Charles Barkley does not want to hear any more excuses when it comes to LeBron James and his lack of game-winning shots and a perceived deficiency in clutch play, especially during the fourth quarter of games.
James is only 21, but Barkley said three years in the NBA is enough seasoning to step up his game and become more of a threat during prime time.
"LeBron's not a rookie anymore," said Barkley, one of the 50 greatest NBA players of all time and an analyst for TNT. "He's got to have an imprint on the game in the last minute, by making a big rebound, getting a stop, taking a big shot, any way he can get it done.
"They shouldn't lose five or six games in a row unless they're playing the Spurs or the Pistons during that span. He shouldn't let that happen."
The Cavs have certainly had their fair share of losing streaks this season, and it isn't fair to put all the blame on one player just like it isn't fair to give one player all the credit.
Questions have surfaced about some of James' decisions late in games and his inability to make winning shots in the final seconds.
The ball of criticism began to roll in January when James missed a potential winning shot against the Los Angeles Lakers and then passed up open shots against the Denver Nuggets and Portland Trail Blazers.
Barkley jumped on James' play following the Cavs' loss to the Washington Wizards. In the loss, James was 0-for-8 from the field in the second half and 4-of-12 from the free-throw line, including four straight misses from the line in the final minutes.
"LeBron's got to be more selfish," Barkley said. "His team is going to expect him to finish these games. He can't have three or five points in the second half. He's got to decide and say to himself that 'we're not going to lose tonight.' He's got to find away where the outcome of the game is in his hands. If he wants to be great, he's got to make it happen."
9.27.2009
NFL QUATERBACKS
QUESTION AND ANSWER SESSION WITH THE TOP QUARTERBACKS IN THE NFL
PETER KING: If you're a general manager scouting passers, what is the one trait that today's NFL quarterback has to have?
BEN ROETHLISBERGER: Toughness. I don't think toughness is when a quarterback says, "I'm going to run somebody over." Toughness is playing the worst game of your life but not backing down. You don't want to sit on the sideline. You want to stay in there and win. You know, down 21 points and the defense is getting through in every single way, and you throw three interceptions. Staying in that game, keeping your head up, trying to drive your team down the field when everything's going wrong—that's the kind of toughness I want in my quarterback.
PETER KING: Is there ever a feeling of fear inside you?
CARSON PALMER: Fear of failure always drives me. I don't want to let my guys down. After we lose and I see my linemen, it's like I let them down. That's the feeling a quarterback has to have.
BEN ROETHLISBERGER: Even if I do ever feel anything like that, and I'm not saying I ever feel scared or nervous, but I'll never show it. We can't. Not at our position. Everyone's looking at us.
PETER KING: Let me put it this way—think back to big moments or big games. How does your stomach feel?
AARON RODGERS: When I was a point guard, I wanted the ball in the last two minutes. When I was a pitcher, I wanted the ball in the last inning. That's why in the big moments in games, I'm not tight. Those moments are why you play.
BEN ROETHLISBERGER: I want the ball. Our defense does some amazing things, but I want to have the ball, and that's the way I've always been playing sports.
PETER KING: Like on the last drive of the Super Bowl?
BEN ROETHLISBERGER: On that drive I ran out and thought, This is going to be really hard. Because we had kind of struggled late in that game. Not saying I definitely couldn't do it. I just knew it would be tough. When I got in the huddle, I told the guys, "I don't have any speech. Just think of all the extra work we put in, all the extra film study we did together. It'll all be for nothing if we don't do this." Then we get a holding call on the first play, and it's going bad. But here's the thing about playing quarterback in this league: Even if you don't feel confident, you have to show you feel it, so when your teammates are looking at you, they believe it.
MATT RYAN: You don't want to let the guys down. As for nerves, I always find myself more nervous before the game, before the kickoff, before the first snap. Then when you're in it and you take a couple of hits, you get into the flow of the game. Honestly, when the game's on the line, I feel calmer than on the first series because I'm into the game. I'm not thinking about how big the moment is.
PETER KING: If you're a general manager scouting passers, what is the one trait that today's NFL quarterback has to have?
BEN ROETHLISBERGER: Toughness. I don't think toughness is when a quarterback says, "I'm going to run somebody over." Toughness is playing the worst game of your life but not backing down. You don't want to sit on the sideline. You want to stay in there and win. You know, down 21 points and the defense is getting through in every single way, and you throw three interceptions. Staying in that game, keeping your head up, trying to drive your team down the field when everything's going wrong—that's the kind of toughness I want in my quarterback.
PETER KING: Is there ever a feeling of fear inside you?
CARSON PALMER: Fear of failure always drives me. I don't want to let my guys down. After we lose and I see my linemen, it's like I let them down. That's the feeling a quarterback has to have.
BEN ROETHLISBERGER: Even if I do ever feel anything like that, and I'm not saying I ever feel scared or nervous, but I'll never show it. We can't. Not at our position. Everyone's looking at us.
PETER KING: Let me put it this way—think back to big moments or big games. How does your stomach feel?
AARON RODGERS: When I was a point guard, I wanted the ball in the last two minutes. When I was a pitcher, I wanted the ball in the last inning. That's why in the big moments in games, I'm not tight. Those moments are why you play.
BEN ROETHLISBERGER: I want the ball. Our defense does some amazing things, but I want to have the ball, and that's the way I've always been playing sports.
PETER KING: Like on the last drive of the Super Bowl?
BEN ROETHLISBERGER: On that drive I ran out and thought, This is going to be really hard. Because we had kind of struggled late in that game. Not saying I definitely couldn't do it. I just knew it would be tough. When I got in the huddle, I told the guys, "I don't have any speech. Just think of all the extra work we put in, all the extra film study we did together. It'll all be for nothing if we don't do this." Then we get a holding call on the first play, and it's going bad. But here's the thing about playing quarterback in this league: Even if you don't feel confident, you have to show you feel it, so when your teammates are looking at you, they believe it.
MATT RYAN: You don't want to let the guys down. As for nerves, I always find myself more nervous before the game, before the kickoff, before the first snap. Then when you're in it and you take a couple of hits, you get into the flow of the game. Honestly, when the game's on the line, I feel calmer than on the first series because I'm into the game. I'm not thinking about how big the moment is.
9.26.2009
TONY PARKER
Parker's improved jumper could score him the Finals MVP award.
Two years ago, the San Antonio Spurs won an NBA title. But Tony Parker wasn't necessarily happy.
Then 23 years old, the point guard had been a bit player in the deciding seventh game, as Parker's inability to connect from outside against the Pistons' mighty defense limited him to a 3-for-11, eight-point performance. The Spurs periodically sat Parker and used a combo of Brent Barry and Manu Ginobili to play the point in that series, and after Game 7, writers debated whether the Spurs would even bring Parker back the next year.
The 2007 Finals couldn't be more different. The French flash is likely to be named series MVP if the Spurs close things out in Thursday's Game 4, after Parker again made a couple of big shots down the stretch to win Game 3 -- including a rare 3-pointer with a minute left to hold the Cavs at bay.
That's no accident. It's the culmination of a two-year process that saw him completely rebuild his jump shot and then torment Cleveland with the new weapon in this year's Finals.
