Penn State tragedy -- I didn't get it right last week

Tweet

One week ago when I wrote my first (of two) columns - here and here - on Joe Paterno and the tragedy at Penn State quite a few people—including my wife—felt that I didn’t put enough emphasis on what is by far the most tragic aspect of the whole debacle, which is what happened to at least eight young boys and, in all likelihood, far more than that.

I plead guilty—with an explanation.

Some people have speculated that I was just looking at it from the jock perspective, wondering what this would do to Paterno and Penn State rather than focusing more on the victims. Actually, that’s not true. I made a cardinal error: I assumed it was a given that the most tragic aspect of what was going on was what had been done to the boys and the fact that it could have been stopped years ago and wasn’t.

You know the old cliché about what happens when you assume.

That was mistake number one. Mistake number two—now that I have the benefit of seven days hindsight—was clearly my bias towards Paterno. Or, more specifically, my inability to wrestle to the ground the notion that someone I had put on a pedestal for so long could have fallen and crashed from that pedestal so hard.

My bias here wasn’t personal as it might have been with any number of basketball coaches or a small handful of football coaches—specifically those I’ve worked with on book projects and come to know well. I’ve met Paterno, interviewed Paterno, but can hardly claim to know him.

But I’ve admired him and his program since I was a kid. Growing up in New York City there were three college football teams I followed with passion: Columbia, Army and Penn State. I always enjoyed Paterno’s acerbic wit and his insistence that his players go to class and graduate and learn about more than football. I also liked the fact that everyone around Penn State always called him, ‘Joe,’ in a world where most coaches wear the title of ‘Coach,’ as if it was inherited at birth.

As far back as 1999 I wanted to do a book on Paterno. Right around the time that Jerry Sandusky was ‘retiring,’ I wrote Paterno a letter asking him for an audience so I could try to convince him to grant me access that fall to do a book. My request in the letter was simple: Don’t say no, just say you’ll listen. I honestly believed if I could get in the room with him and explain to him how little time I would actually need with him once the season started that I would have a shot.

I never got the chance. I still have the letter he wrote to me in response. It wasn’t a two-line blow-off, it took up an entire page. It was still a blow-off, but it was one that made me feel not totally rejected. He explained the timing of my request was bad because he was launching several non-football projects. He knew my work, respected my work but this wasn’t the right time. The added touch was a handwritten sentence at the bottom of the page: “Really enjoy listening to you on NPR.”

I knew Paterno was a Republican. But he listened to NPR. That was impressive too.

I was, needless to say, disappointed. Paterno was going to turn 73 at the end of that season and I thought the ’99 team might be his last chance to make a run at a national championship. Actually a loss to Minnesota after an 8-0 start began a five year spiral that climaxed when President Graham Spanier went to Paterno’s house to suggest he retire and apparently got thrown out of the house.

Good for Joe I thought back then. If anyone deserved to plan his own exit it was Paterno.

As I’ve written here before I took another swipe at getting in to see Paterno three years ago. Thanks to my friend Malcolm Moran who now teaches at Penn State (and wrote a wonderful piece in the Sunday New York Times on the mood up there on Saturday) I had lunch with a marketing guy named Guido D’Elia who had become very close to Paterno and had become his un-official gatekeeper.

D’Elia was, to put it politely, dismissive of the idea and of me. Paterno wasn’t ready to do legacy stuff he explained, even at 82. When I told him that I hoped he’d be ready soon and I’d like to have the chance to talk to him sooner rather than later about it, D’Elia said, “We’ll put you on the list.”

(I did a google search this morning to see if D’Elia’s name has surfaced at all in the last week. I found nothing. I find that strange).

The day wasn’t a complete loss though. Malcolm had arranged for he and I to do a two-man ‘forum,’ that night discussing journalism and college athletics. One of the people who showed up was Jay Paterno. Malcolm introduced us and we chatted for a few minutes. No doubt strictly to be courteous, Jay said, “Hey, if I can ever be of any help to you, here’s my contact info.”

He handed me his card. In one of the great upsets of the last 50 years I somehow didn’t lose it. I have lost more important phone numbers than perhaps anyone in history. Last year, after Penn State’s season was over, I dug out the card and contacted Jay. I told him I was looking for help and asked if we could have lunch—which we did.

