Three and Out (41 page)

When Leshoure crossed the line, the Wolverines on the sideline, almost to a man, dropped their heads and turned around to walk back to their bench, as though a furious dust storm had come through and they had to shield their eyes.

The scoreboard said “Illinois 14, Michigan 13,” but the faces of the Wolverines on the sideline told another story: The game was over.

The Wolverines trailed by only a point, and because they'd moved the ball well on almost every possession, there was no rational reason to believe they couldn't come back again. Except
they
didn't believe it. As Van Bergen predicted the night before, doubt had crept in.

Those few plays, it turned out, actually did constitute the Continental Divide of Michigan's season and possibly Rodriguez's tenure. But not by separating struggling from sailing, as it seemed just a few plays earlier, but from confidence and hope to fear and doubt.

The coaches tried to reinvigorate their players, and some of the leaders did the same. But it was in vain. They were done.

Van Bergen shouted, “Wake the fuck up! Wake the fuck up!”

Illinois scored 21 unanswered points to end the third quarter 28–13. The swoon was absolutely stunning.

“Hey, Rich Rod!” the loud fan wearing No. 7 yelled, “you've only got 13 points against the worst defense in the fucking country!”

The Illinois fans, satisfied the win was in the bag, started filing out of the aisles to go home. They missed Jason Ford, facing third-and-9 from Illinois's own 21, take off for another long touchdown run. 38–13.

The insult was complete.

The Wolverines had to wait for the Illini to crisscross in front of them to their tunnel. The contrast from the same run at the end of the first half could not have been greater.

Rodriguez was almost speechless. “I don't know what to tell you guys, except
that
ain't us out there. But those were
our
winged helmets, so I guess it must have been.

“Every man needs to evaluate himself and his performance. And that starts with me.

“I don't see enough intensity out there.

“I don't see enough commitment out there.

“I don't see enough hunger out there.

“So we got beat. And we deserved to get beat.

“I thought we were ready, but we weren't, and that's on me.

“You think the haters hated you before? You haven't seen nothing yet.

“We've got to play our best game this Saturday. We've got to get us a bowl game this week. And that's what we're gonna do.

“‘Michigan' on three.”

“MICHIGAN!”

Back in the coaches' room, Rodriguez slammed his locker. “FUCK!” Then slammed it again. “FUCK!” Then collapsed on his chair, hands behind his head, letting the inevitable waves of pain seep in.

*   *   *

On Facebook that night, one Michigan alum, Stacey Schwartz, probably spoke for the masses when she wrote simply: “Head in hands.”

Against team rules, a lot of the players went out that night, “and they never go out after a loss,” one of the student managers said. “They were just that demoralized.”

The next day, after they had completed the painful tasks of breaking down the tape, grading the players, and reviewing the game, the coaches and a couple dozen players ate their Sunday night pizza in the Commons.

“Why couldn't the plane just go down?” a graduate assistant asked.

“Because,” Rutledge replied, “we just can't catch a break.”

 

27   THE LAST BEST CHANCE

The Friday night before the Purdue game, Rodriguez dug at his meal like a hungry prisoner who was sick of eating the same gray food every night.

When I told him I was surprised that the guys seemed loose, like they were still having fun and staying positive, he stared at his food, paused, and said, “I don't care.

“I don't care anymore about trying to analyze the psychology of these guys, especially for the press. I just want them to freakin'
play.
I'm sick of it.”

Sick of what?

“Everything. I'm sick of the situation I'm in. I'm sick of the crap I've got to deal with every week. I'm sick of people not taking responsibility.”

A case could be made that all happiness is feeling like you have possibilities. When someone wins the lottery, he's happy not because he won the lottery but because he suddenly has dozens of options he didn't have the day before.

But the corollary is also true: All unhappiness is feeling like your options are shrinking and the world is closing in on you. That you're trapped.

Rich Rodriguez's options were shrinking. By the time he arrived in Ann Arbor, it was clear he could not go back the way he had come. But after only twenty-one games at Michigan, it had become just as clear there would be only one way he could stay: winning football games. And fast.