Right after the 2005 Finals, Parker made the decision that he wanted to improve. He didn't care that he was a world champion point guard making near-max money and dating a hugely popular TV star; he was frustrated that his shaky jump shot was having such a negative impact on his game.
Enter Chip Engelland. Hired that offseason as a shooting coach by the Spurs after he'd previously plied his trade in Denver, Engelland helped rebuild Parker's jump shot piece by piece. The slingshot-like set shot that Parker entered the league with -- now gone forever -- was replaced by a smoother jumper that has repeatedly made the Cavaliers pay for going under the screen to take away his driving lanes.
For Parker, it was the right coach at the right time.
"Timing is important," Engelland said, "because when you play in the NBA, you always think you're just going to keep getting better. [But] the NBA is hard, and then you plateau, and that timing is good [for fixing a shot]."
And there was definitely some fixing to do.
"In the first few years [of Parker's career], whenever he'd shoot it, I just figured it was going to be a turnover, same as a turnover -- there's no way that's going in," Spurs coach Gregg Popovich said. "But in the last year and a half when he shoots it, I actually think it's going to go in, so he's changed me quite a bit. But that's due to his work and Chip Engelland, who's really worked hard on him."
"Tony, even though he won a championship that year, wanted to get better," Engelland said. "That's where I give him a ton of credit. His summer time, he wanted to work at something he's not good at. That's uncomfortable."
They had to start from the bottom up, and that required Engelland to establish trust with Parker before he could start working on his jumper. Former Spurs GM and current Cavs GM Danny Ferry said Engelland's patience with players is one of his greatest assets -- that he'd focus on developing the relationship so that players would trust his advice on fixing the shot.
"We got to know each other first," Engelland said. "We did a lot of talking with him, where he wanted to go. Tony wants to be great. So [I said] what it takes -- he has to have a consistent jump shot and his free throw has to improve.
"I think the most important thing, and this is true for every player, their shot is personal. Whether it's a 12-year-old girl or an [NBA player], it's their own shot. It's theirs, it's personal. When I talk to a player at any level ... I don't come in and disrespect their shot."
That helps him establish a rapport with his pupils, and from there he can start tweaking. One of the key examples Engelland used to help Parker come to grips with rebuilding his jumper was Tiger Woods. Parker is a huge Tiger fan, and once he learned Tiger redid his whole swing after crushing the field in the Masters for his first major victory, that made Parker far more receptive to the idea of working on his own game.
"It takes a lot of trust," Engelland said. "It's hard to want to get better at something."
Focusing on short jumpers, Engelland went to work on Parker: "We started with the basics, the very basics: balance, hand placement on the ball, follow through, what he watches, his target. He's done it great. He did a good job listening, practicing. It's not easy to do."
One of the keys was changing Parker's thumb position on the ball. Engelland said when Parker shoots a floater -- something he does as well as anyone in the league -- his thumb is in the correct position, at nearly a right angle to the rest of his hand, so that he can keep control over the ball. But on his jumper, the thumb often was close by his fingers, and as a result the ball would frequently come off the side of his hand.
Thanks to that fix and others like it, the results have been obvious, and not just in the last three games. Parker had never shot better than 33.3 percent on 3-pointers, or 75.5 percent on free throws before this season. This year those two numbers were way up -- 39.5 percent from downtown, albeit on fewer attempts, and an impressive 78.3 percent from the stripe.
Parker's newfound consistency is turning the scouting report against him upside down. Previously, teams would dare him to shoot from outside and focus on taking away his drives to the basket. But his rebuilt shooting stroke has left opponents in a quandary.
"Against Phoenix, they tried to do the same strategy," Parker said. "They put Shawn Marion on me and he was going under, and I start knocking down shots and then they have to come out. And that's when you penetrate again, and that's when you try to get back to the basket and get some stuff going for my teammates or for myself. The whole key is to make sure I shoot with confidence."
So with Parker burning the Cavs from outside -- even throwing in a rare triple in crunch time to help hold off Cleveland -- Engelland was feeling like a proud parent after Game 3. "I'm happy for him," Engelland said. "I just like his consistency. ... He's just been solid in the playoffs. ... I think that's what coach Popovich wants -- he's so talented that he just wants for him to be consistent."
Parker isn't Engelland's only client. Engelland got his start in the business working with ex-Spurs guard Steve Kerr -- "like being the Maytag repairman," Engelland joked -- and worked with Grant Hill and several Nuggets before coming to San Antonio. Since joining the Spurs, he's also helped rebuild the jumpers of two other historically wayward shooters who have had strong playoffs -- Fabricio Oberto and Jacque Vaughn.
But his most famous client at this point is Parker, because he's shining on the league's biggest stage and brimming with confidence.
"I feel a lot more comfortable," Parker said. "I think that's what one of my limits was, you know, early in my career. I always had, like, great games and then they'd adapt, and I don't think I was shooting well enough from the outside to be consistent in a series. I think the last two years, you know, all the work I put in with Chip, I feel very comfortable and I've got a lot more confidence to knock down that shot."
He'd better get comfortable being an NBA Finals MVP, too. Because despite Parker's series-long protestations that this is Tim Duncan's team, his rebuilt jumper is about to put him in the history books alongside some of the game's greatest stars.
Two years ago, the San Antonio Spurs won an NBA title. But Tony Parker wasn't necessarily happy.
Then 23 years old, the point guard had been a bit player in the deciding seventh game, as Parker's inability to connect from outside against the Pistons' mighty defense limited him to a 3-for-11, eight-point performance. The Spurs periodically sat Parker and used a combo of Brent Barry and Manu Ginobili to play the point in that series, and after Game 7, writers debated whether the Spurs would even bring Parker back the next year.
The 2007 Finals couldn't be more different. The French flash is likely to be named series MVP if the Spurs close things out in Thursday's Game 4, after Parker again made a couple of big shots down the stretch to win Game 3 -- including a rare 3-pointer with a minute left to hold the Cavs at bay.
That's no accident. It's the culmination of a two-year process that saw him completely rebuild his jump shot and then torment Cleveland with the new weapon in this year's Finals.
Right after the 2005 Finals, Parker made the decision that he wanted to improve. He didn't care that he was a world champion point guard making near-max money and dating a hugely popular TV star; he was frustrated that his shaky jump shot was having such a negative impact on his game.
Enter Chip Engelland. Hired that offseason as a shooting coach by the Spurs after he'd previously plied his trade in Denver, Engelland helped rebuild Parker's jump shot piece by piece. The slingshot-like set shot that Parker entered the league with -- now gone forever -- was replaced by a smoother jumper that has repeatedly made the Cavaliers pay for going under the screen to take away his driving lanes.
For Parker, it was the right coach at the right time.
"Timing is important," Engelland said, "because when you play in the NBA, you always think you're just going to keep getting better. [But] the NBA is hard, and then you plateau, and that timing is good [for fixing a shot]."
And there was definitely some fixing to do.
