Three and Out (30 page)

When ESPN ran a report later that day, they added a graphic, listing Rodriguez's problems since leaving Morgantown:

• Buy out. Michigan paid $2.5 million.

• Accused of shredding documents.

• Notable players have left. Mallett, Boren, more.

• Accused of excessive practice time.

And nationally, that's how the story played: New coach takes hallowed Michigan football program from the penthouse to the outhouse in eighteen months.

Most Michigan fans, however, were more circumspect. The websites blew up with comments, some accusing Rodriguez of ruining Michigan football, but many expressing anger with the
Free Press—
even on the
Free Press
's own site. The e-mail boxes of just about every Michigan administrator and coach with any connection to the case filled up overnight.

In the weeks that followed, thousands of Michigan alums and fans wrote to Rodriguez, his staff, Bill Martin, and President Coleman professing their support of Rodriguez and his methods—confirming his view of the people he met every day. It didn't take long for many national commentators, including former Ohio State greats Kirk Herbstreit and Chris Spielman, to conclude that the story was missing some important pieces. Jim Tressel and a few other Big Ten coaches expressed misgivings over the story and support for Rodriguez.

But the most powerful reaction came from a former
Michigan Daily
editor named Jonathan Chait, now at
The New Republic.
Writing for
The Wolverine
, Chait titled his piece “Violations Truly Worthy of Firing.”

Chait wasted no time clearing his throat. “
Detroit Free Press
columnist Michael Rosenberg's exposé on Michigan's workout program revealed a shocking breach of rules that should cause somebody to lose his job. That somebody is Michael Rosenberg's editor.”

Chait's central charge was that Rosenberg, who hated Rodriguez “from the moment he appeared on Michigan's radar,” had written an opinion piece dressed up as investigative journalism. He obviously had a right to his opinion, Chait wrote, but not to publish “a prosecutor's brief, determined to make the case against Rodriguez, rather than present the facts in an evenhanded way … Letting him write and report the article himself is journalistic malpractice.”

I asked Rosenberg about the controversial decision to assign a columnist to write an investigative piece, particularly on a subject about which he had already published strong opinions. He replied that, due to budget and staff cuts, the
Free Press
no longer had an investigative reporter dedicated to the sports department. So, in the current era, such double duty is harder to avoid.

But with any journalism, objectivity is paramount. When Larry Foote encountered Mark Snyder after the story came out, he asked, “Why didn't you ask me about him? You know I know him.”

To which Snyder replied, “I just don't like the guy.”

On Thursday, Rosenberg visited the Detroit Lions' facility for Media Day, when Larry Foote—who had left Pittsburgh for his home team that spring—sought him out, asking why he was so harsh to Mike Barwis, among others. Rosenberg confessed that he knew how positively the players felt about Barwis.

“Then why didn't you write
that
?” Foote asked.

Rosenberg answered by telling Foote how bad his own week had turned out and all the duress he was under. If Rodriguez didn't deserve to be unfairly attacked—even demonized—Rosenberg obviously didn't deserve to have his book
War as They Knew It
dishonestly rated down on
Amazon.com
. “I poured my heart and soul into that [book] for three years,” he told me. “The shots at me on
Amazon.com
bothered me. There's nothing I've ever been prouder of than that book—so for them to trash the book really hurt.” Telling all this to Foote, who had considered Rosenberg a friend, Rosenberg became teary-eyed.

By that time, however, neither response could stop his story from spreading, having generated a momentum all its own.

 

18   STARTING OVER

After the
Free Press
story, the Wolverines' already strong need to redeem themselves for the 2008 disaster had been multiplied many times over. They felt both determined and defiant.

When Rodriguez met with the team the night before the Western Michigan game, he told them, “I'm tired of all the drama, I'm tired of all the talk,” sounding much less upbeat and enthusiastic than he had exactly eight days earlier. “I just want to play ball. And that's what you came here for: to get a degree and play ball.

