Fall of 2002.
Becoming a walk-on in the middle of the season is not easy. I did not go through the fires that the other Freshmen had gone through. I did not go through their summer workouts, would not be asked to do any additional lifting.
Worse, I felt that perhaps other players saw me as a local that perhaps got preferential treatment. That I wasn't truly one of them. I wanted to earn their trust and respect. I wanted to be part of the team.
The first practice I was told to mostly observe and slowly work my way in to the drills. I am nervous. I am riddled and almost paralyzed by the anxiety of being in such an unfamiliar place. This is the first time in my life that I am not confident in my own athletic ability.
Eventually, I work into some of the scout team reps. I am asked to play guard. A position that to this point I had never played. If you are unfamiliar about how the scout team works, the scout team will look at a play card, typically held by an assistant coach, they are then asked to execute the play against what is primarily the first and second string players. My first play was a trap play, where I was asked to pull and execute a block on Anthony 'Spice' Adams.
To this point I did not know too much about Adams other than he had a reputation as a hard hitter, an energy player and people kept calling him 'Spice'. Here are some other facts. He stands 6 foot tall and weighs 310 pounds and hails from Detroit, Michigan. This was his senior season and unbeknown to me, was looking to probably make it one step further to the NFL (which he would, being selected in the second round by the San Francisco 49er's).
As I pulled, I made sure to bring everything I could into the play. I was taller than Adams, but in this case that worked to my disadvantage, so I attempted to stay low. Attempting to gain not only position but with any luck, hoping to drive him and create space. Sadly for me this was not the result I got. Instead upon meeting Adams I lost my footing after contact, slipping and sliding to his knee area. I can still remember what happened next.
"Hey man, get off my knees!" yelled Adams
The next voice would be that Larry Johnson Sr., the famed defensive line coach and father of 3 of the best athletes to ever attend my high school, and his oldest son, Larry Johnson Jr., was in the midst of an incredible season, one where he was setting records and by all accounts was in the running for the Heisman trophy.
"Hey kid, you do that again and you won't be here tomorrow"
I don't even know how to explain my next few reps. One after one I looked across the line and saw future pros. Jimmy Kennedy, Michael Haynes, Anthony Adams, and a young kid by the name of Tamba Hali.
The first thing I noticed was not the physical size of the players that I would have to adjust to, though physically at a shade under 260 pounds, I would say I was pretty undersized to play on the offensive line. But no, it was the speed that came as a shock to me. Everyone around me seemed to be moving faster than I was used to.
When going up against an elite player in high school, I seemed to focus on matching that player or exceeding him. When it came to playing at Penn State, it seemed everyone was a best player, resulting in me being overwhelmed a bit. Though I felt that eventually I could reach the physical abilities of the classes ahead of me, it was clear a lot of time would have to be spent in the weight room and the training facilities to do so.
Speaking of weight lifting and training, during the fall I was merely asked to practice with the squad and not lift. Because of my late arrival date, it would be a bit of a hassle to include me in with the other players who had developed a routine. I did not have to attend a study hall like many of the other freshman. My interaction with the team was almost completely based around the hours between 2:30 and 5 pm.
If I remember right, this was practice time. (Forgive me, it has been nearly a decade since these events occurred.) The routine was kinda simple. After class, most of the players would come to the Lasch football building and do one of the following.
1. Study. I can't stress how many open books I saw in bizarre places. While there was a study lounge, many players would study in the locker room itself, or in the game room.
2. Watch Film. Mostly Seniors and players that were traveling. Essentially trying to prepare themselves mentally for an upcoming game.
3. TV/Music/General recreation.
There was a pool table, fooseball table, and comfy couches. 18-22 year old college guys. Gotta have some relaxation some time.
This would last until it was time to be called into respective meetings. We would be addressed by Paterno as to how we played the previous game and then quickly move on to how we would prepare for our next opponent.
While I observed Paterno I noticed that he was much more personable and unguarded in person than when a camera was on him. He was free to be more critical of certain players, and praise those he felt deserved it. Though in my mind most of teaching of individual skills and techniques would be performed by his assistants, Paterno was the architect of the Penn State football philosophies. He would lighten the mood with jokes, or turn to a more serious tone if the team was a bit overly enthusiastic.
We would then go to our position meetings to break down film and go over assignments for the upcoming week. I was always amazed at the level of detail that the upperclassmen had to know in terms of a given play. Besides obvious physical demands of a football player, the mental activity required to execute a given play or defense in a brief 10 second exchange seemed astounding.
As the season progressed, I was switched from Offense to Defense (where my physical limitations would not result in another player injured as could be the case had I remained on the Offensive Line.)
I was in favor of the move, as it gave me the ability to use what, in my opinion, was my biggest asset. My initial explosiveness. While my strength had yet to be built up by the program, my speed seemed to be on par with the other players. So began my relationship with the other Freshmen defensive lineman. I had no idea just how great a class I was walking in to.
Steve Roach, Levi Brown, Ed Johnson, Jay Alford, Tamba Hali, and Patrick Hall. Of those six, four would play in the NFL. The other two were highly regarded recruits who, during my time with the team, gave the first team offense fits. (Specifically Patrick Hall, who seemed to routinely destroy option plays.)