*   *   *

Every Friday night, between the dinner and the movie, the offense and defense met separately with their coaches to go over the scouting report one last time. But this week, instead of reviewing the opponent, they reviewed a tape of their practices that week. The message was simple: The Illini didn't beat the Wolverines. The Wolverines beat the Wolverines.

Job 1: Hold on to the damn ball. There was a reason John Heisman famously showed his players a football and said, “Gentlemen, it is better to have died a small boy than to fumble this football.”

But John Heisman never met Tate Forcier. On one play Rodriguez showed that night, Forcier held the ball like an oversized sponge and swung it around like he was washing his windows with it. Sure enough, the defense soon forced a fumble.

“High and tight, high and tight, high and tight,” Rodriguez said with relative calm. “Anything else is selfish. It shows disrespect for your teammates, and I know you're not selfish, and I know you don't want to disrespect your teammates.”

Here he was, going into the tenth game of the season, reviewing something they had covered on the first day of spring ball, the first day of summer practice, and just about every day since. It was pretty clear Rodriguez was tired of that, too.

But he knew it came with coaching young players, and he usually enjoyed the teaching process. But they were repeating the same lessons too often, which became especially aggravating when he had no idea how many lessons they would get.

Job 2: In the spread option offense, the quarterback has to take three steps and
throw
it. Not four steps. Not five steps. And no hitches, either. Three and throw. Three and throw. The timing was simple but exact—and it was everything. Any freelancing and incompletes, sacks, and interceptions soon followed.

And that's exactly what Rodriguez saw next on the practice tape: Forcier taking three steps (an improvement), seeing his receiver open—but then hitching, which allowed the linebacker to cover the receiver. Rodriguez was calm but firm. “I'm sure I will
not
have to see on Monday any tape of any Michigan quarterback taking three steps and a hitch when he should be taking three steps and
throwing.
”

Next play, same thing, but this time Forcier threw it behind the receiver. The linebacker just missed making the interception.

“That one's late. Why? Three and hitch instead of three and
throw.
I've been doing this for
twenty years
! I didn't just wake up and come up with this thing. We have refined this over time. We
know
what works. We're not
guessing
! Three steps and
throw
! THROW! You've got to
trust
the timing!”

But it was really more than that. The quarterbacks had to trust the system—and the coaches who had created it. The flipside was just as simple: The coaches had to remember that Forcier was still a freshman. And even though Rodriguez's quarterbacks on every team he'd coached eventually won Conference Player of the Year, not one of them did it his first season.

*   *   *

If the Illinois game could be reduced to Michigan's four tries from the 1-yard line, Michigan's season likewise boiled down to four great chances to win just one game to secure a bowl bid: Michigan State, which ended in overtime; Iowa, which ended one pass short of a winning field goal attempt; Illinois, which broke on the 1-yard line; and Purdue, which looked like an eminently winnable game. But like the fourth-and-1 play against Illinois, the pressure mounted with each failed attempt. This was Rodriguez's last best chance at match point.

Blow it against the Boilermakers, and the odds would only get taller against Wisconsin, and taller still against Ohio State, still in the hunt for a national title. Collars were tight in Ann Arbor.

The quarterbacks didn't think Purdue would be a pushover, either. “They're good, they play hard,” Sheridan said later that night in his hotel room. “Much harder than Illinois.” And then, unable to let Illinois go: “I still can't believe we lost to those guys.”

“Don't let 'em beat you twice,” Forcier said, as a half-joking warning they'd all heard a hundred times. “Man, we just got to win again. That's been driving me fucking nuts. We just got to win again.”

Adding to the intrigue were the running tensions between the two programs. It was then-Purdue coach Joe Tiller who famously accused Rodriguez of being a snake-oil salesman when Rodriguez recruited Roy Roundtree away from Purdue. It was current head coach Danny Hope who publicly blamed Rodriguez for sending in the infraction on Zach Reckman.

Given the stakes, losing this game would be unbearable for Rodriguez. But that was, of course, exactly what the 3–6 Boilermakers had in mind when they elected to receive the kick—another show of disrespect for the Wolverines' defense that they were starting to get used to.

