Three and Out (62 page)

And with that, he was done with the subject.

At Jerry Erickson's shop, everyone was eager to talk about Rodriguez, the defense, the season, and the future, but once again, no one gave a thought to the NCAA report until I brought it up.

“The NCAA report?” Erickson asked. “I don't think anybody cares about that. It was bullshit from the beginning.”

Once I quit asking about it, the subject dropped instantly.

Rodriguez was right: Everyone cared about the
Free Press
headlines a year ago, but no one cared about the conclusion. The NCAA ruling was far too little, far too late.

The
Free Press
's claims were found to be far off the mark. And yet it didn't matter. The damage had been done, and it was apparently irreversible.

After former secretary of labor Raymond Donovan was acquitted of fraud, he asked, “Which office do I go to to get my reputation back?”

*   *   *

I continued down State Street to Schembechler Hall, arriving early for the 2:00 quarterback meeting but just in time to hear the quarterbacks share stories of their recruitment. One told of visiting a powerful SEC school. When he got to his hotel room to unpack, the quarterback discovered two attractive coeds in his room, already in his bed.

“It was weird, man!” he said, laughing.

Another described an SEC school giving him a rental car for the weekend and telling him, “You don't have to return that.”

A third SEC school promised one of them they would pay for his sister's tuition.

“Man, am I the only one to do it clean?” Devin Gardner asked, laughing.

“
We
did it clean!” Denard said. “I didn't take any of that stuff! But the
schools
didn't do it clean! How many visits did you take?”

“Just one,” Gardner said.

“That's why, man! You go visit [other big-name schools], they're gonna offer you money and cars and women.”

“Man, Michigan didn't give me
anything
!” Gardner said, keeping up his mock outrage. “This place sucks!”

“Jesus,” Rod Smith said, shaking his head but grinning slightly. He wasn't surprised—he knew what other schools did—but the contrast struck him, especially a day after the NCAA press conference hashed out every minute his players had spent stretching, and the
Free Press
wanted more. “When it comes to recruiting, we're going to a gunfight with a plastic spoon. And the crazy part is, these guys were offered all that, and they still came here!”

“I know!” Gardner said. “What are we—stupid?”

 

48   SHOOT-OUT

On Friday night at the Campus Inn, Rodriguez let it all hang out.

“All right, men,” he said. “We're in the foxhole, and we're coming out swinging! We're firing every bullet we've got. We're going after their asses!”

He got them all chanting and jumping again, as he had the previous night at practice. They starting shouting and smiling and even laughing. It never ceased to amaze me how the coaches could pull themselves up from the depths of a postloss Sunday, back to the peak on Saturday—and get their players to follow. They had done it again.

*   *   *

Saturday, November 6, 2010, started out cold and gray, but by kickoff, it was another perfect football Saturday.

On the first snap, from Michigan's 25, Robinson took the shotgun on a play designed for him to run. But as he started forward, he saw Roy Roundtree cutting straight up the middle, with the safety coming up to stop the run. Robinson did exactly what he was supposed to do and threw a simple toss up the middle. Roundtree didn't miss a stride, bolting for the end zone, 10 yards in front of the nearest Illini player.

Roundtree was taking no chances this time, running as if his life depended on it, even watching himself in the huge scoreboard above to check on the defenders chasing him. Just fourteen seconds into the game, Michigan had taken a 7–0 lead. After the season, Robinson would describe that as his favorite play of the year.

Michigan's defense let the Illini come back with two touchdowns of their own, and the Wild West duel was on. The game had everything—great runs, passes, and acrobatics—except defense. But the fireworks were well worth the price of admission, including an ESPN top ten play from Junior Hemingway, whose fancy footwork caused three Illini defenders to fall all over themselves, which gave him a free path to the end zone.

“What the fuck happened?” a laughing Stonum asked an expressionless Hemingway on the bench. “That was
stupid
!”

“I didn't know you could dance!” Singletary said.

Roy Roundtree seemed happier about Hemingway's touchdown than his own two. “That was
silly
!” he said, laughing. “Just
silly
!”

