Go Sports Life

One thing I always loved about USC was that it prepared you for everything in life.  SC is not designed to make you happy or make you perfect- it is designed to prepare you for reality.  I was fully prepared to to play against my heroes.

-Mike Garrett

Pg 28

I'm a lifetime 46 percent shooter; so if I miss my first 10 shots, watch out.

-Rick Barry

Pg 40

By the time the New York Jets made him defensive coordinator in 1990, Carroll had refined his style of dealing with players face-to-face.  Sometimes that meant cracking the whip, sometimes it meant talking about girlfriends and movies.  He was clearly part of a new breed that had diverged from the authoritarian mode, of which he said, "That can be a great way to teach, but it's not me.  I get more out of you if I connect with you.  Instead of knocking you down . . . I'm going to build you."

Pg 43

Three years later, when he heard that Paul Hackett was fired, Carroll decided to take a shot at the job.  He and Gross said they could not remember who made contact first, but after a few conversations, a meeting was scheduled.  The media were already talking about Dennis Erickson and Mike Bellotti, so Carroll wondered if his innate competitiveness kicked in to high gear.  He studied the USC program, its strengths and weaknesses, honing presentation.  Then he got on a flight to Los Angeles, feeling excited.

"I needed to be ready," he said.  "I had a huge interview opportunity and wanted to be sure I could nail that."

Pg 48

Antuan Simmons had come to USC in 1997 as a defensive back pressed into action in the second game of the season.  The kid from Sacramento responded with 11 tackles.  "Didn't blink once," said Dennis Thurman, an assistant then.  Although Simmons could be maddening at times, given to mental lapses, not always the hardest worker in practice, there was no questioning his raw physical talent.

Shifting from safety to cornerback as a sophomore, he started about half the games and, against Washington, intercepted two fourth-quarter passes, returning both for touchdowns.  As a junior, he became a full-time starter and had a big game against Stanford, intercepting another two passes and recovering a fumble.  Simmons also played on special teams, blocking a half-dozen kicks during his first three seasons, and was popular among teammates.  "If I had a question about how to cover a guy or something I should be doing better; he was there to tell me, " said Kris Richard a fellow defensive back.  "He was there to lean on."

His problems began with a nagging back injury during that junior season of 1999.  The pain grew unbearable, requiring emergency surgery to relieve pressure on a nerve.  It was during a follow-up examination that doctors noticed unusual blotches on the X-rays- a cluster of tumors had formed along his aorta and wrapped around his left kidney.

Simmons went right back into the operating room, this time for six hours, surgeons carefully removing the benign masses and reconstructing a major vein.  He developed internal bleeding, which required yet another operation, and his short hospital stay stretched into weeks.  "It became a nightmare," he said.  The once-powerful athlete lost 35 pounds and traveled in and out of intensive care, breathing through a respirator as he battled further complications.  His muscles atrophied to the point where he needed help to stand.  Teammates and coaches stopped by to cheer him up, maybe talk some football, shaking their heads as they walked away.  Hackett, still the coach, said, "If it's you or me . . . we're dead."

Watching a clock on the wall of his room, waiting for a time when things would get better, Simmons refused to give up hope.  The turning point came in late June 2000 when doctors discovered the cause of his labored breathing: more than a liter of fluid had developed around his heart.  Simmons was to weak and sedated to realize that he was going in for yet another procedure, but upon waking, he sensed that something had changed.  His body started to grow stronger.  Some two months after arriving at the hospital, he finally went home.

By August, Simmons was healthy enough to accompany the team to New Jersey and watch the opener against Penn State.  After USC's victory that day, Paul Hackett handed him the game ball.  It was an emotional moment, a symbol of his return, but the tough part was far from over.  While the Trojans struggled through the season, Simmons had to put on pounds and coax his muscles back into shape.  The experience changed him, he said, made him treasure school and family, made him appreciate the game he had occasionally taken for granted.

All the weight eventually returned, his legs recovering their spring, and in March 2001 the defensive back convinced coaches that he could return to the field.  "We were stunned he was even out at spring practice," Carroll said.  "He was hitting the heck out of people and making plays."  Exactly what the Trojans needed.

Pgs 57-59

College programs live and die by their ability to keep the roster stocked with fresh talent.  The courtship between recruiters and topnotch high school players can be delicate, a relationship forged on notes in the mail, telephone calls, and critical hours spent in the family living room.  "You have to be relentless," Orgeron said.  In his first few years at USC, the Trojans were anything but.  They were still relying on reputation to attract the best prospects and, as a result, homegrown talent was slipping away.

Pg 52

Orgeron made first contact and, as Baker recalled, "He was such an awesome guy . . . he'll fire you up."  Then it was Carroll's turn.  With recruiters coming through one after another, Baker had arranged furniture in his living room so that he and his mother could sit across from visitors, almost as if conducting a formal interview.  Carroll would have none of it.  He barged into the house, pushing everything aside, and plopped down on the couch between the player and his mom.  "A lot of coaches are so serious . . . you can't see yourself going to them with problems," Baker said.  "Coach Carroll is one of those guys you can relate to."

