The System: The Glory and Scandal of Big-Time College Football (4 page)

Leach had his own way of making football fun, too.

“College football is like a job in many respects,” said Harrell. “It’s full-time. It’s demanding. But Coach Leach made it feel more like a boy’s game.”

One way Leach accomplished this was with his dry sense of humor and a vocabulary that would make a sailor blush. “There is foul language everywhere, especially in football,” Harrell said. “But Leach is more colorful than anyone. That was another reason the guys loved being around him. Sometimes he’d put words together I’d never even heard. But his language never offended us. We all laughed. That’s just Coach.”

Leach’s reputation for using four-letter words was so notorious that it even reached the attention of Harrell’s mother. “Graham, do you talk like that?” she asked her son at one point. He laughed. “Mom,” he replied. “No one really talks like that but Coach.”

Harrell’s parents had raised him not to swear. And he rarely did. His backup Taylor Potts was even more conservative. A practicing Christian, Potts had a reputation for never using four-letter words. So Potts and Harrell got a kick out of the things Leach would say in quarterbacks’ meetings. Eventually, Harrell decided to have some fun with Leach’s colorful quips. It was January 2008, and daily planners had just arrived from the school. A stack was on Leach’s desk. They were designed to help student-athletes budget their time. But Harrell had another use in mind. He handed one to Potts and told him to start writing down all of Leach’s most colorful quotations.

It was a tall order for a kid who never used the f-word. Potts ended up recording pages of quotations littered with “f***.” He never spelled out the word. One day the quotation book got left behind, and an assistant coach found it. He took it to Leach, informing him that one of the quarterbacks had been writing down everything he said. When Leach saw that the f-word wasn’t spelled out, he knew it had to be Potts.

The following day when the four quarterbacks came in for their meeting
with Leach, he had the book in his hand. “I noticed you all are keeping a little quote book on me,” he said.

The other quarterbacks glanced at Potts and Harrell.

“The only thing that really bothers me,” Leach said, “is it seems that Taylor Potts doesn’t know how to spell the word ‘fuck.’ ”

Harrell covered his mouth. Potts turned red.

“Now grab a marker and get up on the board,” Leach said.

Potts stepped to the whiteboard.

“Okay, now write the letters I tell you,” Leach said. “
F-U-C-K
. Now that says ‘fuck.’ So if you ever want to know how to spell it, just turn around and it will be right there on the board.”

The quarterbacks erupted.

By the 2008 season, Leach had become a cult hero in Lubbock. His quarterbacks had won six national passing titles in eight years, and he had the most prolific offense in the nation. Harrell and Crabtree were the best quarterback-receiver tandem in college football. And only two teams in the Big 12 had a better cumulative record since Leach joined the conference. Needless to say, every home game at Tech’s stadium was sold out.

Word of Leach’s success went well beyond Lubbock. The author of
Moneyball
, Michael Lewis, had profiled him in the
New York Times Magazine
. And national sportswriters had dubbed him The Mad Scientist of Football. No one doubted that Leach was a first-rate college coach. The only question that remained was whether his unorthodox system was capable of contending for a national title.

The turning point came on November 1, 2008. That night, the No. 1–ranked Texas Longhorns came to Lubbock undefeated. Tech was ranked No. 7 and also undefeated. The two programs were bitter rivals. “I deeply hope we beat their ass today,” Texas Tech’s basketball coach Bobby Knight said hours beforehand on ESPN’s
College GameDay
. ABC showcased the game in its prime-time Saturday night slot, and announcer Brent Musburger opened the broadcast by saying it was the biggest game in Texas Tech history.

A record crowd—56,333 fans in black and red, carrying swords and wearing eye patches and bandannas—was on its feet throughout. Texas trailed the entire way until late in the fourth quarter.

With 1:29 remaining in the game, the Longhorns scored a touchdown to go up 33–32.

Graham Harrell was on the Tech sideline, looking up at the clock. He had led ten scoring drives in 1:30 or less that season. But this felt different. The stakes had never been so high. The audience had never been so big. The chance to beat the best team in college football was in the balance. Tech had only one time-out left.

“Hey,” one of his teammates yelled. “Leach wants to talk to you.”

Harrell hustled over to Leach, prepared to hear something profound. The tension in the stadium was palpable. But Leach was relaxed and showed no emotion. He didn’t even raise his voice.

“Now listen to me,” he said. “Just make routine plays.”

“I got ya.”

“Everybody needs to get out-of-bounds. But don’t be afraid to throw over the middle. Late in the game the middle is exposed.”

Harrell nodded.

“Now come here,” Leach said, his voice getting even quieter.

Harrell took a step closer.

“Listen to me. There’s gonna be guys out there that don’t believe we can march down and score. You need to get these guys going and make them believe we can score.”

“No doubt,” Harrell said, bouncing up and down on his toes. “No doubt.”

“You make ’em believe. Huddle ’em up. Make sure everyone believes.”

“We’re ready to go.”

“All right. Now let’s go out there and shove it up their fuckin’ ass and score a touchdown.”

Harrell grinned. “All right, Coach.” He trotted onto the field.

So much for profound. Harrell had heard that same late-game speech so many times he could recite it, right down to the last sentence. Even Leach’s tone was the same. “He was really good about staying even keel no matter the situation,” Harrell said. “It helped me to see him so calm. He doesn’t have a football background. So football was never an emotional game to him. It was always analytical. With Coach Leach, when the offense gets the ball, you are supposed to score. That’s it.”