I liked him instantly. He was smart, funny and totally un-impressed with himself. He was (is) also a Democrat who had worked for President Obama in ’08. Naturally I liked that too. I asked Jay to do one thing for me: Get me in to see his father. He said he would talk to him as soon as he came back from vacation.

Unfortunately (or, perhaps fortunately) unbeknownst to Jay, his father was already making a book deal with Joe Posnanski. I could hardly blame him for choosing Joe who he knew a lot better than me and who is very damn good. My guess was that my pal Guido was behind that deal but I honestly don’t know.

So that’s the background. I’ve been a Paterno fan for a long time and thought he’d make a fascinating book subject. Clearly I was right about that but not for the reasons I thought. I think I may have been in a little bit of denial a week ago about Paterno’s culpability. And, I’ll also admit that, then—as now—I can’t help but think about Jay Paterno.

He’s gone from having a bright future in coaching or politics (he was being encouraged by a number of important Democrats to run for Congress next year if his dad retired) to a future that is now completely murky. If feeling badly about that makes me a bad guy, so be it.

I hate this story in every possible way. I hate it first and foremost for those kids and their families who have been to hell and back and yet their journey’s far from over. I hate it on a much different level for The Penn State players and for all the Penn State people who honestly believed their program and their coach WERE different from the other big time programs. As I said this morning in The Post, I talked to a long-time coach last week, not someone close to Paterno at all and he said this: “If you ask me the list of all the big-time coaches I am absolutely certain don’t cheat here it is: Joe Paterno.”

Of course this went way beyond cheating. It is, without doubt, the worst thing that has ever happened in college athletics. That’s not to diminish the death of Len Bias 25 years ago or the murder of Patrick Dennehy eight years ago or the death of any college athlete. This involved innocent children being abused repeatedly and it is a story that is going to go on and on for years to come.

I didn’t get it right last week. I’m not sure I’ll ever get it right. In fact, I’m not sure there IS a right here. Just an awful lot of wrongs.

My newest book, to be published Dec. 5th, is now available for pre-order: One on One-- Behind the Scenes with the Greats in the Game 

This trip leads to stories on my late friend John Morris on his time at Penn State, the PGA Tour

So here I am at The Players Championship for the first time in 11 years. The last time I was here was (obviously) 1999 when “The Majors,” had just come out and the main reason I came was to do book promotion work since a lot of the golf media was in town for the event. It also helped that The Final Four was in St. Petersburg that year so I stayed until Saturday morning and then made the drive across the state in plenty of time for the semifinals.

In those days I stayed with my friends John and Kitty Morris. John was in charge of public relations for The PGA Tour in those days and was someone I had known since my early days at The Washington Post when he had been Penn State’s sports information director. More important, he had the complete trust of Joe Paterno, so if John told Joe you were okay, Joe would treat you accordingly.

The first time I interviewed Paterno was in 1979. I was the Maryland beat writer for The Post and, back then, Maryland played (and lost to) Penn State every year. I was sent up to State College the week of the game to talk to players and to Paterno. Even back then Paterno could be cranky and he wasn’t in an especially good mood at that point because a couple of players had gotten in trouble during the offseason and the team was off to a lousy start. In fact, it is possible the Nittany Lions had already lost twice going into the Maryland game.

I knew all this when I called John to arrange to see Paterno and the players. “The players are no problem,” John said. “As it happens our two best players, Bruce Clark and Matt Millen, are probably our two best talkers. Joe is going to insist I only schedule you for 15 minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes!” I said. “I need more than 15 minutes.”

“I know,” John said soothingly—soothing was always one of his best things. “Don’t worry. You go in there, get him talking and you’ll get all the time you want. I’ll make sure he doesn’t have anything pressing on the schedule right after you.”

I wasn’t all that happy with that arrangement but John turned out to be right. I asked Paterno something about ethics in college football and off he went for about 45 minutes.

Years later, when John moved to the tour, he played a major role in convincing Deane Beman that it was better to talk to the media than to battle the media and he continually pushed players to be more open and more cooperative. I still remember sitting on one of John’s rookie seminars when he was explaining why a player should always talk to the media before doing anything else if he was asked to do so.

“But what if there’s something I really want to work on over on the range first?” one of the rookies asked.

“Work on it second,” John said. “The range will still be there when you finish with the media. Chances are it won’t be the other way around.”

