| | | LONG BEACH, Calif. -- Big game this week, Concord De La Salle vs. Long Beach Poly High, Saturday night, Veteran's Stadium, 7:30 p.m.
|  | | Saturday's game with De La Salle is the only topic on campus for Poly players (from left) Manuel Wright, Darnell Bing, Marcedes Lewis and Brandon Brooks. |
And here, on the Long Beach Poly campus, you won't see a single banner advertising the game. You won't see a solitary cheerleader trying to sell tickets, or a fatherly booster begging for a pitch-in to profit the team. That's because this weekend's game has been hovering on the burner of everyone's mind since it was scheduled in January. That's when the players started watching films, and coaches started stewing, and students started dreaming that maybe "The Streak" could end here.
"The Streak" is De La Salle's 116-game winning streak. The last time the private, all-boys Catholic school lost was back in 1991. Since then, the De La Salle Spartans have won four mythical national titles.
Poly has its own medals -- a 57-1-1 record over the last five years and has been voted No. 1 in the state four times. Its roster boasts at least 12 Division I college scholarship prospects, and five of the top 100 players in the country. Currently, both teams are 3-0. One national poll has Poly ranked No. 1 in the nation, De La Salle ranked No. 2; another has De La Salle ranked No. 1, with Poly at No. 2. Either way you rank them, Poly is cranked up with "Beat The Streak" fuel.
Everyone on campus -- from the guy who runs "The Hare Square" food shack, to the female security guard at the campus' main entrance, to the student who plays the tuba in the team's marching band -- is asking (and being asked) the same question: "Are you going to the game?" And the answer is unilateral and unanimous: "Who isn't?" Expected crowd: 25,000, with 7,000 reportedly coming down from Concord in Northern California, plus 18,000 home-based Long Beach fans.
Long Beach Poly bills itself as "The School of the Century" and "The Home of Scholars and Champions" and "A California Distinguished School." Founded in 1895, it has produced more athletic talent than perhaps any other school in the nation. Billie Jean King, Tony Gwynn and some 38 NFL players are Poly graduates. The school has an open-enrollment policy, meaning that anyone in the greater Long Beach area is welcome to enroll. And at least one administrator admits that kids who "want a look" from college recruiters generally congregate to its field of dreams.
Poly is located a few blocks south of a stretch of Pacific Coast Highway packed with auto-repair shops and smog-check stations and a nearby VIP, World Famous Long Beach Records store, that offers a series of billboards advertising Krayzie Bone, Mariah and Bad Azz. On campus, two co-principals, four vice principals and one Los Angeles County Probation Officer help to oversee 4,600 students who speak a total of 25 languages. "Tolerate -- Tomorrow's Success Begins Today" and "Degrading Racial, Ethic, Sexist and Homophobic Remarks Not Welcome Here" are a couple of the posters covering the campus walls. At the far end of the school's outdoor quad, a marquee reads, "The Pride of Poly Passes Here To Become the Future." And in the center of the quad, three sun-faded flags -- America, California, and Poly -- hang limp in the hot, October sun.
"Damn the streak," says co-principal Mel Collins, standing in the quad seconds before the lunch bell will ring. An administrator since 1977, Collins quickly softens his tone. "It's a football game," he reminds me (and himself), "just kids playing high school football. Win or lose, the sun will rise on Sunday, and the game will become a clipping on someone's wall, a memory for kids for years to come."
Some say De La Salle is actually burdened by its streak -- that the streak is distracting its players and students from religious studies, and that the Spartans' three coaches actually hope the streak is broken. But no one at Poly is buying into such rumors. "If we give them everything we have," Collins says, "there is no way they can stand on the same field as us."
|  | | Long Beach Poly High bills itself as "The School of the Century." |
Poly is known for its explosive talent. De La Salle is known for its discipline. The Spartans display a machine-like precision when they set down, and come off the ball, at the line of scrimmage. Avoiding fatigue on the field will be the key for De La Salle. The team does not substitute very often, and many of its players play both offense and defense. But they might find it difficult to stay on the field with fresh legs for four quarters against Poly's mega linemen -- including DL Manual Wright (6-foot-7, 305), DL Maurice Murray (6-5, 300) and OL Winston Justice (6-7, "only" 280). Poly's 24 linemen weigh a total of nearly three tons. Obviously, the game could be won or lost at the line of scrimmage.
When asked what makes these boys so huge, co-principal Collins motions to the cartloads of McDonald hamburgers, Papa John's pizzas and Subway sandwiches that have been wheeled out in the quad where more than 4,000 Poly students now gather for lunch. Kids mill around, talking on Day-Glo cell phones, eating Flamin' Hot Cheetos, chugging down 20-ounce jugs of Pepsi. Indoors, in the stairwell next to the probation office, a girl whispers to her friend, "I saw him! I saw him! It was him!" while nearby a boy and girl are entangled in a slow-dancing embrace.