Over the next minute and twenty-one seconds, Harrell completed his first four passes—one over the middle and three toward the sidelines. He drove his team all the way to the Texas twenty-six-yard line before throwing an incomplete pass that stopped the clock with eight seconds remaining. Tech had a decision to make: attempt a long-distance field goal, or run one more play in hopes of getting closer for the kicker. But if Harrell completed
a pass and the receiver didn’t get out-of-bounds before time ran out, Texas wins.

Harrell ran toward Leach. “Wanna take a shot?” he shouted.

Leach was calm. “Just run four vertical.”

It was Leach’s favorite play—all four receivers running vertical routes. It gave Harrell options. If a receiver got past his man, he’d throw into the end zone. If the defense played back, he’d throw underneath, enabling the receiver to catch and quickly get out-of-bounds to set up the field goal.

Harrell relayed the plan in the huddle.

“Man, there ain’t no way we can let the game come down to the kicker,” Crabtree said.

Harrell agreed.

“Just throw me the damn ball,” Crabtree said.

Harrell was sure Texas would double-team Crabtree, forcing him to throw to a different receiver. But when they broke the huddle, Texas was in man-to-man coverage. Harrell and Crabtree thought the same thing:
If the defender overplays, throw the back-shoulder pass
.

On the snap, Crabtree ran full speed straight at the defender, who backed off to protect against a throw to the end zone. Crabtree dug his toe into the turf at the eight-yard line and cut toward the sideline. The ball had already left Harrell’s hand. Crabtree hauled it in and stopped on a dime. Two defenders ran past him, one of them trying to push Crabtree out-of-bounds. Tightroping the sideline, Crabtree kept his balance and scampered into the end zone. One second remained on the clock.

Fans stormed the field. Crabtree and Harrell were mobbed in the end zone. The goalposts came down. Cannons blasted. The band broke into the fight song. Texas Tech had knocked off the No. 1 team in the nation.

Amid the chaos, Mike Leach showed no emotion. He didn’t even crack a smile. “There was a lot of drama and excitement, don’t get me wrong,” Leach said. “But this was pretty routine. If Crabtree was even with his man, throw it over the top. If they overplay him, throw the ball to his ass cheek, away from coverage, and he comes back and catches it. We practiced that all year. It’s a safe play. They executed it perfectly.”

That night, Leach stayed up until 5:00 a.m. talking with friends about the victory. By the time he woke up later Sunday afternoon, Texas Tech was ranked No. 2 in the nation. The victory transcended the sports page. Scott Pelley brought a CBS News camera crew to Lubbock and profiled Leach on
60 Minutes
. Actor Matthew McConaughey, a University of Texas alumnus, started hanging out with Leach and his wife. Film director Peter Berg gave Leach a cameo role in
Friday Night Lights
. Mike and Sharon even accepted an invitation to take a private tour of the White House and meet with President George Bush at the end of the season. Graham Harrell went with them.

Leach’s only regret was that his days coaching Michael Crabtree and Graham Harrell were numbered. A few weeks after knocking off Texas, his two star players started their final regular-season game as Red Raiders. It was at home against Baylor on November 29. Both got injured early. Crabtree ended up on crutches and did not return. Harrell’s injury happened on a sack in the first quarter. When he got up and dusted himself off, he knew he was in trouble. Two fingers on his left hand were dangling. He knew they were broken.

Facing third and long, Harrell looked to the sideline. Leach called a running play, requiring Harrell to take the snap from under center.

Harrell turned his head from side to side and crossed his hands, indicating he didn’t like the call.

Leach signaled time-out, and Harrell jogged to the sideline.

“What’s wrong?” Leach said.

“My hand is messed up. I broke my fingers. I don’t think I can take a snap under center.”

The team trainer stepped in.

Harrell held out his hand.

“Your fingers are dislocated,” the trainer said.

“Bro, I’m telling you. They are broken.”

The trainer took a closer look.

“Don’t mess with them,” Harrell said.

The trainer yanked on both limp fingers, trying to set them.

“Dude!” Harrell shouted. “They’re broken.”

After being set, both fingers promptly went limp again.

“They’re broken,” the trainer said.

“No shit,” Harrell said. “I just told you that.”

Leach scowled at the trainer. “What are you doing?”

The referee jogged to the sideline. “C’mon, guys,” he hollered. “It’s time to play.”

Leach looked at Harrell. “What do you want to do?”

“I’ll play. Just don’t call anything under center.”

He trotted back on the field. A few plays later he threw a touchdown pass. For the rest of the second quarter Leach called nothing but pass plays
out of the shotgun. At halftime, the medical staff took Harrell to the X-ray room. The technician, an older woman, smiled and handed him a candy. Harrell was her favorite player.

But after X-raying his hand, she started crying.

“Are they that bad?” Harrell said.

“You’re not gonna like what you see.”

“Then don’t show them to me.”

She handed the images to the trainer. Harrell had broken his hand in nine places. His ring finger and pinkie were shattered. After consulting with the rest of the medical staff, the trainer led Harrell back to the locker room. The team was ready to head out for the second half. Harrell and the trainer huddled with Leach.

“We looked at the X-rays,” the trainer told Leach. “He probably shouldn’t play.”

“Well, what do you want to do, Graham?” Leach said.

“I can play.”

Leach looked at the trainer. “Will playing make it worse?”