner football in my town) it was the mid 1960’s. I had not even yet reached the status of “98 lbs. weakling”. I was 9 or 10 and weighed all of about 90 pounds. However, despite my lack of bulk, I found that I was pretty good at the game. Even though lean, I was relatively tall, quick, and strong. I wasn’t afraid either (well, perhaps I was a little against the bigger, older kids). If I ever was, I certainly NEVER showed it. It was part of what I came to love about the game: overcoming your fears and achieving in the face of great odds.
I kept working out and it kept paying off. My size increased from season to season: 105 lbs., 115 lbs., 120 lbs., etc. It had other benefits too. I was always one of the strongest players on the team. But it was more than just a physical thing with me. I had a great feel for the game. I think that because I enjoyed it so much, I came to understand it on a very deep level. Not only could I see the obvious, I also grasped the subtleties of the game. This allowed me to anticipate many plays, off-setting whatever physical shortcomings I might have had. I suppose you’d call them instincts.
It allowed me to compete on a high level. I was the leader, if not bona fide “star”, of every one of my youth teams. I continued this trend in high school. As a 115 lb. freshman I was the starting quarterback and team captain. I jumped to 130 lbs. as a sophomore and, again, started, this time for the JV as a defensive back and running back. As a junior, I had “bulked up” to 145 lbs. and earned my first varsity letter as a starter at defensive back. My senior year found me a lean and muscular 155 lbs. Again, I was a starter on defense and team captain. I was not a “star”, but I was certainly a key contributor on the team. Unfortunately, we were not very good. The year had started with great promise but season-ending injuries to key players and poor coaching left us with just 2 wins in 9 games for the season.
Even though I hated losing, I never lost my passion for the game. I loved the physicality of it. I was not the biggest or strongest player on the field but I played with what coaches call “reckless abandon”. I was not afraid to range from sideline to sideline, hurling my body like a human missile in harms way, producing startling effects. I would often hit a ball carrier so hard (or he would hit me!) that when I righted myself after the tackle I had to re-arrange my equipment. Sometimes, my helmet would actually be knocked sideways so that I was looking out of the ear hole instead of the facemask!
I also loved the camaraderie. I think that the physical nature of the game forces a type of bonding that is not as apparent in other team sports. With football, if you don’t support one another, you will not only lose the contest but you could get your ass kicked as well. The bond that I formed with those teammates all those years ago is still strong. Many of them remain among my closest friends even today.
So, after high school, I thought “I’m 18, strong, smart, and dedicated. Why should I quit now”? I was determined to play college football. A scholarship was out of the question. What major college football program would offer a scholarship to a 155 lbs. strong safety with average speed from a losing program? Well, none would, of course! In fact, when I mentioned my desire to my high school athletic director he replied, “You’re crazy. They’ll kill you”! If I didn’t have enough motivation before, I certainly had it then.
I was hoping to matriculate at Rutgers University in New Brunswick (Piscataway) and “walk on” to the football team. A “walk on” is basically an open tryout for all matriculated students. If you impress the coaches, you get a chance to win a spot on the regular roster. If you are REALLY good, eventually, you might even be offered an athletic scholarship. This was my plan. WAS is the key word. I actually had the audacity to walk into the head coach’s office at Rutgers and ask his secretary about getting an interview with the coach and, perhaps, convince him to give me a try out. I never got past her. She dismissed me saying that “they had all the players they needed and there would be no room for you”. Disheartened, I took her abrupt dismissal at face value and left without pursuing the issue any further. In fact, I abandoned the idea entirely and enrolled in one of the Rutgers satellite campuses in Newark. It was one of the few times in my life where I took a flat out “no” for an answer to something I wanted so badly. I determined to never let that happen again.
Still, I did not play for my first two years at Rutgers University-Newark. College was new and somewhat intimidating. I was very involved with my studies and didn’t want any distractions. But I never lost my desire to play and still harbored dreams of playing again and, perhaps, even playing professionally. So, I faithfully kept working out, hoping that one day I would get that chance. And the working out was, well, working. By the time I was 20, I was nearly 190 lbs. of ass-kicking muscle. I could bench press over 300 lbs. and run the legendary “1,000 Stairs” up the sheer cliffs of the Palisades – without stopping! I had made myself into a force to be reckoned with. It was time to answer all who had said “NO”.