I can say with complete confidence I was the worst defensive lineman on the team. It was the first time in my life I had ever felt inadequate in anything athletic. It was a very difficult pill to swallow, but I attempted to do my best and get better. I had no choice.
As I attended the scout team meetings that were headed up by Mike McQueary. The very first meeting was one that I'll never forget. I had just been invited on to the team after they had lost in controversial fashion to Michigan. While Paterno was as vocal as he had ever been about referees, it was McQueary who I felt was the voice of reason, saying that while officials may have blown a few calls, there were always plays that could have been executed better to win. In short, he told the young players that effort and execution led to the loss more so than the officials, and that we needed to become better.
During the same meeting, we learned the fate of Brian Borgoyn, a highly touted Freshman who had a neck injury. Doctors concluded that the injury was too serious to continue playing football. Penn State would still honor the scholarship, and allow Brian to continue to receive his education in State College.
"I know a lot of you guys feel bad for Brian right now. But you have to know that there is so much out there for you besides this game," McQueary said. "Football is not the end all, be all. There's a lot more to life than this sport and I hope you guys get to experience it."
That struck me, that in a place that is highly competitive about football that the coaches would have concerns about the players as people. That they cared about more than the game.
As the season continued, I found myself struggling with the academic load combined with the intensity and demands of practices. I was failing Spanish, and struggling to maintain C work in my psychology, biology, and science and technology classes. I did manage to get an A in weight lifting. Shocking, I know.
The amount of stress I felt was something I hadn't encountered before in my life. It was exhilarating to be on the most prestigious athletic team at the school and one of the most respected in the country. Yet to be on that team demanded more of me than I had ever given, and the thought of failing and not being able to meet the standards that had been set made me nervous and sick to my stomach.
Through all of these things came the anticipation of the first game. I would not dress the first game (as in, be in pads and helmet) but I would be on the sidelines and watch. The feeling of watching the game from the sidelines as a clear spectator was fun, but it was forgettable.
The feeling of putting on the pads before a game was not.
Game Day
I don't remember the team we were playing when I dressed for the first and only time. I think it may have been Virginia but it honestly was of no consequence.
As we got on the bus to be escorted to the field, I finally began to understand the scope of what was going on. I finally understood just how big of a platform I was on.
As the police escort led us to the field hundreds of people lined along the roads cheering, mindlessly I thought. They saw us as seemingly as deities, not knowing anything about who we were as individuals. They only knew that we were players on the Penn State football team. They just cheered for the colors and of course for Joe.
I felt bad for them.
Here I was, being praised blindly for being a part of what had been a proud and reputable program for the past 50 years. They saw us as a team, and associated everything positive that had been built under the watchful eyes of Paterno to each of the players, not knowing whether or not those things were true.
I knew full well of the goals of Penn State football. I knew who we were supposed to be. I also knew that we were far away from those goals. Myself included.
The crowd did not know if the players actually studied (most did, clearly there seemed to be exceptions at certain levels)
The crowd certainly did not know about how each player treated women, which seemed to vary on a case by case basis but certainly there were some awful views by some of the players.
The crowd did not know to what extent players abused drugs or alcohol.
The crowd seemed to only know the good things about the world of Penn State football. As I got off the bus, I looked into the crowd and saw what looked like just hundreds of insane people that had no idea who I was drunkenly yelling their support for me. They wanted high fives, autographs and attention from everyone of us, no matter if they knew who we were or not.
It felt bizarre, and slightly uncomfortable to me.
I couldn't wait to get away from them and get to the locker room with my teammates. I just wanted to get away from the craziness that was outside.
Once inside, I prepared pretty much like everything was normal, knowing full well that it was not. I listened to other players as they gave advice and helped me put on my jersey (A game jersey is incredibly tight fitting so as to give opposing players little to nothing to hold on to.)
Eventually as we finished warm-ups pregame meetings and all of the things of that nature, it was finally time to run out. I could hear the roar of the crowd from the locker room, I felt like I could literally feel the energy of the place. It was exhilarating to a point I had never felt before or since. I breathed quickly, and I felt light headed. Finally Michael Haynes, a senior and one of the truly 'good' guys on the team came over and asked if I was alright.
I wasn't. This was it. A dream coming true. The thought of playing, of doing these things had been in my head more than a thousand times, but now it was all here. It was extremely overwhelming. He sat beside me for a minute telling me to just breathe, not to worry, and not to vomit.
Eventually I did calm down enough to make it with the rest of the players and line up at the tunnel and run out onto the field. I was in the back and I couldn't make out too much of what was up ahead but as we finally ran out, my sense of awe was put to the test.
I can't find the words to explain what it's like to run out in front of 100,000 people. I'll try anyway. At that very moment, I felt like I accomplished something. That I had reached a goal that I'm sure many felt was unlikely. A goal I'm sure even I had my doubts about. But when I finally ran onto the field at Beaver Stadium, I felt like I had finally made everyone I knew proud of me. Though I know that no one in that stadium had a clue who I was, or what I was feeling, it felt like they were cheering for me.
It was the best feeling I had ever felt in my life.
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