"In the first few years [of Parker's career], whenever he'd shoot it, I just figured it was going to be a turnover, same as a turnover -- there's no way that's going in," Spurs coach Gregg Popovich said. "But in the last year and a half when he shoots it, I actually think it's going to go in, so he's changed me quite a bit. But that's due to his work and Chip Engelland, who's really worked hard on him."
"Tony, even though he won a championship that year, wanted to get better," Engelland said. "That's where I give him a ton of credit. His summer time, he wanted to work at something he's not good at. That's uncomfortable."
They had to start from the bottom up, and that required Engelland to establish trust with Parker before he could start working on his jumper. Former Spurs GM and current Cavs GM Danny Ferry said Engelland's patience with players is one of his greatest assets -- that he'd focus on developing the relationship so that players would trust his advice on fixing the shot.
"We got to know each other first," Engelland said. "We did a lot of talking with him, where he wanted to go. Tony wants to be great. So [I said] what it takes -- he has to have a consistent jump shot and his free throw has to improve.
"I think the most important thing, and this is true for every player, their shot is personal. Whether it's a 12-year-old girl or an [NBA player], it's their own shot. It's theirs, it's personal. When I talk to a player at any level ... I don't come in and disrespect their shot."
That helps him establish a rapport with his pupils, and from there he can start tweaking. One of the key examples Engelland used to help Parker come to grips with rebuilding his jumper was Tiger Woods. Parker is a huge Tiger fan, and once he learned Tiger redid his whole swing after crushing the field in the Masters for his first major victory, that made Parker far more receptive to the idea of working on his own game.
"It takes a lot of trust," Engelland said. "It's hard to want to get better at something."
Focusing on short jumpers, Engelland went to work on Parker: "We started with the basics, the very basics: balance, hand placement on the ball, follow through, what he watches, his target. He's done it great. He did a good job listening, practicing. It's not easy to do."
One of the keys was changing Parker's thumb position on the ball. Engelland said when Parker shoots a floater -- something he does as well as anyone in the league -- his thumb is in the correct position, at nearly a right angle to the rest of his hand, so that he can keep control over the ball. But on his jumper, the thumb often was close by his fingers, and as a result the ball would frequently come off the side of his hand.
Thanks to that fix and others like it, the results have been obvious, and not just in the last three games. Parker had never shot better than 33.3 percent on 3-pointers, or 75.5 percent on free throws before this season. This year those two numbers were way up -- 39.5 percent from downtown, albeit on fewer attempts, and an impressive 78.3 percent from the stripe.
Parker's newfound consistency is turning the scouting report against him upside down. Previously, teams would dare him to shoot from outside and focus on taking away his drives to the basket. But his rebuilt shooting stroke has left opponents in a quandary.
"Against Phoenix, they tried to do the same strategy," Parker said. "They put Shawn Marion on me and he was going under, and I start knocking down shots and then they have to come out. And that's when you penetrate again, and that's when you try to get back to the basket and get some stuff going for my teammates or for myself. The whole key is to make sure I shoot with confidence."
So with Parker burning the Cavs from outside -- even throwing in a rare triple in crunch time to help hold off Cleveland -- Engelland was feeling like a proud parent after Game 3. "I'm happy for him," Engelland said. "I just like his consistency. ... He's just been solid in the playoffs. ... I think that's what coach Popovich wants -- he's so talented that he just wants for him to be consistent."
Parker isn't Engelland's only client. Engelland got his start in the business working with ex-Spurs guard Steve Kerr -- "like being the Maytag repairman," Engelland joked -- and worked with Grant Hill and several Nuggets before coming to San Antonio. Since joining the Spurs, he's also helped rebuild the jumpers of two other historically wayward shooters who have had strong playoffs -- Fabricio Oberto and Jacque Vaughn.
But his most famous client at this point is Parker, because he's shining on the league's biggest stage and brimming with confidence.
"I feel a lot more comfortable," Parker said. "I think that's what one of my limits was, you know, early in my career. I always had, like, great games and then they'd adapt, and I don't think I was shooting well enough from the outside to be consistent in a series. I think the last two years, you know, all the work I put in with Chip, I feel very comfortable and I've got a lot more confidence to knock down that shot."
He'd better get comfortable being an NBA Finals MVP, too. Because despite Parker's series-long protestations that this is Tim Duncan's team, his rebuilt jumper is about to put him in the history books alongside some of the game's greatest stars.
CHRIS JACKSON
CHRIS JACKSON - 6’0 160lbs
FRESHMAN LSU – 30Pts 4Asst
SOPHMORE LSU – 28Pts 3Asst
• All-Time NCAA Freshman Leading Scorer
• Had 55pts in his 5th college game against Florida
• The last person to average 30Pts a game was Glen Robinson in 1994
• Make 20 3’s in a row before he could leave the gym
• Make 10 swishes in a row before he could leave the gym
FRESHMAN LSU – 30Pts 4Asst
SOPHMORE LSU – 28Pts 3Asst
• All-Time NCAA Freshman Leading Scorer
• Had 55pts in his 5th college game against Florida
• The last person to average 30Pts a game was Glen Robinson in 1994
• Make 20 3’s in a row before he could leave the gym
• Make 10 swishes in a row before he could leave the gym
9.23.2009
WHAT'S YOUR LEGACY?
The impact of your life will be determined by your dash.
When you die they'll indicate on your tomb the year of your birth and the year of your death separated by a dash (1989 — 2070). The dash is your life. What you did. How you lived. Whose life you touched. The legacy you left behind.
Aristotle said: "Excellence is not an art. It's a habit."
You can't be excellent half of the time and be in a comfort zone the other half. Your either excellent or your not.
None of us can start out inventing our legacy. Rather, we are who we are and we do what we do. The world notices and assigns to us the definition of our legacy. The best legacies are innocent by-products of a life lived well and a heart overflowing with tender love. Seek not fans, fame, or fortune.
Everybody wants it to matter that they lived. When God breathed in our nostrils and gave us life, He intended for us to use it well.
Your legacy is not something that you can wish for. Its built day, by day, by day throughout your life. It's getting up early every morning and putting in a HARD days work.
When it comes to basketball coaches will remember each and every one of their players. How are your coaches going to remember and talk about you? Will they refer to you as one of their warriors? Will they think of you as a lazy player or will they remember you as a leader and a winner? Will they think about what kind of player you could of been if you would of worked harder? These are the questions you will answer throughout your career.
When it comes to life everybody will leave a legacy, some will be good and some will be bad, but only a few will be great. Leaving a special legacy is HARD. It means going about your life in a different way than everybody else. The road you take will be less traveled. There will be those days when you don't want to work but you will dig deep and still bring it because thats the only way you do things.
Your going to leave a legacy, what kind of legacy is it going to be?
When you die they'll indicate on your tomb the year of your birth and the year of your death separated by a dash (1989 — 2070). The dash is your life. What you did. How you lived. Whose life you touched. The legacy you left behind.
Aristotle said: "Excellence is not an art. It's a habit."
You can't be excellent half of the time and be in a comfort zone the other half. Your either excellent or your not.
None of us can start out inventing our legacy. Rather, we are who we are and we do what we do. The world notices and assigns to us the definition of our legacy. The best legacies are innocent by-products of a life lived well and a heart overflowing with tender love. Seek not fans, fame, or fortune.