Rutgers University-Newark is not exactly your hotbed of big time college football. In fact, it didn’t even have an “official” football team. Rather, it had what was known as a Club team. Club football teams were exactly that; a group of guys who shared a common interest, got together, and found other schools with similar clubs to compete against. In this case, it was football. In a sense, it was no different than a chess or debating club. There were no scholarships and virtually no facilities, or huge crowds (if any!) to come watch you play. It was like volunteering to play. Guys were there solely because they loved the game. And, as a junior, I became one of them.
We were called the Rutgers Raiders and had basically the same team colors as our infinitely better financed “big brother”, The Scarlet Knights of Rutgers University in Piscataway, N.J. And that is where the comparisons abruptly ended. Where Rutgers in Piscataway is an NCAA Division 1 team with a budget in the millions to fund its program, Rutgers- Newark, the club team, had one just large enough to purchase the basic equipment to play the game safely. Where they had numerous practice fields, both grass AND artificial, we had NONE. We had to rent a practice field from the City of Newark. Where they had a huge, 50,000 seat stadium, we rented a decaying one in which to play our games (Newark Schools Stadium was built in the 1920’s). Where they had carpeted locker rooms and luxurious training facilities, we changed in a converted Quonset hut and worked out with weights under a stairwell in a decrepit gym. Where they flew on private jets to play a big time schedule, we took buses to our games, one as far away as Florida.
But the game remained the same and that’s all that mattered to me.
The team was an amalgam of players with varying degrees of experience and skill. Most of them had played at least high school ball. Some were even stars for their respective teams. In fact, the overall level of talent on the team surprised me. A few of the guys, in my opinion, could have played with almost any program in the country. The key word here is few. Because it was a club, any matriculated student was eligible to come and participate with the team. Remember, there were no scholarships. In fact, no experience was required. One just needed the desire and commitment to be there. So, we also had quite a few players who, quite frankly, if they played high school ball at all, played it with the Z team! This was, after all, the Rutgers-Newark Raiders, not the University of Alabama’s Crimson Tide. Still, some definitely stood out for their prowess.
One of our best players was Jesse Stokes. He was from Newark, 6’2” tall and 225 chiseled lbs. He had received a full scholarship out of high school to play linebacker at Iowa University – big time, Big Ten football. But he had become a father before he left for Iowa. After a few months there, he found himself homesick and missing his son. He returned to Newark to be nearer to his family and continue his education. He figured that, like most of us, he still loved the game, so why not play? And he was lethal. Remember when I wrote earlier that I was never (well almost never) flat out afraid to hit anyone? Well, I was afraid to hit Jesse Stokes. His tackling was so ferocious that I used to count how many players were between Jesse and me for one-on-one tackling drills. If the count meant that I would be paired against Jesse, I would usually have an equipment malfunction that would temporarily take me out of the line, thereby missing my turn with Mr. Stokes. And I wasn’t the only one who did that either. In fact, about the only one who NEVER avoided Jesse was Dave Neglia. Dave was one of those guys who didn’t play high school ball but had always dreamed of one day playing. The football club gave him that opportunity. He was an undersized (about 210 lbs.) defensive end willing to do anything to be on the field. ANYTHING - even if it meant getting knocked into near oblivion on a regular basis by one Jesse Stokes. We always attributed his willingness to be knocked silly on his inexperience and exuberance. He should have KNOWN better than to pair up against Jesse. Jesse would hit Neglia so hard that I actually feared for Dave’s life!! But he would pull himself together, reassemble the gear that Jesse had knocked every which way but lose, and cry out, “Yeah, baby, let’s do that again”. I loved Dave Negila. I heard that he eventually became a doctor. I bet he’s a damn good one, too. Sadly, Stokes left the team after the preseason and dropped out of school. He never played a single down for us.