This week, the probation officer has some additional duties on his mind -- Saturday night's game. "De La Salle is fundamentally sound. They do little things -- coming off the ball, staying low, driving -- very well," the officer says. "That's a concern for me."
The officer should be concerned. He's Raul Lara, 35, 5-8, 190 lbs., starting Poly linebacker in 1984. He's also the Jackrabbits' head coach. Lara is known around campus as "one of our own" -- and that is a good thing for all concerned. Nine of the 11 Jackrabbit coaches graduated from Poly. The oldest of the bunch, Don Norford, has known Lara since he was an 8-year-old playing Pop Warner ball.
|  | | Poly coach Raul Lara was a starting linebacker for the Jackrabbits in 1984. |
It's the tradition of having a community of players return to Poly to coach that has kept this team so consistently strong through the years, Norford believes. At age 22, Lara returned to Poly, and was a defensive assistant for 12 years before taking over the head position last spring. A father of three, Lara sports a WWJD band on his right wrist, and tries to keep a proper perspective on the pressure of this week's game.
"My hope is that our players all get along, and that they all be good citizens, that they'll know there's more to life than just football," he says. Later, he admits to more secular worries: "Are we going to be able to control the line of scrimmage?" Then, like a great breakaway back, he quickly reverses himself: "Every morning God gives us grace and mercy to be thankful." Then, he's off -- his other full-time job (court liason, responsible for keeping track of the kids who are in trouble with the law) beckons. As he hurries from his office, he shares the team chant: "Every day, every way, we get better and better and better."
Lunch is still on, and coming down the hall, head high above all others, is tight end Marcedes Lewis (6-7, 225). Lewis has just polished off two slices of pizza, a ham-and-cheese sandwich and a tall bottle of pink lemonade. When asked what he's going to eat for dinner, Lewis says, "Everything." When asked what colleges are offering him scholarships, Lewis says, "Everybody." Lewis, who has already committed to UCLA, wears a constant smile when he talks. And why not? He has been called the nation's top tight-end prospect, and at last summer's Nike Camp he was ranked as the No. 1 tight end.
"I don't like losing," he says, adding that he doesn't lose often. In fact, he has never lost on the varsity team. Lewis has been playing football since eighth grade. Early on, he ditched practices, opting to eat donuts and play videos at a nearby arcade instead -- that is, until his Mom found out and set him straight. Though two girls are fighting in the quad, Lewis is not distracted. He sticks to the topic at hand -- Saturday's game. "This is the game we've been waiting for since we've been freshman," he says. "We've been thinking about it for almost four years."
Suddenly, the bell rings. "Let's go, let's go," an administrator hollers down the long hallways, "get to class, get to class, get that free education!"
Lewis is off. Doors slam shut. Lunch is over.
"One sure way to improve school climate," co-principal Collins says, is "to win a football championship." Happy kids equal a happy school, he maintains.
"This is a happy bunch of kids," a third-generation, 40-something Poly graduate says, after watching practice one day. "I couldn't say that in the '70s, but now these are a lot of sweet people here, even if they tackle like a ton of bricks."
Most recently, Poly has been voted the California Interscholastic Federation Champion in 1997, 1999 and last year. According to Andy Bark, president of Student Sports, the 32-team CIF (Div. 1) is the toughest prep conference in the country, even tougher than the notoriously tough 5A Division in Texas. The school was founded in 1895, and Poly's Jackrabbits have been winning CIF titles since 1919. Back then, the high school had to play local universities like USC, because there weren't any other high school teams in the area. Autographed photos of Gene Washington, Tony Hill, Mark Carrier, Brandon Whiting, Marques Pope -- among others -- line the walls of the team meeting room, where a series of desks are neatly arranged in rows all pointed toward a wall that lists the school's accomplishments: 28 Moore Titles, 13 CIF titles. "STUDY, WORK, and PLAY LIKE A CHAMPION," a sign on one wall reads. On another, a sign reads, "NEVER, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER GIVE UP."
"On the sidelines, we're like brothers," offensive coordinator Merle Cole says, standing outside in the shade. Coach Cole is wearing a "Perfect Season" T-shirt, Long Beach Poly vs. Mater Dei, dating back to 1997, when Poly went 14-0. His fellow coaches gather around. One is a fireman, another a probation officer, another a track coach. A student walks by and yells to coach Cole, "Hey, coach, I've got a hundred and fifty on your west coast!" Cole waves his hand, seemingly unfazed by the pressures of this week.