Everybody wants it to matter that they lived. When God breathed in our nostrils and gave us life, He intended for us to use it well.
Your legacy is not something that you can wish for. Its built day, by day, by day throughout your life. It's getting up early every morning and putting in a HARD days work.
When it comes to basketball coaches will remember each and every one of their players. How are your coaches going to remember and talk about you? Will they refer to you as one of their warriors? Will they think of you as a lazy player or will they remember you as a leader and a winner? Will they think about what kind of player you could of been if you would of worked harder? These are the questions you will answer throughout your career.
When it comes to life everybody will leave a legacy, some will be good and some will be bad, but only a few will be great. Leaving a special legacy is HARD. It means going about your life in a different way than everybody else. The road you take will be less traveled. There will be those days when you don't want to work but you will dig deep and still bring it because thats the only way you do things.
Your going to leave a legacy, what kind of legacy is it going to be?
CHRIS PAUL VIDEO
Chris Paul preparing for the 2009-2010 season...
http://www.nba.com/video/channels/nba_tv/2009/09/13/nba_20090913_cp3_workout.nba/
http://www.nba.com/video/channels/nba_tv/2009/09/13/nba_20090913_cp3_workout.nba/
"Coach always says..."
It's a simple reminder of what messages players retain and recall, sometimes years after they've left the field or the gym. Here's a selection of them.
Coach always said...
"If you are not doing it the right way, why are you doing it. Learn how to do it the right way and practice it the right way."
"You'll be remembered by your last performance."
"Toughness is a skill."
"If you do the little things right you’ll win."
"The more things you can do, the longer you'll be around here."
"What you put in is what you get out."
"You don’t improve during the playoffs. You improve at practice."
"The season is a marathon not a sprint. What matters is that our team gets better with each game."
"Offense sells tickets; defense wins championships."
"You have to go hard on every play because it could be the difference in the game."
"In every crisis lies opportunity."
"The mental is to the physical as 4 is to 1."
"Good things happen to good people who work hard."
"If you get a five-point lead, push it up to 10. If you have a 10-point lead, push it to 20."
"Turn the page. Good stuff, bad stuff, just turn the page."
"We're not playing our opponent. We're trying to beat the game. The opponent is just another hurdle."
"Forget about the last play. Think about the next play."
"Finish."
"Mismatches don't beat you, uncontested shots beat you."
"Make the easy play."
"The pain of regret is worse than the pain of disappointment."
"How do you want to be remembered?"
"Not to be afraid to win."
"The first one on the floor gets the ball."
Click on the link to Coach Musselman's story for the complete list of nearly 200:
http://emuss.blogspot.com/2009/03/coach-always-said.html
Coach always said...
"If you are not doing it the right way, why are you doing it. Learn how to do it the right way and practice it the right way."
"You'll be remembered by your last performance."
"Toughness is a skill."
"If you do the little things right you’ll win."
"The more things you can do, the longer you'll be around here."
"What you put in is what you get out."
"You don’t improve during the playoffs. You improve at practice."
"The season is a marathon not a sprint. What matters is that our team gets better with each game."
"Offense sells tickets; defense wins championships."
"You have to go hard on every play because it could be the difference in the game."
"In every crisis lies opportunity."
"The mental is to the physical as 4 is to 1."
"Good things happen to good people who work hard."
"If you get a five-point lead, push it up to 10. If you have a 10-point lead, push it to 20."
"Turn the page. Good stuff, bad stuff, just turn the page."
"We're not playing our opponent. We're trying to beat the game. The opponent is just another hurdle."
"Forget about the last play. Think about the next play."
"Finish."
"Mismatches don't beat you, uncontested shots beat you."
"Make the easy play."
"The pain of regret is worse than the pain of disappointment."
"How do you want to be remembered?"
"Not to be afraid to win."
"The first one on the floor gets the ball."
Click on the link to Coach Musselman's story for the complete list of nearly 200:
http://emuss.blogspot.com/2009/03/coach-always-said.html
9.21.2009
WES WELKER
The room was packed with football players, young ones with a million questions and veterans with no doubts. It was Texas Tech's first team meeting of 2000, and coach Mike Leach was doing a sociological study. From behind the podium Leach watched his newcomers size one another up—the walk-ons, the high school track stars and the big-name recruits who once owned the spotlight on Friday nights. Standing in the middle of them all, a head shorter than most, was a freshman receiver from Oklahoma City named Wesley Welker. Leach met his gaze and couldn't help but hold it. "If you've seen that Foghorn Leghorn cartoon, Wes was like the chicken hawk," Leach recalls. "He was shorter than everybody, one of those barrel-chested guys with thick ankles. I was thinking, This fella is pretty sure of himself. He had this steely-eyed stare, this look that said, I can whip all their asses."
This season, one NFL defensive back after another has recognized that look at the line of scrimmage, along with its aftermath: the 5'9", 185-pound Welker darting across the field, finding the soft spot in a zone and turning a short completion into a back-breaking gain, often as the hot read when quarterback Tom Brady was feeling pressure. On a Patriots offense flush with talent, Welker is its most unlikely playmaker, an undrafted, undersized player who developed into someone coach Bill Belichick just had to have.
While there were signs in training camp that Welker might thrive playing alongside wideouts Randy Moss and Donte' Stallworth, no one could have forecast his 112 catches and countless key blocks—except Belichick. Welker had tormented the coach as a receiver, a returner, a special teams tackler and even an emergency kicker for the Dolphins from 2004 through '06, when Miami went 3--3 against New England. "We couldn't defend him, we couldn't cover him," Belichick says. "And a lot of other teams had the same problem."
Welker's coaches at Heritage Hall High couldn't slow him either, no matter how hard they blew their whistles. He treated every drill as a mission statement. During sprints Welker would sometimes dive across the finish line, just to ensure that he was first. "We were always worried he was going to break a rib," says Rod Warner, who coached Welker at Heritage Hall and is now the school's athletic director. "He was like, 'Coach, I wanted to win.'"
On Friday nights Welker stayed on the field for almost every snap. He lined up at tailback, receiver and free safety, returned kicks, kicked off and booted field goals and extra points. A familiar sight was Welker sprinting into the end zone, then trying to catch his breath before attempting the point after. "Right before the snap, he'd tip up his face mask and throw up," Warner says. "It was like it was no big deal."
Says Welker, "You're nervous before games, especially at that age. You're excited to play, you hadn't eaten anything, it's hot out, and next thing you know, you're throwing up. But whenever I threw up, I knew I was going to have a good game."
Though Welker dominated in high school, scoring 90 touchdowns and kicking a 57-yard field goal—he also played soccer at Heritage Hall—most Division I scouts saw short arms, a small frame and an average 40 time. Tulsa almost gave him a scholarship, but the coaching staff chose to sign a faster receiver instead. "I told him, 'You might want to consider a smaller college,' but he wasn't having any of it," says Welker's father, Leland. "He said, 'If I can't play Division I football, I don't want to play.' He always wanted to play with the best, against the best."