“When people ask, ‘How's your team handling it?' I think about you guys walking down the tunnel together, with your hands on each other's backs. That's it: We've got each other's backs.”

He had no choice but to hope it was true and that it would last all season.

An echo of that was evident in the room shared by true freshman Craig Roh and sophomore Brandon Herron, in and of itself a potentially awkward situation because they were both competing for outside linebacker. The coaches pulled them over after practice that day to tell them Roh had won the position. But the two had worked it out, partly due to a shared interest in the Bible.

“I've been attracted to the psalms lately,” Roh said. “Psalm Twenty-seven is the best one. David's being attacked from all angles, but God's his rock.

“‘The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?'” he recited from memory. “‘When the wicked, even mine enemies and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell. Though a host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear: though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident.'”

By the time he got to false witnesses rising up and breathing cruelty, I didn't need to ask him where he stood on the
Free Press
article.

The scene was different a floor below, where senior Nick Sheridan—the previous starter—shared his room with Tate Forcier, the freshman who would be taking his job. Forcier wore his trademark oversized baseball hat down low on his head, working on the playbook all the quarterbacks had to fill out every week, while Sheridan reclined on his bed, munching chips, drinking Gatorade, and watching ESPN. He had finished his playbook much earlier.

Forcier was trying to cram before his final, which he would be taking the next day at the Big House in front of 110,000-some graders. Sheridan was nice enough to help him.

“On Ram Flex Trojan,” Forcier asked, “what side of the field do I work when the defense comes out with two high?”

“Is it Trio?”

Forcier checked. “Yes.”

“Then you work the weak side,” Sheridan said, while Forcier filled in his answer. “Understand that?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“And then you throw to the open guy who's wearing the same color jersey you are.”

“Got it.” Forcier smiled. “Thanks.”

Was Forcier nervous?

He looked up and grinned his Tom Sawyer grin. “Never nervous,” he said, and returned to his workbook.

After a 9:00 a.m. wake-up call and a hearty breakfast consisting of bins of scrambled eggs, bacon and ham, potatoes au gratin, biscuits and gravy, and French toast, the players went through their morning “walk-through”—one room for defense, another for offense. Forcier took his first “snaps” without an actual football, under a chandelier, surrounded by his coaches leaning against textured floral wallpaper, going through his steps on Victorian-style carpet, in a comfortable air-conditioned room. Beyond the cadence, all you could hear was the swish of nylon sweatpants.

The actual exam room would look a little different.

*   *   *

None of them were surprised that the
Free Press
had picked Western Michigan to beat the Wolverines 31–27.

The coaches got dressed at the stadium in dead silence. A few leaned forward on their metal chairs, heads down, as if in prayer. They knew what this game suddenly meant—and they also knew that, at this hour, their collective fate was largely in the hands of a group of former backups and walk-ons and a kid from California who'd just turned nineteen.

Someone turned on the TV, and inevitably the Michigan game—and everything attached to it—came up on ESPN.

Former Indiana coach Lee Corso opined, “You can lose some games, but you can't lose your football team. Rich Rodriguez is about to lose his football team.”

Out in the locker room, an unlikely leader stepped up: walk-on junior Mark Moundros. “The only thing that matters,” he shouted, “are the people in this room. So today we fight for each other, we fight for our coaches, and we fight for Michigan!”

When the game finally arrived—where no one mattered but the eleven players on the field—the Wolverines were ready. Michigan's defense forced the Broncos to punt after three plays, giving the ball to Michigan's offense at its own 48.

So here it was: the debut everyone had been waiting nine months to see. Tate Forcier jogged out to the field while the crowd rose to its feet.

Forcier took the shotgun snap, faked the handoff, rolled out, and found Junior Hemingway for a 5-yard gain. In just about every Michigan game since Schembechler took over, the first play went straight up the middle. But on this day, in this situation, that calm progression of options and execution hit the faithful like a bucket of baptismal water.

