The System: The Glory and Scandal of Big-Time College Football (18 page)

Hance called Leach and suggested three things that would put James’s complaint to rest: pay a fine, perhaps as much as $60,000; apologize to the James family; and sign a statement saying that he would not punish anyone under a doctor’s care.

“The main thing is we wanted him to apologize,” Hance explained. “Surely when you’re wrong, you say, ‘I’m sorry for any misunderstanding.’ ”

But Leach had no intention of paying a fine or apologizing. “I’m not going to do any of those things,” he told Hance, “because I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Hance felt Leach was being unreasonable and suggested he give serious consideration to acting on his recommendations.

“Well, if I don’t do it?” Leach said.

“I’ll probably have to terminate you.”

Up to that point, Leach hadn’t sought any legal advice. The bowl game was a week away, and his focus had been solely on Michigan State. But after hanging up with Hance, Leach called his attorney.

After graduating from the law school at Texas Tech, Ted Liggett went to work for a small firm in Lubbock. He ended up representing lots of Tech
student-athletes who had issues with eligibility. He also represented the athletic department during numerous NCAA investigations. When Leach arrived in 2000 Liggett became his personal attorney. They were polar opposites politically. Leach is conservative; Liggett a far-left liberal. But they became fast friends. Liggett had never attended a Tech football game until Leach became his client. Before long, he never missed a game. Leach gave him a sideline pass to every home game.

It was late in the afternoon on December 23 when Liggett’s home phone started ringing. He was in bed recovering from back surgery. But he took Leach’s call.

“I might have a problem,” Leach said.

“What’s going on?” Liggett asked.

Leach brought him up to speed on the incident and the investigation.

Liggett was familiar with all the players. He had known Charlotte Bingham for more than twenty years. He was on good terms with Hance and Myers, and Bailey was a close family friend.

“We’ll get this worked out,” Liggett told Leach. “But I need to start by talking to some of these people.”

After an initial conversation with Charlotte Bingham, Liggett called Guy Bailey. They both felt they could resolve the matter and agreed to meet the following day—Christmas Eve—at Bailey’s office. Bailey said he’d make sure Gerald Myers attended, and Liggett agreed to bring Leach.

But a blizzard hit Lubbock on December 24, pushing the meeting to the day after Christmas. The delay gave Bailey plenty of time to think through the situation. Bailey liked Leach a great deal and admired the excitement his coaching style had brought to Lubbock. He and his wife, Jan, went to every home game. They had even gotten to know many of Leach’s players on a first-name basis. It was Bailey’s sense that Leach and his players had a strong bond and that the incident with Adam James was an isolated one, not a systemic problem.

Nonetheless, Bailey was uncomfortable with the way Adam James had been treated. After all, he had been diagnosed with a concussion. The dangers of concussions among pro football players were starting to attract national attention. That fall Congress had convened hearings on head injuries in the NFL. Public awareness around sports-related brain injuries was starting to pick up. Bailey felt it was only a matter of time before the NCAA faced similarly difficult questions about whether member institutions were adequately addressing the risks associated with concussions in football.

Less than two months before Adam James sustained a concussion, researchers at Boston University School of Medicine documented the first case of chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE)—better known as degenerative brain disease—in a college football player who did not play professionally. Mike Borich, a wide receiver at Snow College and Western Illinois University in the 1980s, died from a drug overdose on February 9, 2009. He was forty-two. During his college football career Borich sustained at least ten concussions. After college he had no concussions or head injuries. Yet by his late thirties he displayed many of the symptoms found in NFL players diagnosed with degenerative brain disease caused by head injuries. So Borich’s father donated his son’s brain for research. After diagnosing Borich with CTE, a leading sports concussion expert said, “Brain trauma in sports is a public health problem, not just an NFL problem.”

Bailey had read about Borich’s case in the
New York Times
. He also felt the university had an obligation to answer concerns and complaints from parents, whether over grades, housing or, in the case of Adam James, the standard of care afforded to a student-athlete following an injury. Over the weekend he drafted a letter that he hoped Leach would sign. He and Myers planned to present it to him at the meeting.

“Gerald and I are going to talk to Mike,” Bailey told his wife as he left the house.

She asked when he’d be back.

“It shouldn’t be very long,” he told her. “I think we can get this done in half an hour.”

There was one problem: Bailey had no idea that Hance had already called Leach and given him an ultimatum. Hance hadn’t told Bailey.