Welker's prospects changed after several Texas Tech assistants persuaded Leach to watch a game tape. Leach saw the same physical shortcomings that scared away other programs, but there were signs that he couldn't ignore. "The film was very dramatic," Leach says. "I'm watching it, and I'm like, 'If only he was bigger.' Then he'd make a play. 'If only he was faster.' He'd make another play. 'If only he had longer arms.' He'd make another play. He was one of the most competitive people I've met, could focus longer than anyone I've met, and he took advantage of every moment he had."
In Leach's spread offense, Welker had little trouble finding holes. His anticipation, quick feet and peripheral vision made him a tough cover, even when everybody in the stadium knew the ball was coming his way. "As much as it is a sacrilege to say, I think a lot of that came from soccer," Leach says. "He was coordinated, and he had great vision out of the corner of his eyes because [in soccer] you're always looking for an opening or a lane to pass it to your buddy. If you're carrying a ball, it's even easier to see the holes and run through them."
Welker left Tech with school records in catches (259) and receiving yards (3,069). After making the San Diego Chargers' roster at the end of training camp in 2004, he soon alternated between elation and impatience. "Every practice was just the same, trying to get reps whenever I could," he says. "There were days I wouldn't get one. Maybe they'd throw me in on a blocking play, so I'm out there busting my butt on blocking, making sure that somehow I show up in the camera." The Chargers cut him three days after the season opener, and Miami signed him six days later.
Playing with a revolving door of quarterbacks in Miami, Welker couldn't help but wonder how things might be better in, say, New England, where the Patriots developed cohesion and welcomed versatility. (Not to mention they had won three Super Bowls.) Since arriving, the 26-year-old Welker has elevated the Pats as a receiver and return man. When Brady senses the Giants' pass rush this Sunday, he will no doubt look for Welker, who in the teams' Dec. 29 meeting had 122 yards on 11 receptions, seven of those for first downs. "I guess it's easy [for defenders] to miss him," Brady says. "He can hide in the grass."
Says Welker, "On the outside looking in, it was the type of team I always wanted to play for. When I came here, they didn't care what I ran in the 40 or what my size was. They looked at the film, and they saw what they saw. It's finally the day where I wasn't passed over."
This season, one NFL defensive back after another has recognized that look at the line of scrimmage, along with its aftermath: the 5'9", 185-pound Welker darting across the field, finding the soft spot in a zone and turning a short completion into a back-breaking gain, often as the hot read when quarterback Tom Brady was feeling pressure. On a Patriots offense flush with talent, Welker is its most unlikely playmaker, an undrafted, undersized player who developed into someone coach Bill Belichick just had to have.
While there were signs in training camp that Welker might thrive playing alongside wideouts Randy Moss and Donte' Stallworth, no one could have forecast his 112 catches and countless key blocks—except Belichick. Welker had tormented the coach as a receiver, a returner, a special teams tackler and even an emergency kicker for the Dolphins from 2004 through '06, when Miami went 3--3 against New England. "We couldn't defend him, we couldn't cover him," Belichick says. "And a lot of other teams had the same problem."
Welker's coaches at Heritage Hall High couldn't slow him either, no matter how hard they blew their whistles. He treated every drill as a mission statement. During sprints Welker would sometimes dive across the finish line, just to ensure that he was first. "We were always worried he was going to break a rib," says Rod Warner, who coached Welker at Heritage Hall and is now the school's athletic director. "He was like, 'Coach, I wanted to win.'"
On Friday nights Welker stayed on the field for almost every snap. He lined up at tailback, receiver and free safety, returned kicks, kicked off and booted field goals and extra points. A familiar sight was Welker sprinting into the end zone, then trying to catch his breath before attempting the point after. "Right before the snap, he'd tip up his face mask and throw up," Warner says. "It was like it was no big deal."
Says Welker, "You're nervous before games, especially at that age. You're excited to play, you hadn't eaten anything, it's hot out, and next thing you know, you're throwing up. But whenever I threw up, I knew I was going to have a good game."
Though Welker dominated in high school, scoring 90 touchdowns and kicking a 57-yard field goal—he also played soccer at Heritage Hall—most Division I scouts saw short arms, a small frame and an average 40 time. Tulsa almost gave him a scholarship, but the coaching staff chose to sign a faster receiver instead. "I told him, 'You might want to consider a smaller college,' but he wasn't having any of it," says Welker's father, Leland. "He said, 'If I can't play Division I football, I don't want to play.' He always wanted to play with the best, against the best."
Welker's prospects changed after several Texas Tech assistants persuaded Leach to watch a game tape. Leach saw the same physical shortcomings that scared away other programs, but there were signs that he couldn't ignore. "The film was very dramatic," Leach says. "I'm watching it, and I'm like, 'If only he was bigger.' Then he'd make a play. 'If only he was faster.' He'd make another play. 'If only he had longer arms.' He'd make another play. He was one of the most competitive people I've met, could focus longer than anyone I've met, and he took advantage of every moment he had."
In Leach's spread offense, Welker had little trouble finding holes. His anticipation, quick feet and peripheral vision made him a tough cover, even when everybody in the stadium knew the ball was coming his way. "As much as it is a sacrilege to say, I think a lot of that came from soccer," Leach says. "He was coordinated, and he had great vision out of the corner of his eyes because [in soccer] you're always looking for an opening or a lane to pass it to your buddy. If you're carrying a ball, it's even easier to see the holes and run through them."
Welker left Tech with school records in catches (259) and receiving yards (3,069). After making the San Diego Chargers' roster at the end of training camp in 2004, he soon alternated between elation and impatience. "Every practice was just the same, trying to get reps whenever I could," he says. "There were days I wouldn't get one. Maybe they'd throw me in on a blocking play, so I'm out there busting my butt on blocking, making sure that somehow I show up in the camera." The Chargers cut him three days after the season opener, and Miami signed him six days later.
Playing with a revolving door of quarterbacks in Miami, Welker couldn't help but wonder how things might be better in, say, New England, where the Patriots developed cohesion and welcomed versatility. (Not to mention they had won three Super Bowls.) Since arriving, the 26-year-old Welker has elevated the Pats as a receiver and return man. When Brady senses the Giants' pass rush this Sunday, he will no doubt look for Welker, who in the teams' Dec. 29 meeting had 122 yards on 11 receptions, seven of those for first downs. "I guess it's easy [for defenders] to miss him," Brady says. "He can hide in the grass."
Says Welker, "On the outside looking in, it was the type of team I always wanted to play for. When I came here, they didn't care what I ran in the 40 or what my size was. They looked at the film, and they saw what they saw. It's finally the day where I wasn't passed over."
MIKE LEACH - ESPN ARTICLE
Hardly anyone would have expected a law school graduate who decided to go into college football coaching even though he'd never run anything other than a Little League baseball team to devise one of the most creative and prolific passing games in the nation. But that's exactly what Leach has done, with a twinkle in his eye and a sly half smile on his face.
Give him time and Leach will regale you with stories--about the semipro team he coached in Finland, where the players smoked cigarettes on the sideline; about the time he phoned Donald Trump out of the blue because he was walking past one of the Donald's buildings; about the low-paying coaching job he took in 1987, the year after he had finished in the top third of his law school class at Pepperdine. "It was at Cal Poly-- San Luis Obispo," says Leach. "I told my wife the pay was $3,000. She said $3,000 a month wasn't too bad. I said it was $3,000 a year. Remarkably, we're still married."