Pg 53

The experience in New York back in 1994 had taught Carroll a lesson.  When the Jets promoted him from defensive coordinator to head coach, he became more of an administrator, supervising from above, and lost that close contact with his team.  "We lost our identity," former safety Ronnie Lott said.  "Pete, as a coach, looks back at that moment and thinks, God, I should have stayed more engaged."

Pg 54

Never the type to grab face masks or scream, he sought to exert discipline in other ways.  Malcolm Wooldridge, a defensive lineman, found himself crawling on hands and knees from one end of the field to the other, punishment for neglecting to get his ankles taped.  Dickerson arrived at practice a few minutes late and spent the rest of the afternoon doing push-ups.  "That let the team know he's strictly business," the tight end said.  "If you break a rule, you have to pay."

Pg 55

As his team struggled, Carroll kept talking about getting the players to believe.  He was referring to a culture of defeat, a group of young men who had grown accustomed to coming up short.  Changing that would require more than Xs and Os.  He needed them to battle through their doubts, and he was finding an unlikely ally in Mike Pollard.

The middle linebacker had a history of fighting back from adversity.  The bad luck started in 1995 when, as a highly touted junior at Long Beach Poly, Pollard hurt his knee.  Young and afraid the surgeon would make a mistake, he insisted upon having an epidural so he could stay awake and watch the procedure.

The injury healed in time for him to play as a senior and attract interest from recruiters, but then his test scores came back too low.  That meant a semester of hitting the books at a local junior college to qualify.  And there was another season of waiting when he reached USC in 1998, playing behind All-American linebacker Chris Claiborne.  Finally, with a shot at winning a spot in the starting lineup for the 1999 season, Pollard tore ligaments in the other knee.  He recalled thinking, It's over.

In need of motivation- the will to come back one more time- he looked first to his father.  Henry Pollard had worked decades as a welder before the shipyards closed down, leaving him too young to retire, too old to get hired elsewhere.  He started a business selling peanuts to support his family.  "Talk about hard times," he said, laughing.  "But you can't give up."  His son adopted the same attitude, taking further inspiration from old films of Munoz, the USC offensive lineman who had five knee operations and still became one of the greatest players ever at his position in pro football history.

"If he had five surgeries on his knees and could do that," Pollard said, "I knew I could do it with just two."

The road back began with decidedly unglamorous duty on the kickoff squad in 2000.  He took his frustration out on opposing returners, delivering a series of highlight-reel hits.  "I knew I could play if someone gave me a chance," he said.

The opportunity arose when Carroll arrived in 2001.  The new coach looked at videotape of Pollard's special teams work and penciled him in at outside linebacker.  Then, in an ironic twist, Long Beach Poly recruit Marvin Simmons failed to qualify academically- just like Pollard years before- leaving the Trojans thin in the middle.  Despite his initial reluctance to switch, Pollard won the job by the end of training camp.  "He just kept answering the bell," said DeWayne Walker, the associate head coach.  "It's nice to see him out there playing like he is."

Using his quickness and hands to fend off blockers, Pollard led the team with 11 tackles against Oregon and Notre Dame.  Linebacker coach Nick Holt explained, "He's never going to be the biggest guy or the fastest guy on the field, but he's working his butt off and making a lot of plays."

Before each game, Pollard gave a prayer of thanks and made a point of listening to his cleats clack down the tunnel that led onto the field.  He looked up at all the people in the Coliseum.  "All the stuff I went through," he said.  "I didn't think this day would ever come."  He was the embodiment of what Carroll needed to revive the Trojans.

Pgs 74-76

Hardly anyone knew that Justin Fargas would be the starting tailback that day against Oregon.  Even some of his teammates were surprised when he showed up in the huddle before the first snap.  It was a moment that, as Fargas put it, was "a long time coming."

Back in the late nineties, he had been a schoolboy hero at Notre Dame High, only 25 minutes up the freeway from USC.  With an angular build and smooth running style, he had made the spectacular look routine.  One play, in particular, was part of the local folklore: somersaulting over a pileup at the line, Fargas landed on his feet and kept running 35 yards to the end zone.  Everyone expected the senior to perform this sort of magic for the hometown Trojans, but when the program fired John Robinson and brought in pass-oriented Paul Hackett, Fargas went to Michigan instead.  Thus began a four-year odyssey.