"At Poly, you're used to pressure," another coach says. "At Poly, the more pressure, the better."
|  | | Assistant coach Dennis Norford says the school's tradition benefits from having a coaching staff filled with Poly alumni. |
Coach Norford, who has been here 25 years, sees the upcoming game as a "dream come true." Norford is also the boys'/girls' head track coach (last year, both teams won the CIF state championships). Norford talks about the "tradition" of being a Poly player, of "having the info passed down through generations," and that the backbone of the team is Poly Pop Warner where kids learn to hit and tackle and block and pass and dive as early as first grade.
Later that afternoon, at the start of practice, sitting in the steel bleachers overlooking the football field, a Pop Warner coach sits beside a father who announces, for all to hear, "This is Super Bowl week!" Also here today is a 70-something guy named Bill, who says, "I haven't seen Poly forever." Bill was Poly's quarterback in 1944. He lives in Colorado now, but was in the Long Beach area for a visit and thought he'd drop by his old alma mater. Back in the '40s, Bill says, the biggest player on the team weighed 178 and stood 6-1. He recalls leather helmets, and linemen shoulder-shoving sandbag dummies out of trenches, and that the country was at war. After awhile, he admits, "I am not oriented to this place anymore," and in the distance you can hear the school's marching band warming up -- and suddenly, above it all, you can hear coach Lara shouting out across the field, "EVERYBODY READY?"
Everybody is definitely ready. The following two-and-a-half hours are a series of drills -- hands and feet spider-weave through a line of cones, while coaches yell out, "Don't touch my cones! Don't dig up my grass!" Defensive linemen shove five-man sleds across the grass, making metal-crashing sounds that echo off the walls of the portable classrooms behind one of the end zones. And later, hits and blocks and tackles during an intersquad scrimmage are so hard and so loud that even a couple of parents yell out, "Whoa!"
As the afternoon drags on, a wind slowly begins to build, and the hot, still air becomes slightly cooler and heavy with the added sulfur fumes of nearby Wilmington refineries. The team practices on, and the sun sets behind the bleachers. A father reminisces about last season's championship game against Loyola High School. Poly was behind 10-7, when backup quarterback Brandon Brooks, then a junior, was sent in with 70 seconds remaining in the game. Deep in his own territory, Brandon was sacked. Then he took the team 80 yards in seven plays. A few seconds remained -- time for a field goal. The kicker had not kicked a field goal all season long. The field goal was good, and, in overtime, Poly went onto beat Loyola 16-10. Brandon's now the starting quarterback. Not a big guy (5-11, 174) but a more of a Doug Flutie prototype. Today, after practice, he walks off the field slowly.
|  | | At 6-foot-7 and 280 pounds, Winston Justice is a force on Poly's offensive line. |
Once inside the meeting room, players strip off their pads and helmets, and take a seat on the desktops. The smell is of grass and sweat. The guys grow silent and attentive when coach Lara gathers all around him. With his sunglasses perched on the lid of his cap, Lara yells out his speech. "Be humble, be ready," he begins, and talks on of the team's ultimate goal this season -- "to beat every team we play and to win the CIF championships," and his hopes -- "may God continue to bless this team."
Day's done. Players skip showers, dress quickly. QB Brandon has an iced shoulder -- a "precautionary" measure, his father says. When asked how he feels, Brandon says, "Tired." When asked to cite one word to describe his team, he says, "Scared." The parents around him shudder. One coach has described Brandon, one of four team captains, as the "heart and soul" of the squad. If "scared" describes the team, then Poly's in trouble.
Brandon clarifies the meaning of fear. "We haven't played to our full potential," he explains. "Once we've played to our full peak, we'll really know how powerful we are."
"That is scary," a parent says, and all nod their heads.
One of the last out is the biggest guy on the block, linemen Manuel Wright (6-7, 305). "Wright has the speed and agility of a 220-pounder," says a local rep. Wright benches 350, runs the 40 in 4.8, and earned All-State last year. With braces on his teeth, braids in his hair and blue suede shoes on his feet, Manuel has been recruited by many, but is leaning toward Miami. Game day, he'll be going up against De La Salle's Notre Dame-bound DL Derek Landri (6-3, 288), who earned junior All-American honors as an offensive lineman last year. On Saturday, two All-Americans will be clashing at the line of scrimmage.
"That's where everything starts, and ends," Wright says, "on the front line." Wright says he's "staying low" all week to avoid getting caught up in the hype. When asked to describe the team, Wright says, "Family."
"We're a chain," a fellow Jackrabbit chimes in.
"Yeah," Wright says, "we're a chain; one link can't break."
Another day, before another practice. Players have gathered together, without coaches, to break down game film. The tape is of poor quality. Players appear to be mere quivering images on the field. Still, the Jackrabbits can decipher enough to know and dissect each play aloud. After a while, some start talking trash. "It's going to be their first loss since '91," says one, and another one adds, "They're going to get tired pushing these heavy-ass bodies around."