That job began an odyssey that included stops at Iowa Wesleyan, Valdosta (Ga.) State and Kentucky, all of them as an assistant to Hal Mumme. It was with Mumme that Leach refined the philosophy that has made Tech's offense so dangerous. The Red Raiders typically send so many receivers out--usually four and sometimes five--that a pass play looks like a crowd fleeing a fire. By flooding the field, someone usually breaks open, and Leach depends on his quarterback to find him. "If you're a receiver, why would you want to go anywhere other than Tech?" says sophomore wideout Joel Filani.
Leach isn't a big believer in stretching ("I never saw a dog do stretching exercises before chasing a car," he says), the importance of time of possession, or keeping the score down. With 15 seconds left in Saturday's blowout, he had backup quarterback Graham Harrell throwing into the end zone. But Leach does believe in spreading the ball around, as his team's eye-popping statistics against Kansas State illustrate. Four Red Raiders had more than 100 yards receiving, including Filani, who had 255. Hodges threw for five touchdowns, two of them to running back Taurean Henderson, who also ran for three.
Tech's last three quarterbacks ( Kliff Kingsbury, B.J. Symons and Sonny Cumbie) led the nation in passing yards, and Hodges, a fifth-year senior who had never started a game before this season--and, amazingly, doesn't even grip the ball by the laces when he throws--is in line to do the same. Leach, however, doesn't like to hear his passers slighted by the suggestion that the system is more important than they are. "He says that if just anybody could play quarterback in this system, he'd recruit a girl from the Swedish Bikini Team," Hodges said after Saturday's win, "because she'd be a lot more fun to watch."
A few people overheard that comment and started to chuckle, which wasn't surprising. Thanks to Leach, there's always laughter in Lubbock.
Give him time and Leach will regale you with stories--about the semipro team he coached in Finland, where the players smoked cigarettes on the sideline; about the time he phoned Donald Trump out of the blue because he was walking past one of the Donald's buildings; about the low-paying coaching job he took in 1987, the year after he had finished in the top third of his law school class at Pepperdine. "It was at Cal Poly-- San Luis Obispo," says Leach. "I told my wife the pay was $3,000. She said $3,000 a month wasn't too bad. I said it was $3,000 a year. Remarkably, we're still married."
That job began an odyssey that included stops at Iowa Wesleyan, Valdosta (Ga.) State and Kentucky, all of them as an assistant to Hal Mumme. It was with Mumme that Leach refined the philosophy that has made Tech's offense so dangerous. The Red Raiders typically send so many receivers out--usually four and sometimes five--that a pass play looks like a crowd fleeing a fire. By flooding the field, someone usually breaks open, and Leach depends on his quarterback to find him. "If you're a receiver, why would you want to go anywhere other than Tech?" says sophomore wideout Joel Filani.
Leach isn't a big believer in stretching ("I never saw a dog do stretching exercises before chasing a car," he says), the importance of time of possession, or keeping the score down. With 15 seconds left in Saturday's blowout, he had backup quarterback Graham Harrell throwing into the end zone. But Leach does believe in spreading the ball around, as his team's eye-popping statistics against Kansas State illustrate. Four Red Raiders had more than 100 yards receiving, including Filani, who had 255. Hodges threw for five touchdowns, two of them to running back Taurean Henderson, who also ran for three.
Tech's last three quarterbacks ( Kliff Kingsbury, B.J. Symons and Sonny Cumbie) led the nation in passing yards, and Hodges, a fifth-year senior who had never started a game before this season--and, amazingly, doesn't even grip the ball by the laces when he throws--is in line to do the same. Leach, however, doesn't like to hear his passers slighted by the suggestion that the system is more important than they are. "He says that if just anybody could play quarterback in this system, he'd recruit a girl from the Swedish Bikini Team," Hodges said after Saturday's win, "because she'd be a lot more fun to watch."
A few people overheard that comment and started to chuckle, which wasn't surprising. Thanks to Leach, there's always laughter in Lubbock.
9.20.2009
MIKE LEACH - ESPN ARTICLE
Mike Leach defied convention to turn Texas Tech into a contender-and his critics into believers
Balance isn't what they say it is, an equal mix of running and passing. No, Leach wants to tell you that balance means getting touches for everyone who isn't a lineman.
Hardened gridiron types who snarl Lombardiisms and worship the Bills (Parcells and Belichick) would cringe to hear that Leach often doesn't stroll into his office until 2 p.m. That's in-season. It's not that he doesn't take his job seriously-he might stare at film until 4 in the morning-it's just that, as Red Raiders receivers coach Sonny Dykes says, "things are different here."
Clearly, Leach is no ordinary whistle-chomping ogre. More than once, his players have approached Leach with a play they created for the Tech offense on PlayStation, and his reaction is always, "What the hell, let's see if it works." It rarely does, but who cares?
"You can smile around here," says Dykes, the son of Spike Dykes, the man Leach replaced.
"He proves you can win without making everybody miserable."
MIKE LEACH is smiling--heck, these days, all of Lubbock is. The afterglow lingers from a 45-31 Holiday Bowl throttling of No. 4-ranked California. Season ticket sales, which didn't crack 20,000 before Leach's arrival, have nearly doubled to 37,000. The team's graduation rate last year was a school-record 89%. And thanks to Leach, Tech has produced the nation's most prolific passer in each of the past five seasons (former walk-on Sonny Cumbie threw for 520 yards in the Holiday Bowl alone), even though all three QBs during that span were marginal pro prospects. It's a pretty safe bet that next fall's Heisman watch will include Tech's newest slinger-whomever that will be.
Leach isn't exactly obsessed with the choice. He'll wait until August before picking from senior Cody Hodges, sophomore Phillip Daugherty and redshirt freshman Graham Harrell. In fact, just before spring practice began, he spent a week most coaches would pass in the film room skiing with his family at Sundance. If only he'd had time to tack on some surfing and roller-blading in Venice Beach.
Leach grew up in Cody, Wyo., on the outskirts of Yellowstone National Park. But he discovered he was a beach dude in the mid-1980s, when he was a law student at Pepperdine. Back then, he never imagined he'd coach football, in west Texas of all places. Leach didn't even play college football, one of only five Division I-A head coaches who haven't. As an undergraduate at Brigham Young, he played rugby and made a name for himself there in other ways. Leach's unkempt mop regularly violated the school's honor code, which still requires that locks be "trimmed above the collar, leaving the ear uncovered."
Leach and his law degree were locked on a career path in product-liability litigation, the little guy taking on corporations, when he realized something wasn't right. He wrote a letter to famed attorney Gerry Spence, another Wyoming native, to solicit his opinion. Spence replied that if Leach's mind wasn't consumed by law, he shouldn't be a lawyer. Deep down, Leach already knew. What appealed to him about the profession, the preparation and mental sparring, soon led him in another direction.