His college career got off to a fast start in 1998, the freshman worked his way into the rotation and rushing for 120 yards in ankle deep mud at Northwestern.  Michigan coach Lloyd Carr called him "a real bright spot . . . that kid showed a lot."  Then came a brutal injury against Wisconsin, his right leg so badly shattered that doctors pondered amputating the foot.  They tried reassembling the bones with titanium rods and, when that didn't work, had to rebreak the leg and start over, this time inserting metal plates.  Fargas needed almost two years to recover and, by the time he returned in 2000, the Wolverines had talented running backs Anthony Thomas and Chris Perry above him on the depth chart.  After a brief attempt at playing in the secondary, it became clear, he said, "I wasn't going to accomplish my dreams at Michigan."

Carroll had taken over at USC that winter, so Fargas and his father, Antonio- the actor who played "Huggy Bear" in the seventies television series Starsky and Hutch- met with the new coach to discuss a transfer.  Antonio said his son "needed to be close to home . . . to come back and pick up the pieces."  Carroll agreed, and Justin made the switch immediately, leaving Michigan even as the team was preparing for the Citrus Bowl.  He enrolled in classes at USC and, though NCAA rules prohibited him from playing the 2001 season, wasted no time establishing himself as a star on the practice field.

Something about the young man had changed.  There was an element of ferocity now, and the very sound of him running in scrimmages- a cacophony of grunting, feet churning, the clack of shoulder pads as he confronted one tackler after another- caused teammates and coaches to stop and watch from other parts of the field.  "He was breaking tackles and doing everything he could," Cody recalled.  "He's a wild man."  On the final day of spring practice in 2002, Fargas carried 12 times for 111 yards.

It seemed the stage was set for him to start the next fall, but there was another setback, a strained hamstring in training camp, and Sultan McCullough kept the job.  Fargas was growing desperate.  Although Carroll intended to keep him on the sideline until he was free of injury, the senior coaxed running back coach Kennedy Pola into sending him in for one play against Colorado, a four-yard gain.  Carroll immediately ordered the equipment managers to confiscate his helmet.  Fargas said sheepishly, "I'm just happy to get that first carry out of the way."

Maybe the biggest play of his career came five weeks later against Washington.  The 13-yard touchdown run, late in a blowout victory, wasn't nearly as impressive as the way his teammates mobbed him afterward.  This show of emotion struck Carroll, who quietly decided to start Fargas because of "a gut feeling . . . sometimes they work, sometimes they don't."

This one did.  Fargas rushed for 139 yards against Oregon, including a 15-yard touchdown that broke the game open in the third quarter, and it was something of an understatement when he called that day the highlight of his college career.  The Trojans had a new star in the backfield, a guy who later explained, "The more you carry the ball, the more confident you get."

Even if you have to wait four years.

Pgs 119-121

Instead of assuming command of the Trojans offense, Leinart spent the spring and summer of 2002 fighting Matt Cassel for the backup spot.  He opened the season at number two on the depth chart, but as Palmer put together a Heisman-winning season, the redshirt freshman struggled to stay motivated.  "He was pouting," his father said.  "He had a bad attitude."  Leinart agreed.  "It was tough to just really keep battling for a backup position," he said a few years later.  "You have to really stay on top of your game and stay mentally involved.  You can't get down on yourself, and when you do get an opportunity, you have to make the best of it.  I struggled to do that."  Even worse, the coaches now doubted his physical skills.  They did not see his arm strength progressing as they thought it should have.  Carroll, in particular was concerned about how he was delivering the ball.

Soon, Cassel was getting more snaps in practice, and the best Leinart could manage was mop-up duty in a few games.  Two snaps against Colorado.  A few series at Oregon.  A single play against UCLA.  Not a single pass thrown.  At the Orange Bowl with the victory over Iowa assured, it was Cassel who came in for the final moments.  When the game ended, the question of Palmer's successor- already on everyone's mind- was up in the air.  Sarkisian, stepping aside from postgame celebrations on the field said flatly, "Tomorrow we'll start focussing on what we've got and figure out how to handle it."

During that off-season, Leinart was less than convinced about his chances.  He showed up at Rollinson's office one day.  The Mater Dei coach had watched the young man's confidence wilt over the previous two seasons and, like the Trojans coaches, had been waiting for him to step up.  "Here," he said, handing Leinart a videocassette.  "Put on the De La Salle tape.  Where's that guy?"

. . .

And then there was Leinart.  Shaggy hair and a wide smile.  A blonde surfer-model for a girlfriend.  And that questionable arm.

Taking Rollinson's words to heart, Leinart became a fixture in the weight room.  "He made up his mind, 'OK, I'm going to work out and get in the best shape of my life.  I'm going to give it everything I've got.  Let's see what happens,'"  his father said.  Now 6'5" and 215 pounds, he was also determined to change his attitude.  There would be no more pouting like the year before.

Pgs 135-136

You get to thinking it can never happen.  It can.  You can get beat.

-Pete Carroll on becoming complacent

Pg 141

Everybody looks forward to the day when they get a chance to prove who they are and prove what they can do.

-LenDale White

Pg 143