John always had heart problems. Early in 2000 he announced that he and Kitty were moving to Baltimore because he was on a list at Johns Hopkins for a heart transplant. Over the next 18 months I got to see him often. If he was angry or bitter about his situation he never showed it. His sense of humor never waned even a little bit. He was always a great story teller—and a treasure trove of Paterno stories—and he found one of the best hamburger joints I’ve ever been to right near the Hopkins campus.

They never found him a heart. He died in June, 2001. At his funeral, people were encouraged to just get up and tell stories about John. Paterno stood up at the exact same time as another man. This was coming off one of the bad years that led people at Penn State to try to push him into retirement.

“You go ahead coach,” the other man said.

“Thanks,” Paterno said. “First time I’ve gotten a call in a long time.”

It’s hard even now to drive in the gate at The Tournament Players Club and go past the tour’s offices without thinking of John. Since I was last here for the tournament the clubhouse has been entirely rebuilt and the tour has continued to try to make this tournament as prestigious as it possibly can. The money is huge—the purse is just under $10 million this year—and the golf course has gotten better over time although it will never be great no matter how many testimonials from players are put on the wall of the media building.

Of course back when I used to come semi-regularly the tournament was in March, which meant it had to compete with the NCAA basketball tournament. It was also seen by a lot of players as a warm-up to The Masters, which made the folks at The Tour a little bit nuts. I remember one year when Greg Norman had to withdraw, his agent put out a statement saying, “Greg is very disappointed. He always looks forward to The Players as an ideal warm-up for The Masters.”

Ouch. So now the tournament is in May, which means it isn’t a Masters warm-up and isn’t competing for eyeballs with the basketball tournament. It is, however, HOT—and humid. Of course it can be hot and humid here in March but not AS hot and humid. The players don’t seem to mind the heat. Personally, I can’t stand it, but I’m not playing and no one really cares if I’m miserable walking around the golf course—why should they?

There’s certainly plenty to talk about this week that’s for sure: Has Tiger Woods fired Hank Haney? (Word on the range is yes). Did he really give those golf clubs from his Tiger Slam that showed up on e-bay to his Titleist guy? (Word among the equipment reps is absolutely even though Tiger has semi-denied it). “The clubs are in my garage,” he said. WHICH clubs—there were two sets he used.

Can Phil Mickelson pass Woods this week and become number one in the world? Can Rory McIlroy come close to what he did in Charlotte last week? Can my guy Paul Goydos play well? (Okay maybe only I care about that). When will, “Moment of Glory,” be in bookstores. (next week. Okay, maybe only I care about that one too)?

Anyway, I’m off to do Golf Channel and then get out on the golf course for as long as I can take the heat. The only thing I can promise is that John Morris will be on my mind.

Review of the weekend – bowl games, outdoor hockey, college basketball and a 4am firing

Let’s start today with the big news of the weekend: The Islanders, after blowing a three goal lead on Saturday night, won a shootout against the Atlanta Thrashers to pick up two critical points.

Okay, just kidding. But I love having the NHL center ice package even though watching the Islanders some nights is about as much fun as listening to Mark Jones say that one of Navy’s football players will be reporting to “Quan-TEE-co,” this spring. Several people pointed out to me on Friday that I forgot to mention that one. I’m also told that Jones and his partner Bob Davie showed up in the TV booth not long before kickoff and didn’t have time to go through the usual ritual of having the SID’s (at least the Navy SID) make sure they knew how to pronounce all the players names.

Thus Davie managed to mispronounce the name of (his words) “the greatest captain in Navy football history,” Ross Posposil. Or, as Davie called him, “Poposil.”

Oh, one more thing: a friend who is a Missouri fan tells me they botched a number of Missouri players’ names too so let’s give them points for consistency. Then, during The Alamo Bowl, Davie kept going on about the “passion,” of the Texas Tech fans because they’re all so angry about Mike Leach being fired. What I heard directed at Adam James didn’t exactly sound like passion.

Okay, let’s move on to a review of the first three days of the New Year.

And, for a moment, let’s stay with hockey.

When the NHL started the “Winter Classic,” in 2008 I thought it was terrific. The whole spectacle worked. I also thought that by the third year or the fourth year the uniqueness would wear off and it would become an over-hyped regular season hockey game.

At least for me, it hasn’t happened yet.