Joe Cook was one of the more colorful characters and talented players on the team. A 6’3”, 227 lbs. tight end, it looked like catchers mitts had been sewn onto his wrists where his hands should have been! They were huge and he used them to catch virtually anything thrown his way. He had long, blonde hair and a rakish goatee, giving him the appearance of a Rebel from Jeb Stuart’s Calvary. He ran well for a big guy and knew how to position his large body in a way as to screen defenders away. Because of my position on defense, I often covered him in practice and frequently marveled at his skill. He was another guy who, in my opinion, could have played for many, larger programs if he had so chosen. But as I said, Joe was a character too, and resisted the pressure and discipline he felt would come with participating in a larger program. For Joe, that would have taken the fun out of playing, the only reason he still did. After practice, Joe and I would find some dark corner of the campus to light up a fat joint and relax. Hey, it was the 70’s and Joe Cook was OK. I don’t know what ever happened to him after our playing days were over.
Another terrific player who could have contributed on virtually any team in the country was a big (6’3’, 260 lbs.) defensive lineman with an unlikely moniker for a football player; Jed Weintraub. And his name was not the only thing unusual about him. He was Jewish. Of course, being Jewish is not unusual. The fact that he played football was. In the many years that I played organized football, I can still count the number of Jewish players that I remember on one hand. And Big Jed was one of the best, period. He was strong, tough, smart, and dedicated. Why he decided not to play on a bigger, more competitive level, I still do not know. He was, in every sense of the word, a gentle giant. Except when he played. Then, he was relentless.
He also had a prodigious thirst and appetite that matched his physical appearance. I once watched him eat a whole pizza – for a snack! And, one day, after a particularly hot and dusty practice a coach asked, “Where’s Weintraub”? No one could find him. That’s because everyone was looking in the wrong place. They should have been looking down. That’s where they would have found him, flat on his back, under one of the coolers of Gatorade, the spicket of which was wide open so that the Gatorade would flow unimpeded down his gullet! He became my best friend on the team. He is now the Court Administrator for the entire US Southern District and lives with his family in Memphis. I’m very pleased to say that we are as close today as we were then.
Then there were the “Hard Brothers”. Literally. Don and Dennis Hard. If Jed’s name was a misnomer for him, then Hard was perfect for them. Don was the older of the two. He was about 6’5’, but only about 200 lbs. My father would have called him “a tall drink of water”. He played at defensive end where he was pugnacious and competitive but sometimes overmatched by the larger offensive tackles assigned to block him. His younger brother, Dennis, was the physical opposite: shorter and much thicker (6’1”, 230 lbs.). He was an offensive lineman. What made their situation unusual was that while Don was a student at Rutgers-Newark, Dennis was not. Dennis was actually a student/athlete at Jersey City State College. But Dennis was not fond of the head coach or his school and was looking to play elsewhere. Well, Donnie saw some playing opportunities with us and invited his brother to join us. It seemed that we were always short of good, experienced players and Dennis was both of those. The only problem was that Dennis did not have the time or inclination to actually register with the University. So, the two brothers hatched an elaborate plan. Dennis’ girlfriend, Denise Lamb, was actually a student at Rutgers University. They decided to submit Denise’s name as Dennis to the team and claim the discrepancy as a “typo”. Somehow, it worked. From then on, Dennis Hard became “D Lamb” and joined our team. And they were real “Hard” characters! Once, after a game in Florida, the hotel we had stayed at complained that someone had sunk all of their lawn furniture in the hotel pool. No one claimed responsibility. Months letter we found out that it was the Hard brothers. When pressed as to why, they confessed, declaring, “Why? Well, just because we could.”
Of course, this could have never happened at a school with a “real” football program in the first place. Dennis for Denise?! A Typo? But our program was so small and insignificant, even on our own campus, that no one even noticed – or cared!
After graduating, Don became a captain in the Marine Corp. He survived the horrific bombing of the Marine barracks in Lebanon. I saw him at a high school football game a few years after the bombing and it had changed him. He had lost the innocent bravado he had as player. It was kind of sad. As for D. Lamb, I assume that he went back to becoming Dennis Hard. However, I have lost track of them both.