Almost as silly as a 31–31 halftime score, with Michigan's offense putting up 394 yards on the twelfth-ranked scoring defense in the country, while giving up 312—numbers big enough for a whole game, not a half.

When Rodriguez addressed his players, they were already standing, all but growling, that eager to get back on the field. “That's right!” he said. “We're in that foxhole, and we're battling. You keep your ass fightin', ya hear me?”

“YEAH!”

Nothing more needed to be said.

They ran out of the tunnel and into the sun. Greg Robinson looked down his bench and saw Mike Martin snapping on his helmet. “Are you going back out?”

“Hell yeah, I'm going!” he said, and that was that. Martin, sprained ankle and all, was back.

With the score tied 38–38, Denard Robinson told the trainers he was feeling dizzy and had a headache. They ran some rudimentary tests, huddled, and decided he should not return for the rest of the game. They did not consult the coaches, and the coaches did not give their opinions. This is the way it should be, of course, even if the coaches' jobs could very well rest on their best player getting back in.

On Forcier's first play, from Michigan's own 35, he dropped back, hitched to throw, then lost his grip on the ball. It floated away, then onto the turf, where Illinois's Clay Nurse gobbled it up. Six plays later, Illinois went ahead, 45–38.

“I don't normally keep my headset on because I'm talking to the linemen,” Greg Frey said the next day, after the offensive coaches had reviewed all their plays. “But when Tate fumbled, Rod [Smith] got on the headset and, let's just say, he owes the swear jar a few bucks.”

It begged the question: What did the normally calm, supportive, and infinitely patient coach say?

“Let's see,” Frey said, trying to get it right. “‘Fuck you, you dumb motherfucker, you haven't learned a fucking thing in two fucking years and you're doing the same fucking shit you were doing fucking last year. When are you going to fucking grow up?'”

“No, Frey, that was actually the
second
thing he said,” Magee corrected. “The first thing he said was ‘FUCK YOU!' and he threw his headset down and stormed around the box for a while before he calmed down enough to sit down, get back on the headset, and say all that other stuff.”

“But you know, that's exactly what Tate needed,” Dews said.

Apparently. Forcier settled down and started playing the position the way he'd been coached—quick drops, focusing on his receivers and not the rush, and firing the ball first and scrambling on second. Three steps and throw.

With time running out, he fired a gutsy pass to Darryl Stonum, who dived and caught it in the end zone. 45–44. The snap for the extra point flew behind Doug Rogan's back, but he caught it, put it down, and Seth Broekhuizen made the kick.

The score was 45–45, the yardage 605–486 in Michigan's favor—a total of almost 1,100 yards in regulation, an absurd statistic. The spread at its silliest. But it was far from over.

In the second overtime, trailing 59–52, Forcier threw to Hemingway on the goal line into double coverage. It looked like it could be intercepted—ending everything—but it hit the defender's helmet, and stayed there. Hemingway plucked it off and juggled it twice before gathering it in for a very unlikely—and very lucky—touchdown. 59–59. They were still alive.

By the third overtime, Dave Brandon was standing on the sidelines. Rita Rodriguez sat at the far end of the benches, trying to smile.

After Michigan scored yet another touchdown, the rules required they go for 2 points. Some players looked away. “I can't watch this shit!” one said when Forcier found Hemingway cutting back out across the goal line. Hemingway bobbled the ball, bounced it off his thigh, and almost lost it before securing it for the 2 points on his way to the turf. 67–59.

“I cannot believe I'm seeing this,” Will Hagerup said, holding his head in his hands. A few thousand fans were thinking the same thing. No one was leaving.

A couple minutes later, Illinois scored a touchdown and faced its own 2-point attempt to tie the game. “What do you guys have?” Rodriguez asked his defensive coaches over the headset.

There was a pause. “If it's all right with you,” Tony Gibson finally answered, “we're gonna bring the house.”

“Yeah!” Rodriguez said. “Bring the house!” His gambling instincts were alive and well.