Friday afternoon I kept wanting to hit the remote and switch back to Penn State-LSU or Florida State-West Virginia because both those games certainly had intriguing story lines and, in the case of Penn State-LSU a dramatic ending. But the setting—hockey in Fenway Park!—was just irresistible. The NHL and NBC have gotten lucky with the weather each year: cold enough to make it really feel like a game on a rink somewhere in Canada but not so much snow that you couldn’t play.

That said, the whole concept just works. Even though I can’t help but curse the day Mike Milbury decided to draft Rick DiPietro with the No. 1 pick, seeing him skate over to Bob Costas and talk about playing outdoors as a kid was cool. There was also the added bonus of a very good game between the Flyers and Bruins. Word is next year’s game will be between The Washington Capitals and Pittsburgh Penguins, probably in Pittsburgh because the risk of warm weather in DC is too great (not this year that’s for sure). If it is at all possible, I’m going.

Switching to the football games, the highlight of Penn State-LSU was hearing Joe Paterno screaming at Erin Andrews, “come on, let’s go, let’s go,” when Brad Nessler was a tad slow throwing it down to her for the mandatory (dull) halftime interview. That’s one thing about Joe, he is almost ALWAYS in curmudgeon mode.

A friend of mine tells a story about being at a dinner with Joe one night a couple of years ago. The appetizer was some kind of bruschetta and when the teen-age waitress—thinking Joe was finished—started to clear his plate he screamed at her, “What do you think you’re doing! I’m not finished here yet!” Poor kid apparently almost fainted.

Flashing forward to the end of the game: I am really tired of officials not using common sense and then falling back on the letter of the law (or the rules) as an excuse. Down 19-17, LSU had moved the ball to midfield with about 20 seconds remaining—maybe it was 25, I don’t remember exactly—and one of the Penn State players was doing exactly what he should do in that situation: lying on top of the ball for as long as he could to keep the clock running. One of the LSU linemen tried to move him off the ball and got nailed with a 15-yard penalty that, for all intents and purposes, ended the game.

Basically, the officials made LSU pay for their not taking control at that moment. As soon as they saw the Penn State kid clearly not getting off the ball, they should have stopped the clock, gotten him up and then re-started the clock right away. No penalty either way, let the kids decide who wins. It would still have been a long shot for LSU to get into position for a field goal, get their field goal unit on the field (with no time outs left) and get a kick off in the mud to win. But there was a CHANCE and the officials, basically being lazy, took it away from them.

That said, I was glad to see both old coaches—Paterno and Bobby Bowden—win.

Bowden, as you might expect, was all class all day. It’s a shame the same can’t be said for the people running Florida State who kicked him out the door and couldn’t bring themselves to give him one more season as if he hasn’t done enough for the school to merit that. The spear toss was magical and Bowden’s wife Ann coming into his press conference to say, “it’s time to go honey,” was almost a perfect metaphor: Bobby Bowden always had time for everybody.

Back to field goal kickers for a moment. I really felt for the Northwestern kid who missed the three field goals in The Outback Bowl (is it over yet?) but much worse for Ben Hartman, the kicker from East Carolina. He had two chances from 39 yards to win The Liberty Bowl for his team in the final 67 seconds of regulation and then missed a 35-yarder in overtime opening the door for Arkansas to win the game, 20-17.

Hartman was a very good kicker at ECU but there’s no doubt it is going to be hard for him to forget the last game of his college career. I really feel for kickers at moments like that. I still vividly remember Ryan Bucchianeri, who as a Navy freshman in 1993 missed an 18-yarder at the buzzer that would have won the Army-Navy game. Even though Bucchianeri talked to the media afterwards and took full responsibility for the miss—it was a very wet field and a tough angle—but his response was simply, “I have to make that kick,” the miss haunted him during his entire time as a Midshipman.

I noticed in the Sunday paper that Hartman had not spoken to the media afterwards. I was curious who made the call: did the kid simply not want to do it? Did Skip Holtz, his coach make the decision? I dropped a note to Tom McLellan, the associate AD in charge of PR at East Carolina and asked him the question.

Tom not only got right back to me, he took the hit for the decision. He said he had made a judgment on the spot that Hartman was in no condition—emotionally—to speak to the media at that moment. I don’t disagree with Tom at all. His first job is to protect the players UNLESS they’ve done something really wrong like cheating on a test or getting arrested. This wasn’t close to that: he missed three kicks. No crime was committed.