Another team “character” was not even a player. He was the head coach. His name was Tom Zullo. He was in his mid-20’s, very muscular and VERY short. He couldn’t have been more than 5’3”. His dark hair, round face, and squat, muscular build reminded us of the world champion bodybuilder, Franco Colombu. Tom was so short in fact, that it was a natural for us to change his name from Tom Zullo to Tom Toolow! But he was a good coach: knowledgeable and caring. As evidenced by his muscular physique, he was also very solid with weight training, conditioning, and nutrition. I must say that he did his best with what limited resources he had at his disposal to try provide an atmosphere in which we could at least compete.
Since he was not much older than the players (I was 20), and it was a “club” team, the atmosphere was very informal, to say the least. We called him Tom, instead of coach. I don’t even think that he was paid. He may have received a small stipend from the University but I don’t know that for sure. What I do know is that, like all of us, he did it because he had a connection to the game and to the camaraderie it fostered in its participants. He had been a good, if undersized, high school player. I’m sure that once he turned to coaching, he had no plans of ever playing again.
That is, until one fateful weekend in our Nation’s Capitol.
It was the last game of the season of my junior year. It had been a terrible one for the team. We had not won a single game and we were slated to play the Catholic University in Washington, D.C. At that time, they were the #1 rated club football team in the country. They were an undefeated powerhouse and had even supposedly beaten some NCAA teams along the way. We were just plain terrible. Without viable facilities for practice, we just couldn’t get enough cohesion as a team to mount a diverse offense or coordinated defense. We played hard but just didn’t have enough talent, depth, or practice time to be truly competitive. Worse still, this late in the season, we were plagued by injuries and defections. In fact, early in the week before the game, we didn’t think we’d even have enough players left to complete a staring line-up. We would have to resort to drastic measures. I would move from my normal strong safety position to bolster the linebacking corp. Dave Neglia would get his first start, EVER, at defensive tackle. And Tom Zullo would suit up for the first time in years to play on the offensive line. That’s right. The HEAD COACH would suit up and play! It was either that, or forfeit the game.
I remember that the Catholic University stadium in D.C. was at least as decrepit as ours was. It may have even been worse. But that seemed their only shortcoming. Their biggest advantage (of MANY), which became immediately apparent, was the size of their club, both in their physical make-up and sheer number of players dressed for the game. I don’t think that we suited up more than 25 guys that day – including our coach! I estimated that they must have had at least 70. But it looked more like 170. They seemed to be pouring out of their locker room in waves.
Despite the obvious disparity, we actually started the game well. We received the opening kick off and proceeded to drive almost the entire length of the field. The drive stalled however, and our kicker, who was very competent, nailed a field goal to give us a 3-0 lead. However, that meager lead would evaporate quickly and completely. Perhaps the opening kick off itself should have been seen as a harbinger of things to come.
On that kickoff, Dave Neglia, slated to start on the defensive line, was also scheduled to play on our special teams (i.e. kick offs, etc.). He would be used as a blocker for the kick receiving team. I remember clearly how I tried to calm him down just before he was to take his position on the field. He was so damned excited and was pacing back and forth. He had worked so hard to just belong to the team. He was undersized and not very strong. He was slow footed. And he had zero experience. But he was smart and he was game. Always. He never missed a practice or a drill. When yours truly experienced “technical difficulties” in my dealings with Jesse Stokes, Dave Neglia was right there to take my place. He took all of the shit a brutal and insensitive game had to offer and landed on his feet. I admired him. I really did.
Now, here he was, with a chance to START. And he was determined to make the most of it. Just before he tore onto the field to take his place on the receiving team, I encouraged him not to be too nervous and to have fun. I’m not sure if he heard I word I said. Their kicker moved into the ball and I followed its path through the grey winter sky and fall in the hands of our return man. He had a nice run back and gave us good field position. But when I looked back up field, I noticed one of our players was down and not really moving. It was Neglia. He had been knocked out cold during the kick! Following the path of the ball, I didn’t see how it happened. And, as this game can go, I’m not sure he saw it either! Certainly, when taking a hit that knocks you silly, loss of memory of that moment is both frequent and welcomed. After a few anxious moments and a whiff of smelling salts, he came to his senses and was helped to off the field. Of course, he was held out for the remainder of the game with a concussion. Poor Dave Neglia never played a single down. It’s a cruel game.