When Liggett and Leach arrived at Bailey’s office, Bailey asked Liggett to wait in the reception area. “We want to meet with Mike alone,” he said.

Leach entered and took a seat opposite Bailey and Myers.

“We’re here to help you, Mike,” Bailey began. “We want to work through this and get to a solution.”

Then Bailey handed Leach the letter and asked him to read it.

The letter went on to outline five guidelines that the university wanted Leach to follow:

“Well, I already do these things,” Leach said. “They’re in my contract.” He pushed the letter back across the table.

“Mike, if you will sign this letter and make an apology to the James family,” Myers said, “we will get this situation behind us.”

“Listen,” Leach said, “if you don’t want me here, let’s negotiate an exit strategy and I’ll leave.”

“There’s not any reason to talk about that,” Myers said. “We have no interest in that.”

“I will find another job,” Leach continued. “And you can hire somebody that you’re more pleased with. But you’re not going to railroad me with false charges.”

The bad blood between Leach and Myers stretched back to the previous year’s difficult contract renegotiations. Bailey, on the other hand, had a good rapport with Leach. “Look,” Bailey said, “concussions are a serious issue. It needs to be addressed. It can be addressed through an apology or some kind of letter of explanation that shows you were doing what you felt was in his best interest or welfare. But somehow we have to demonstrate that we had the welfare of the student-athletes covered.”

Leach didn’t argue with Bailey. But he didn’t back down, either. “First of all,” Leach explained, “Adam James was treated as if he had a concussion. Two, I did the same thing with Adam James that I did with other injured players: I told the trainer to handle him. Did I tell him to get him off the field? Yeah, I told him to get him off the field.

“He had him stand in the garage,” Leach continued. “I found out half an hour later that this is where he had him stand. I don’t have a problem
with it. But since when have I ever commanded a trainer or doctor to do anything? Nor do I have the ability to. They don’t answer to the head coach. They answer to the assistant AD.”

Bailey repeated that he simply wanted Leach to explain that in writing.

“We were not asking necessarily that Mike say he was wrong,” Bailey explained. “But say, ‘Here is why I did this and here is why I think my actions were in the best interests of your son.’ ”

After making his request, Bailey asked Leach to step out and send in Liggett.

When Liggett came in, Myers handed him the letter he had prepared for Leach. “Ted, if you can get Mike to sign this letter,” Myers said, “we will get this situation behind us.”

Liggett looked it over. He wasn’t surprised that Leach had refused to sign it. “I don’t think he thinks he’s done anything to apologize for,” Liggett told them.

Bailey said he understood that and made clear that he wanted Leach to remain the head coach. But the university needed something in writing from Leach. Otherwise, it was going to be very difficult to prevent the situation from going public. Then all bets would be off.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Liggett told them.

While Bailey and Myers met with Leach and Liggett, Kent Hance was communicating with Craig James. “Mike Leach’s actions with Adam were inhumane and dangerous, designed to inflict punishment and create great mental anguish,” James wrote in an e-mail. “Action must be taken to not only insure the safety of Adam but to protect his teammates from this and other forms of abuse Coach Leach inflicts on his players.

“Kent, I ask you and the board members this: Have each of you seen the shed and electrical closet Adam was confined to? I’d recommend each of you visit the places—walk in them and turn the lights off. NOW, imagine standing there for three hours in the cold without being allowed to sit down or lean against the wall. This story will become public at some point and you can count on the fact that some television cameras will show this picture.”

The regents were getting antsy, too. So was the university’s legal team, led by general counsel Pat Campbell. In consultation with the lawyers and the trustees, Hance told Bailey and Myers that they needed a letter from Leach by noon on Monday.

Craig James wanted answers by Monday, too. “They were getting ready
to leave to go down to the Alamo Bowl,” James said. “He is still the head coach and our son is about to go and be under his guidance again on the football field. We hadn’t heard back with certainty what the procedures would be.”

Mike Leach spent the remainder of the twenty-sixth trying to prepare for the bowl game. Liggett told him to focus on football; he’d handle the ongoing Adam James matter. In the back of his mind, Liggett was convinced that Leach was going to have to make some kind of concession to get the problem behind him. But he was hoping to delay any action until after the bowl game. He called Charlotte Bingham, updated her on the meeting with Bailey and Myers and said he would continue to work toward a resolution.

The following morning Liggett got a voice mail from Bingham.