Having said that, as I said to Tom later, I actually think Hartman might have benefited if he’d talked. Even if he broke down and cried, people would have respected him for giving it a shot. I’m also frequently amazed by athletes’ ability to handle themselves with grace under that kind of pressure. More often it is college athletes who do well in those moments because they haven’t been nearly as spoiled or over-protected as the pros (See James, Lebron).

Bottom line in it all is this: I had no vested interest in who won the game but my heart goes out to Ben Hartman.

One basketball note for the day: Did anyone see the 70-foot shot that Chandler Parsons hit at the buzzer to give Florida a 62-61 overtime win over North Carolina State? I happened to be watching, in part because State Coach Sidney Lowe was doing exactly what I would have done in that situation: fouling with a three point lead in the final 10 seconds and not letting Florida get off a tying three point shot. (Two hours later Xavier would allow Wake Forest to take a three in the last 12 seconds of overtime and would get burned by the decision).

Unfortunately, because Parsons threw in a miracle shot—which was RIGHT on line all the way and was, naturally, his only field goal of the game—coaches will now cite that as a reason not to foul. They’ll be wrong. Lowe got it right. He—and his players—just got amazingly unlucky.

There is so much more to talk about: the Redskins firing (at 4 o’clock in the morning) of Jim Zorn and their hiring (no doubt) of Mike Shanahan; the team formerly known as the Bullets and gun play; Kansas’ remarkable performance on Saturday at Temple and—did I mention the Islanders won in a shootout out?

More on that—okay, not the Islanders—tomorrow.

Maybe the Ole Ball Coach Isn’t Done; Responding to Your Suggestions

So it turns out the ole ball coach isn't quite done yet. I didn't get to watch most of the South Carolina-Mississippi game Thursday night because I was at dinner interviewing Shaun Micheel to wrap up the research for the book I'm doing on the '03 majors when two complete unknowns (Micheel and Ben Curtis); one little known (Mike Weir) and one well known (Jim Furyk) all won their first--and to date--only major titles. The book's about sudden fame and how it changes your life.

Shaun got a call towards the end of dinner from his wife, an LSU grad, saying that South Carolina was up 16-3. We wrapped soon after that and I caught the tail end of the game back in my hotel room.

Look, I like Steve Spurrier. I know a lot of people can't stand him because he's cocky and outspoken and thinks he's the smartest guy in just about any room he walks into. And I know there are people who will say I like him because he was the last Duke football coach to field a team worth watching. (Okay Duke fans remind me that Fred Goldsmith had one good year in '94. Was it two years later he was 0-11? I lose track of Duke's winless football seasons).

That's not why I like Spurrier although I did always chuckle when he would refer to Mack Brown as, "Mr. Football," when Brown was at North Carolina. "I just don't think I know enough about the game to compete with Mr. Football," he would say. He was 3-0 against Mr. Football at Duke and blatantly ran the score up in 1989. Then he left for Florida and Carolina has beaten Duke every single year but one since then. In fact, when Florida won the national title in 1996 I dropped Spurrier a note congratulating him and said, "Now if you were a real man you'd go back to Duke and take on a REAL challenge." Spurrier wrote back and said, "Nah, I don't think I could deal with the pressure of competing with Mr. Football again every year.”

What makes Spurrier SO different from other college coaches is that he'll say anything about anyone and not worry about what people think. That's bound to make people angry. To say that Spurrier is disliked at the University of Tennessee is like saying that Joe Wilson wouldn't be welcome in the Democratic caucus room on Capitol Hill. One year Spurrier made this comment: "You know you can't spell Citrus Bowl (where the SEC runner-up always played) without the letters, 'UT.' On another occasion he mentioned that he had driven by The Citrus Bowl and had seen a sign that said, "winter home of the Tennessee Volunteers."

Come on folks, that's FUNNY especially from a man in a profession where, "our team stepped up and gave 110 percent," passes for a one-liner. (For those of you who want to say that Lane Kiffin has done the same thing at Tennessee there's one difference: Spurrier had actually WON when he made those comments.

Remember a few years ago when there was talk Spurrier might go back to Florida after his disastrous stay with the Washington Dan Snyder? Apparently Florida AD Jeremy Foley brought up something about sending a resume. To which Spurrier reportedly responded, "Walk out to your trophy case and take a look at it. THAT'S my resume."