Coach Zullo, who was only supposed to play on our offensive line, now had to take Dave’s place on the defensive one and play both ways. In today’s game, that’s no easy task. With the bigger, faster players in the modern game, playing both offense and defense in the same game can take a huge physical toll. And that goes for a player who has had a whole season to condition himself to handle the rigors of an actual game. Zullo had no such advantage. Yes, he was in excellent physical condition but that is not the same as being in “playing shape”. Without the benefit of actual contact drills he could not have prepared his body for the pounding it was bound to take. And, man, he got pounded. I recall seeing Tom in the campus center a few days after the game and he said, "I'm so sore that even my hair hurts"! We all took a beating that day. After our initial success, they seemed to wake up and scored in every way imaginable. They scored on runs, passes, kicks, fumble recoveries and just about every other way you can possibly even think of. The first team scored. The second team scored. The “Z” team scored. I think that if their cheerleaders could have participated, they would have scored too. It seemed more a track meet than a football game. We lost 70-3.
Believe it or not, despite the score, I played one of my best games ever. Instead of my normal safety position, about 8 yards from the line of scrimmage, I was moved up to outside linebacker. This moved me closer to the action where I could do what I did best; make tackles. And tackle I did – like a machine. It seemed that I was the ONLY one making ANY. Big Jed was not with us for that game. Jesse was long gone. Tom Zullo was playing on pure guts and there was only so much he could do. At one point in the defensive huddle, I looked at my shell-shocked teammates and implored, “is anyone else going to make a tackle? Please feel free to join me at any time!” Obviously, as evidenced by the final score, not enough of them answered my invitation. My final tally read “18 total tackles; 10 solo and 8 assisted”. That set a team record for total tackles in a single game. I also set our club record for most tackles in a season. My reward for such aggression was a dislocated thumb and a body so bruised that it looked more eggplant colored then flesh. Normally, one would treat such injuries with ice. But we had none. We had run out sometime during the game. So, I rode the team bus from Washington D.C. to Newark, N.J. with a thumb swollen to twice its original size and no ice to alleviate my suffering. This is the way I ended my season and my career. I came back for my senior year, but left the team after the preseason. It was just becoming too futile to continue - even for me.
It’s entirely reasonable for someone to ask, “why”? Why would one subject oneself to such obvious abuse in the first place? Well, it’s complicated and, at the same time, it’s not. It’s complicated because it involves coming to terms with your limitation and fears. It creates situations of conflict that are not ordinary. Therefore, you must think and act in extraordinary ways in order to compete. Yet, ultimately it’s simple, too. It’s almost Darwinian; survival of the fittest. You must have a single mindedness to achieve your goals. And these things can only be achieved through principals like discipline, sacrifice, and teamwork. Look, you either believe in these things or you don’t. It’s either bull shit or it’s not. I have chosen to believe them.
But it was not all blood and guts either. It was fun, too! I enjoyed the physical nature of it and the life-long benefits that came with it, i.e. the need to stay fit. And I loved my teammates, characters all! I remember them still, and all with fondness. I hate to write this, but I guess we were all loveable losers. But we were only losers in the sense of wins and loses. Virtually all of my teammates went on to successful lives. And, if you asked them, I think most would acknowledge their playing days as a big contributing factor to that success.
And the very experience of it was priceless. I had come from a virtually all-white high school. I now found myself playing, showering, and sharing with African-Americans for the first time. I met guys from all over the state of New Jersey. I traveled to places like Florida and D.C., where I had not been before. I made a great friend whom I still have over 35 years later. I’m sure that there are other pursuits that can reward in the same way but you’d be hard pressed to find one more full of real-life lessons than football – on any level.
Yes, Newark School Stadium is a long way from Cowboy Stadium in Dallas, but it was still a road well worth traveling.
PS: Congratulation to the World Champion Green Packers for their exciting win over the Steelers in Super Bowl XLV. It must feel great!!