They were reborn—and cheered like it.

A few plays later, the Broncos flushed Forcier out of the pocket. But, once again, he found Junior Hemingway, this time for 28 yards—and a touchdown.

Just 2:52 into his collegiate career, Forcier had three completions for 47 yards, with no incompletes, no interceptions, no sacks, and one touchdown—and 109,019 instant believers.

Just like that, it seemed Michigan's nightmare was over.

*   *   *

With 4:07 left in the quarter and Michigan holding a 7–0 lead, Rodriguez sent Forcier's understudy, the talented but raw Denard Robinson, in at quarterback. It was risky, but not much riskier than starting a freshman in the first place. Rodriguez was not yanking Forcier. He just wanted to see what Robinson could do.

After being penalized for a false start, Robinson dropped the next snap, picked it up, and then took a few steps to the right instead of the left, which is where the play was supposed to go. Recognizing his mistake, he stopped, looked up, and saw that his teammates had already abandoned him, running their routes downfield, leaving him to face a rush of Broncos by himself.

And then, just as suddenly, he seemed to remember he was the fastest man on the field.

What happened next was something Michigan fans might long remember. Robinson saw a seam and, from a dead start, simply took off, flying past would-be tacklers as though they were treading water and he was driving a Jet Ski.

He was as gone as gone could be.

Michigan 14, Western 0.

When Robinson ran back to the bench, Forcier rushed out to the field to meet him for a spontaneous chest bump. “The best thing I saw all day,” a relieved Bill Dufek said afterward.

They were young, with a lot to learn. But the unbridled joy they brought to this successful but stodgy school was unmistakable. Michigan fans had never seen anything quite like it since Crisler's Mad Magicians—and it was all encapsulated in that one play.

The halftime score: Michigan 31, Western 0. It was a good old-fashioned butt kicking.

During halftime, Forcier was sitting in his stall when Sheridan walked past him, gave him a fist bump, and said, “Good job, man!”

When I walked past, Forcier said, “I told you, man!”

I turned around. “Told me what?”

“Not nervous.
Never
nervous. I told you!”

*   *   *

On TV, however, the news wasn't all good for the Wolverines. During the first intermission, ESPN condensed the
Free Press
's allegations in a chart:

• 6 players give allegations

• Sundays, worked 9 hours

The chart did not note that most of the nine hours would not count against the NCAA's limit of twenty. In other words, they were repeating the same mistakes the
Free Press
had made. The story was already recycling itself.

When the game ended at 31–7, the team ran over to the student section to sing “The Victors”—the loudest the crowd was all day, which was saying something. But before they started the song, the students started another chant, “Rich Rodri-guez,” and afterward, “Beat the I-rish!”

When the Wolverines headed toward the tunnel, they ran under an eight-foot sign:
IN ROD WE TRUST
.

“Must be my kids behind that,” Rodriguez joked.

*   *   *

The Wolverines packed more into that one wild week than they had in most months. The retreat showed them they were much closer and sharper than they had been the year before. The
Free Press
piece piled more pressure on them and their coaches, and while it surely shrank their margin of error, it hadn't affected their play. If they could still win games, they could still escape their detractors.

Hope was very much alive.

 

19   AS GOOD AS IT GETS

Against Western, the Wolverines had everything to lose.

Against Notre Dame, they had everything to gain.

The game came with two side stories: Charlie Weis's status at Notre Dame, which was more in doubt than ever, and the Wolverines' almost uniform contempt for the Irish's flashy quarterback, Jimmy Clausen.

“I've known him since we started going to camps,” Forcier said after practice. “He loved the attention—too much. I don't like his ego. He's a pretty boy. Go look at Martin's locker.”

Mike Martin had taped up six color photocopies of Jimmy Clausen in various poses: one of him sitting on a helmet with a football in his hands, like a cheesy yearbook pose; another displaying his gaudy rings; and a third of him decked out in a big fur coat, posing with a limo.