There is also a side to Spurrier not often seen. After his kids were grown, he and his wife Gerri adopted two infants and, after Spurrier had fled from the Redskins--leaving $15 million on the table rather than deal with Snyder for another year--Spurrier put his career on hold so his youngest son could finish high school without being uprooted.

The year after Florida won the national title I called Spurrier to see if I could get an autographed football for a charity auction. I called on Friday around lunchtime. The secretary told me the team was about to leave--I think, ironically enough, for South Carolina. She asked if Coach Spurrier could return the call on Monday. I said of course and left a message.

Five minutes later the phone rang. It was Spurrier.

"Isn't your team leaving like right now for South Carolina?" I said.

"You know," Spurrier answered, "last I looked I was the coach of this here ball club and I really don't think they're going to leave without me."

The ball arrived three days later.

So, I plead guilty. I like the ole ball coach. I tend to like characters--flawed or not. I've watched his ups and downs at South Carolina, sometimes averting my eyes--most notably in the bowl games last year when Iowa completely dominated his team and, for the first time I thought Spurrier looked old on the sidelines.

He didn't look so old at game's end last night. Of course the schedule is still rife with tough games because to quote Maryland basketball coach Gary Williams, "This isn't ACC football, we play tough teams almost every night." This IS SEC football and Duke and Maryland and Virginia aren't anywhere on South Carolina's schedule.

But for now, the ole ball coach can spend a few days reveling in this upset. My guess is he'll have something interesting to say about it.

______________________________________________

I have to tell everyone I loved some of the ideas that were thrown out for a book yesterday by posters, especially since several of them are ideas I've thought about in the past. Most notable among them is the notion of a Joe Paterno biography.
I can honestly tell you, I've tried.

Last winter I went up to Penn State and had lunch with my pal Malcolm Moran, who used to work at The New York Times and USA Today and is now some kind of distinguished professor at Penn State. Malcolm arranged for me to meet with a marketing guy who has become very close to Paterno in recent years. The point of the meeting was simple: get me in the door to talk to Paterno. Unlike Dean Smith, who I have known well for 30 years, I don't know Paterno well at all. I met him years ago while covering college football for The Washington Post. Back then, his SID, the great John Morris, used to invited media members to meet informally with Paterno on Friday nights and I attended a few of those get-togethers. I had also written to Paterno several years ago asking if I could come up and talk to him about a "season," book. It was the year they were ranked No. 1 for much of the year before being upset by Minnesota. That, as it turned out, started the four year spiral.

Anyway, I got a very nice letter back from Paterno saying he admired my work, listened to me on NPR but simply couldn't deal with the distraction of having someone around that way for an entire season. I was hoping to get into the room with him to explain that I had become pretty good at hanging around without being a distraction and tell him how it would work. I never got the chance.

I didn't get the chance this time either. After I had explained why I wanted to do a Paterno biography--for reasons similar to why I wanted to do a Dean Smith biography; Paterno's extraordinary legacy beyond the football field being key--his friend Guido D'Elia shook his head and said, "I agree with you a book like that needs to be done. But that's legacy stuff. Joe's not ready for legacy stuff yet."

To which I replied, "Has anyone told him that he's 82?"

The answer was direct: "No. We wouldn't dare."

I know that was true because earlier I had contacted Ernie Accorsi, the ex-Giants GM who had worked for Paterno early in his career. Ernie was all for the project and contacted George Welsh, the retired Virginia coach (who I know well) about helping me out. Welsh was Paterno's top assistant before becoming the coach at Navy. Ernie finally called back and said, "I don't think we can help you."

“Why not?" I asked.

"Because we're both scared if we tell Joe he should talk to you he might yell at us."

He was serious. Boy is Paterno a fascinating guy.

The other idea I love is the one about following athletes in different sports for a year. I wanted to do that once upon a time at Harvard. Frank Sullivan, the basketball coach, was a good friend. Tim Murphy, the football coach, runs a great underrated program and, at the time Harvard had a swimmer who had made the finals of the Olympic Trials in, I think, the 200 breastroke. I thought it would be great to follow six to eight athletes to see how you combine being really good at a sport while going to Harvard. I met with some folks in the athletic department. They loved the idea. They said they would talk it over, take it to the administration and be back in touch.

Much like the radio exec I mentioned the other day they still haven't called.

You can't say I'm not trying.