The instant Nate Scheelhaase took the snap, he saw Michigan's Craig Roh running right at him—and to his left, Jonas Mouton running in just as hard. All week in practice, they had worked on the blitz, but too often Mouton would come straight at the quarterback, allowing him to escape to his left. The key was to come hard while sealing off his lateral options.

“Once I saw Mouton cover the left side,” Magee said, up in his box, “I threw my arms up. I knew he had 'im!”

Scheelhaase tried to escape, but it was futile. They devoured him.

The second Mouton threw Scheelhaase down, the Michigan sideline dam burst open, releasing a flood of players, coaches, managers, and trainers all exploding onto the field. The team's new pastor, a former lineman, was knocked to the ground. Ryan Van Bergen ended up on his back. And Rita Rodriguez, in a precise, fancy outfit, gave the very sweaty Taylor Lewan a big hug.

The rest came in a blur—the players celebrating, the student corner going crazy, the chanting: “It's great! To be! A Mich-i-gan Wol-ver-ine!”—and the band breaking into “The Victors,” almost drowned out by a rowdy crowd. Before they were aware of it happening, two players told me, they had already run back up the tunnel and into the locker room.

After much cheering, the players dragged their coach to his makeshift stage, the leg machine in the middle of the room. He was a little sunburned, a little sweaty, and a lot relieved.

“Men, you work that hard, for sixty minutes and
three
overtimes—you
have
to have heart,” he said, pointing and straining his neck for each word. “And YOU have HEART!…

“We didn't play great, but we played with great intensity—every play!” He made sure to look at all the players as he spoke, scanning the semicircle of happy faces. “And hey—we are going to a bowl!”

“YEAH!”

“From here on out, every win elevates our status. Let's go somewhere nice! I'm PROUD of you! You have a right to enjoy this—you earned it—but no one screw this up tonight, got it?”

“YES, SIR!”

“Okay, seniors, you know what to do!”

Rodriguez produced a fist, his whole body flexing with every “Hail!”

At the press conference, Rodriguez said, “We had three true freshmen start in the secondary. That's why I'm so excited for the future.”

The future—something not discussed in weeks, except in the bleakest terms.

*   *   *

Back at their home, filled with a dozen friends and family members, Rita watched the Michigan game again on the small TV in the kitchen with her cousins. After the players had stormed the field, Barwis walked across the screen and seemed to be pulling a tear. Rita played it back to be sure.

“Awww, would you look at that!”

Rich retired to the smallest room in the basement with an octagonal poker table, a flat-screen TV, a cold beer, and a fresh cigar.

His phone buzzed with friends calling and texting their congratulations. “Yeah, this one felt good. Real good. Thanks, buddy.”

We discussed a wide range of subjects, including how much schools spent on football. “You probably don't know this, but Michigan ranks fifth or sixth in the Big Ten! It's less than we spent at West Virginia!”

Certainly, he was surprised to discover that statistic, but only after he had already moved his family to Michigan. He assumed, like probably everyone else, that Michigan must be at the very top of the Big Ten in spending, along with Ohio State, and on a level with Alabama, Texas, and the other elite programs. Not even close.

“I came here to quit swimming against the current,” he said. “I wanted to swim downstream. That's what Michigan represented to me. But I've been swimming upstream for three years now, and it gets tiring.

“When you lose a recruit, they won't even call you back. They never tell you why they're not interested or why they picked some other school. But because of the
Free Press
story and the investigation, and all the negative recruiting every other coach is doing against us because of it—‘They're getting the death penalty!'—we've probably lost out on four or five players this year who could help us this year or next year. And that's probably conservative.”

But even the
Free Press
couldn't spoil his mood on this night. With a bowl game secured, he felt a little relief for himself and a lot of joy for his players.

“It's a business for the coaches, but it's a game for the players. They're not paid. You have to remember that.

“The number one goal I have for my players is simple: I want them to say, ‘I'd do it all again.' If they can't say that, you've failed.”