The lawyer whose coaching résumé consisted mostly of Little League assignments talked his way into a grad assistant's gig at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. When Leach told his wife, Sharon, about the salary, she said $3,000 a month sounded like good money. "No," he told her, "it's $3,000, total."
MIKE LEACH is doing the tourist thing in New York City a couple months before last season, with his two oldest daughters, Janeen, who is 19, and Kim, who is 14. Walking past the Trump World Tower, he thinks, Cool building. Nice lines. What the heck, let's dial up The Donald. I'll tell him I liked his book. Leach had bought How to Get Rich at the airport and finished it before landing. Right there, on First Avenue, he dials information and gets the number for the Trump Organization. After being transferred three or four times, he winds up on the voice mail of Trump's co-author, Meredith McIver. "Yeah, uh, this is Mike Leach," he says. "I coach football at Texas Tech and, uh, I just read his book and found some good ideas in there, and I want to talk to him." Trump is out of town, but McIver calls back. Leach gets some restaurant tips in the exchange, but, truth be told, he just wanted to see how far he could penetrate Trump's inner sanctum.
A few weeks later, Leach's secretary fields a call from The Donald--and takes a message. (If she actually had believed it was him, she probably would've gotten Leach out of that quarterbacks meeting.) Leach eventually gets Trump on the horn. "Next time you come to Manhattan," the magnate tells him, "give me a call."
"Will do," says the coach. "And you do the same if you come to Lubbock."
MIKE LEACH is chuckling. He's not a belly laugh guy. In fact, his default expression lies somewhere between indifference and bemusement. Usually he just tips his chin to you, to acknowledge the humor. But apparently, talking about what defines sportsmanship is a hoot, especially all the criticism about Leach running up the score to tick off other coaches. "Look, I'm pissed if third-teamers go in and don't score," he says. He knows that at any time, third-teamers may have to become first-teamers.
Shoot, if it were up to Leach, there'd be no postgame handshake between coaches. "It's uncomfortable," he says. "If I've lost, I don't feel like shaking your hand, and if I've won, you're probably not feeling like shaking mine." The man has low tolerance for BS of any kind. To his mind, the votes of coaches in the polls should be public. "If you don't have some agenda, why wouldn't you stand behind it?" he asks. And don't get him started on the whole Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim business. "Is that not the dumbest idea you've ever heard?"
His goals are really quite simple. Leach wants all four of his receivers to have 1,000-yard seasons and his running back to have 1,000 yards rushing and receiving. Sound outrageous? Maybe, but the Red Raiders have already scraped that Arena Football stratosphere. Last season, two receivers eclipsed 1,000 yards and a third would have been close had an injury not cost him three games. Running back Taurean Henderson was 160 rushing yards short of a grand and added another 286 yards on 60 receptions.
Balance is the guiding principle of what Leach calls The System, a go-for-broke fireworks display he and buddy Hal Mumme cooked up to revitalize offenses at Iowa Wesleyan, Valdosta (Ga.) State and Kentucky. Leach hooked up with Mumme after bouncing south from Cal Poly to the College of the Desert, where he coached the linebackers, to Finland, where he was head coach of a semipro team, most of whose players puffed cigarettes on the sideline. The Mumme-Leach scheme is an offshoot of LaVell Edwards' offense at BYU, with a much more liberal dose of the no-huddle and shotgun. "I guess not everybody tries it, because they think it's a little too radical," says Mumme, now the head coach at New Mexico State.
It didn't scare off Bob Stoops. When he took over a downtrodden Oklahoma team in 1999, he hired Leach to run the offense. That fall, unheralded former juco passer Josh Heupel set a school record with 3,850 yards through the air. The next season, Oklahoma won the national title.
But Leach had already packed his bags by then, heading to Lubbock after just one season with the Sooners. At first, the folks in west Texas didn't know what to make of Leach and his funky offense. What they knew was they loved Spike Dykes like a son, which is essentially what he was, having grown up a pooch punt from Tech's Jones Stadium. Ol' Spike was as down-home as chickenfried steak. The new guy? Lord. He didn't talk like Spike. Didn't stir the gravy like him either.
Leach wasn't a square peg in a round hole; he was an octagon. Even after Tech passed for more than 3,000 yards for the first time in school history while leading the nation with three shutouts, some boosters complained the new coach was too gimmicky. Two falls later, after Tech got squashed in its season opener by eventual national champ Ohio State, the editor emeritus of the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal wrote a column that derided Leach for everything from his offense to his reclusive behavior to his hesitance in reaching out to the community. "Tech did wind up with a jerk among its head coaches," the local wag wrote. "And to the delightful surprise of many, it ain't Bobby Knight."
Rumors had Leach brooding because he felt Tech football was the poor stepchild on campus now that Knight had taken over the basketball program, and Knight's pal, the former Red Raiders hoops coach Gerald Myers, was calling the shots as AD. The swirl of controversy intensified when Leach returned from a summer vacation to find his program $400,000 over budget and his expenditures frozen. He couldn't even send letters to recruits. And just when Tech lifted the "Stampgate" embargo, word leaked that officials had investigated whispers about Leach's off-hours behavior, namely an alleged penchant for late-night boozing. Then-school president David Schmidly told reporters he "checked them out for Mike's own good," and nothing came of it. Still, whenever Leach went out around town, he was accompanied by his lawyer.
Leach shrugs off both instances. "I don't care about any of that," he says. "The facts in every situation bore out on my side of things."
Of course, winning hasn't hurt his cause.
The crackpot outsider has become a local treasure. Once one of the conference's lowest-paid coaches, he is about to tack two more seasons onto a deal that will pay him $1.275 million a year through 2009.
"Look, I'm just trying to win games," he says matter-of-factly. "People ask me who we're playing next year, and I honestly can't remember. I'm just thinking about making the most of each day."
Balance isn't what they say it is, an equal mix of running and passing. No, Leach wants to tell you that balance means getting touches for everyone who isn't a lineman.
Hardened gridiron types who snarl Lombardiisms and worship the Bills (Parcells and Belichick) would cringe to hear that Leach often doesn't stroll into his office until 2 p.m. That's in-season. It's not that he doesn't take his job seriously-he might stare at film until 4 in the morning-it's just that, as Red Raiders receivers coach Sonny Dykes says, "things are different here."
Clearly, Leach is no ordinary whistle-chomping ogre. More than once, his players have approached Leach with a play they created for the Tech offense on PlayStation, and his reaction is always, "What the hell, let's see if it works." It rarely does, but who cares?
"You can smile around here," says Dykes, the son of Spike Dykes, the man Leach replaced.
"He proves you can win without making everybody miserable."
MIKE LEACH is smiling--heck, these days, all of Lubbock is. The afterglow lingers from a 45-31 Holiday Bowl throttling of No. 4-ranked California. Season ticket sales, which didn't crack 20,000 before Leach's arrival, have nearly doubled to 37,000. The team's graduation rate last year was a school-record 89%. And thanks to Leach, Tech has produced the nation's most prolific passer in each of the past five seasons (former walk-on Sonny Cumbie threw for 520 yards in the Holiday Bowl alone), even though all three QBs during that span were marginal pro prospects. It's a pretty safe bet that next fall's Heisman watch will include Tech's newest slinger-whomever that will be.