But then someone says, "You don't see nobody missin' a block," and the talk settles down.
|  | | Poly running back Hershel Dennis has scholarship offers from USC, Washington and Cal. |
In walks team team co-captain and star running back Hershel Dennis (6-0, 188). As a junior, Dennis was first-team All-State and captured Junior-American Honors, after making Poly history -- 2,104 yards rushing, with 32 touchdowns. In last week's game, he had six carries, for 105 yards, and four touchdowns. USC, Washington and Cal have all offered him scholarships.
Like everyone else, Dennis has been thinking about this game for months now. "I had a dream during the summer, about the game," he says. "I don't remember any score, only that we were in the game, and playing hard."
Dennis, who sports a puka shell necklace over a white tank shirt, speaks softly, so as to not interrupt his fellow teammates. The youngest of an extended family of four brothers and five sisters, Dennis says he's moved around a lot all of his childhood and that his entire family has been his best support system, both on and off the field. "I think I have the best family a player could have," he says. "Everybody needs somebody to keep you on track."
This week, he says, he's more focused than he has ever been, and that, come Saturday, he'll be in his ritual pre-game mode. He'll pray on the bus headed to the stadium, and ask God "to put a bunch of stuff in me -- heart, vision, quickness" -- and he'll also make sure he is wearing his "good-luck drawers," too.
When the tape is over, the lights come on. One guy has his head buried in his hands on the desk. Another is stretched flat out, stomach-down, on the training table, sound asleep. Dennis excuses himself. It's time to get ready for practice.
"I'm not impressed," a teammate claims, walking to the locker room.
Another one shouts out, almost pleading, "Don't underestimate De La Salle!"
Moments later, a huge but injured sophomore lineman sits in the only shade available on the sidelines -- right below the 8-foot camera tower. Throughout the long and hot afternoon, the kid chews handfuls of ice and hurls balled-up pieces of adhesive tape at starters jogging to the sidelines for a Gatorade break.
"What are you doing?" says a man with a graying goatee, diamond stud earring, and Proud To Be An American cap. "You're wasting good tape."
The kid, shrugging, says, "It's free."
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When asked how he feels, Brandon says, "Tired." When asked to cite one word to describe his team, he says, "Scared." The parents around him shudder. One coach has described Brandon, one of four team captains, as the "heart and soul" of the squad. If "scared" describes the team, then Poly's in trouble. |
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"It's not free, nothing's free," the man says. "Boosters work hard to earn money to pay for that tape!"
The kid stares at the two rolls in his hands, then puts the tape down on the bench. The kid is right to listen to the man -- Uncle Norman, who has help raise team co-captain and defensive back Darnell Bing into an All-State and Junior All-America star. Bing is rated the top defensive back on the West Coast, and one of the toughest hitting safeties in the country.
But you won't hear Darnell tell you that. Only 17, he is so shy and so humble he can barely talk through a quiet grin that seems to carry him from class to field to film. At 6-2, 210, Darnell has the size to move to linebacker once he heads over to USC -- or Washington, or Oregon -- on scholarship.
Uncle Norman says he coached Darnell and a lot of these Poly boys in Pop Warner. It's not so much the coaching that makes Poly such a powerhouse, he says, it's their innate talent. "You can't teach speed, can't teach footwork," he says. "Can only teach how to keep on track."
Last summer, Darnell attend a First-and-10 Federation Camp, hosted by San Diego Charger QB coach, Mike Johnson. There, SoCal high school kids learned the A-to-Zs of keeping it all together once you reach the pros. Everyone from financial advisors to pro players to correctional officers came to the camp to talk to the kids. Uncle Norman says it was one of the best things you could offer this handful of elitely talented kids.
When asked how he feels about the upcoming game, Uncle Norman shakes his head. "This week's going to be tough," he says. "You can't win on paper."
After three hours of weights, stretching, and practice, the guys return to the meeting room. It's only a few days before game day, and coach Lara has decided to gather the defense together to watch some more film.
"OK, be quiet, just watch," coach Lara yells out to his men. For the next hour, in fast-forward, reverse and regular speed, the team watches the Spartan offensive line step up to the line of scrimmage and set down hands to the turf with assembly-line precision. "Watch the ball!" the coach yells. "Watch the ball! Don't get outrun!
"They're not going to get around me," someone in the back of the dark room hollers out.
The coach keeps his eyes on the game film, his hand steady on the remote.
"I hope not, Manuel," the coach says. "I hope not."
Jennifer Allen, the daughter of longtime NFL coach George Allen, is the author of "Fifth Quarter: The Scrimmage of a Football Coach's Daughter" (Random House 2000). Her postgame article will run on Page 2 next Monday.
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