Clearly, Purdue had studied Michigan's previous game. The gambit quickly proved to be the correct one. Four plays, 80 yards, in 1:45. 7–0 Purdue.

But Forcier put on a spread offense showcase that put Michigan up 17–10, then found Roundtree over the middle. The Purdue defender gave chase, but this time Roundtree gave the defender a stiff-arm and bolted for the right corner. This was not the previous week. Touchdown. Michigan 24, Purdue 10.

With six minutes left in the half, J. B. Fitzgerald tipped a pass to Donovan Warren for an easy interception at midfield, against a team that was ready to quit. But the pattern held: The Wolverines couldn't throw the knockout. They lived their lives on the edge of losing close and winning close, refusing to give up—or take control.

At halftime, there was more fear in the Michigan locker room than during any other intermission that season.

“Don't relax!” Van Bergen yelled. “Don't make the same mistake!”

“It ain't over, Blue!” Stevie Brown said. “We ain't done!”

On the first possession of the second half, Forcier rolled to his right and pitched the ball to Minor. But Purdue's Brandon King knocked it away and recovered the ball at Michigan's 19. One play later, the scoreboard read: Purdue 17, Michigan 24. Illinois all over again?

Perhaps not. On Forcier's next option, he wisely kept it and dashed to the goal line. Purdue 17, Michigan 30.

If the pressure that had built with every headline and every loss got to all the players, as it surely did, it got to them all differently. Quarterbacks dropped more snaps, receivers dropped more passes, but Michigan's walk-on kickers seemed especially vulnerable—which helped explain why they kicked so well on Tuesdays and so inconsistently on Saturdays. Jason Olesnavage, the same walk-on who had knocked a 51-yarder through the uprights earlier that day, missed the extra point.

The Boilermakers countered with a 91-yard, 14-play drive that cut Michigan's lead to 30–24.

Michigan's defense returned to the bench, took off their helmets, and reached for the towels and water bottles, thinking they'd have a few minutes to collect themselves. But Purdue pulled off one of the gutsiest plays of the Big Ten season: a perfectly executed onside kick.

The exhausted defenders dropped their water bottles, grabbed their helmets, and rushed out onto the field. Purdue wisely went deep on the first play for a 54-yard touchdown. After the extra point, the scoreboard read Purdue 31, Michigan 30. Michigan's missed PAT loomed large.

“There are two ways this can go,” Van Bergen told his teammates. “We can lie down and take this loss. Or we can fight and take it over. Which way you gonna go? Let's go!”

Early in the fourth quarter, Michigan missed another field goal, while Purdue had added another touchdown to go up 38–30 with ten minutes remaining.

But Michigan's defense, so unlike its second half against Illinois, rose once more. Hemingway caught a punt, then bolted 33 yards down to Purdue's 11, with 3:31 left. In a game chock-full of parallels with the previous week's debacle, Michigan faced third-and-1 from Purdue's 2-yard line. Would they be stopped again? Not this time. On the first try, Minor got the 1 yard needed for a first down. And on the second, he busted through for the touchdown.

Purdue 38, Michigan 36; 2:10 left.

Michigan set up for the two-point conversion. Forcier dropped back and looked and looked, failing to see two receivers wide open, and got sacked. He looked every bit a true freshman.

When the game ended, the normally composed Stevie Brown couldn't hold it in. “God DAMN IT!” In the stands, and on the sidelines, there followed complete silence. The unthinkable had happened. The Wolverines had blown a 14-point lead, with the ball, at home, to a weak opponent. They had blown a 4–0 start to the season, reducing it to a 5–5 knot in just six weeks. They had converted a virtual lock on a bowl game into a long shot.

The handshakes were quick, except for one: When Rodriguez congratulated Purdue head coach Danny Hope, Hope held Rodriguez's hand and yelled for one of his players, Zach Reckman. “Come on over here, Zach, and meet the man who got you kicked out of the Notre Dame game!” Rodriguez stood there seething while Hope pulled off his little stunt.