Leach isn't exactly obsessed with the choice. He'll wait until August before picking from senior Cody Hodges, sophomore Phillip Daugherty and redshirt freshman Graham Harrell. In fact, just before spring practice began, he spent a week most coaches would pass in the film room skiing with his family at Sundance. If only he'd had time to tack on some surfing and roller-blading in Venice Beach.
Leach grew up in Cody, Wyo., on the outskirts of Yellowstone National Park. But he discovered he was a beach dude in the mid-1980s, when he was a law student at Pepperdine. Back then, he never imagined he'd coach football, in west Texas of all places. Leach didn't even play college football, one of only five Division I-A head coaches who haven't. As an undergraduate at Brigham Young, he played rugby and made a name for himself there in other ways. Leach's unkempt mop regularly violated the school's honor code, which still requires that locks be "trimmed above the collar, leaving the ear uncovered."
Leach and his law degree were locked on a career path in product-liability litigation, the little guy taking on corporations, when he realized something wasn't right. He wrote a letter to famed attorney Gerry Spence, another Wyoming native, to solicit his opinion. Spence replied that if Leach's mind wasn't consumed by law, he shouldn't be a lawyer. Deep down, Leach already knew. What appealed to him about the profession, the preparation and mental sparring, soon led him in another direction.
The lawyer whose coaching résumé consisted mostly of Little League assignments talked his way into a grad assistant's gig at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo. When Leach told his wife, Sharon, about the salary, she said $3,000 a month sounded like good money. "No," he told her, "it's $3,000, total."
MIKE LEACH is doing the tourist thing in New York City a couple months before last season, with his two oldest daughters, Janeen, who is 19, and Kim, who is 14. Walking past the Trump World Tower, he thinks, Cool building. Nice lines. What the heck, let's dial up The Donald. I'll tell him I liked his book. Leach had bought How to Get Rich at the airport and finished it before landing. Right there, on First Avenue, he dials information and gets the number for the Trump Organization. After being transferred three or four times, he winds up on the voice mail of Trump's co-author, Meredith McIver. "Yeah, uh, this is Mike Leach," he says. "I coach football at Texas Tech and, uh, I just read his book and found some good ideas in there, and I want to talk to him." Trump is out of town, but McIver calls back. Leach gets some restaurant tips in the exchange, but, truth be told, he just wanted to see how far he could penetrate Trump's inner sanctum.
A few weeks later, Leach's secretary fields a call from The Donald--and takes a message. (If she actually had believed it was him, she probably would've gotten Leach out of that quarterbacks meeting.) Leach eventually gets Trump on the horn. "Next time you come to Manhattan," the magnate tells him, "give me a call."
"Will do," says the coach. "And you do the same if you come to Lubbock."
MIKE LEACH is chuckling. He's not a belly laugh guy. In fact, his default expression lies somewhere between indifference and bemusement. Usually he just tips his chin to you, to acknowledge the humor. But apparently, talking about what defines sportsmanship is a hoot, especially all the criticism about Leach running up the score to tick off other coaches. "Look, I'm pissed if third-teamers go in and don't score," he says. He knows that at any time, third-teamers may have to become first-teamers.
Shoot, if it were up to Leach, there'd be no postgame handshake between coaches. "It's uncomfortable," he says. "If I've lost, I don't feel like shaking your hand, and if I've won, you're probably not feeling like shaking mine." The man has low tolerance for BS of any kind. To his mind, the votes of coaches in the polls should be public. "If you don't have some agenda, why wouldn't you stand behind it?" he asks. And don't get him started on the whole Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim business. "Is that not the dumbest idea you've ever heard?"
His goals are really quite simple. Leach wants all four of his receivers to have 1,000-yard seasons and his running back to have 1,000 yards rushing and receiving. Sound outrageous? Maybe, but the Red Raiders have already scraped that Arena Football stratosphere. Last season, two receivers eclipsed 1,000 yards and a third would have been close had an injury not cost him three games. Running back Taurean Henderson was 160 rushing yards short of a grand and added another 286 yards on 60 receptions.
Balance is the guiding principle of what Leach calls The System, a go-for-broke fireworks display he and buddy Hal Mumme cooked up to revitalize offenses at Iowa Wesleyan, Valdosta (Ga.) State and Kentucky. Leach hooked up with Mumme after bouncing south from Cal Poly to the College of the Desert, where he coached the linebackers, to Finland, where he was head coach of a semipro team, most of whose players puffed cigarettes on the sideline. The Mumme-Leach scheme is an offshoot of LaVell Edwards' offense at BYU, with a much more liberal dose of the no-huddle and shotgun. "I guess not everybody tries it, because they think it's a little too radical," says Mumme, now the head coach at New Mexico State.
It didn't scare off Bob Stoops. When he took over a downtrodden Oklahoma team in 1999, he hired Leach to run the offense. That fall, unheralded former juco passer Josh Heupel set a school record with 3,850 yards through the air. The next season, Oklahoma won the national title.
But Leach had already packed his bags by then, heading to Lubbock after just one season with the Sooners. At first, the folks in west Texas didn't know what to make of Leach and his funky offense. What they knew was they loved Spike Dykes like a son, which is essentially what he was, having grown up a pooch punt from Tech's Jones Stadium. Ol' Spike was as down-home as chickenfried steak. The new guy? Lord. He didn't talk like Spike. Didn't stir the gravy like him either.
Leach wasn't a square peg in a round hole; he was an octagon. Even after Tech passed for more than 3,000 yards for the first time in school history while leading the nation with three shutouts, some boosters complained the new coach was too gimmicky. Two falls later, after Tech got squashed in its season opener by eventual national champ Ohio State, the editor emeritus of the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal wrote a column that derided Leach for everything from his offense to his reclusive behavior to his hesitance in reaching out to the community. "Tech did wind up with a jerk among its head coaches," the local wag wrote. "And to the delightful surprise of many, it ain't Bobby Knight."
Rumors had Leach brooding because he felt Tech football was the poor stepchild on campus now that Knight had taken over the basketball program, and Knight's pal, the former Red Raiders hoops coach Gerald Myers, was calling the shots as AD. The swirl of controversy intensified when Leach returned from a summer vacation to find his program $400,000 over budget and his expenditures frozen. He couldn't even send letters to recruits. And just when Tech lifted the "Stampgate" embargo, word leaked that officials had investigated whispers about Leach's off-hours behavior, namely an alleged penchant for late-night boozing. Then-school president David Schmidly told reporters he "checked them out for Mike's own good," and nothing came of it. Still, whenever Leach went out around town, he was accompanied by his lawyer.
Leach shrugs off both instances. "I don't care about any of that," he says. "The facts in every situation bore out on my side of things."
Of course, winning hasn't hurt his cause.
The crackpot outsider has become a local treasure. Once one of the conference's lowest-paid coaches, he is about to tack two more seasons onto a deal that will pay him $1.275 million a year through 2009.
"Look, I'm just trying to win games," he says matter-of-factly. "People ask me who we're playing next year, and I honestly can't remember. I'm just thinking about making the most of each day."
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