Gunslinger Page 7

  Touchdown!

  On the sideline, Irvin Favre pumped his fist, hugged an assistant, then remembered his son had ignored him. A lecture followed—but not a particularly stern one. “I am glad he was sharp enough to select the right play,” Irv said afterward. “Although I had called a different one.”

  The 29–22 victory improved the Hawks to 7-0 and a No. 5 state ranking. Brett proved he could not only make big passes in tight spots, but lead the team down the field with his arm. Though McHale hadn’t attended the Long Beach clash, he read the recap and was pleased. He called Irvin to tell him he’d once again be in attendance when the Hawks hosted George County that Friday. “He assured me,” McHale recalled, “he would have Brett throw the ball more.”

  Throughout the week’s practices, Irvin incorporated an increased number of passing plays into the game plan. About 48 hours before kickoff, however, the coach reconsidered. Rain was in the forecast, and a wet football, Irvin believed, was not meant to travel via air. Once again McHale settled into a seat along the 50-yard line, removed a notepad from his pocket, and proceeded to watch in disbelief: “It was run, run, run, run.” Favre booted a 45-yard punt. He made a touchdown-saving tackle on Rebels halfback Johnny Sargent. He ran several keepers for medium gains. “I was frustrated,” said McHale. “What was I doing there?”

  Then it happened. With the score tied at 8 late in the second quarter, Brett faked a handoff, dropped back, and under pressure scrambled to his right. Cuevas was covered. So was Miller. But Burton slipped through a seam and into the end zone, 21 yards away. Brett set his feet on the right hash and unleashed a rocket. “The ball had flames and smoke coming off it,” McHale recalled. “[Burton] caught it and I could hear the crack.” The Hawks won, 29–21.

  “I was convinced,” McHale said, “that Brett Favre was for real.”

  The season didn’t end well for Hancock North Central, which lost its final two games, then declined an invitation to participate in something called the Shrimp Bowl. McHale, however, was 100 percent in on Brett Favre, and devoted himself to convincing his colleagues to offer a scholarship. He brought Favre’s name up in every meeting, in every one-on-one conversation. The greatest skeptic among the Golden Eagles decision makers was Keith Daniels, the offensive coordinator. In his six years at Southern Miss, Daniels had committed the program to an option-styled attack that relied upon run-first quarterbacks. When McHale collected all the world’s Brett Favre footage, he presented Daniels with a compilation.

  “Did you get a chance to look at the tapes?” he asked.

  “I sure did,” Daniels replied.

  And?

  “He can’t play for us, Mark,” he replied. “He looks too slow on film. I’m not sure about his throwing ability because there weren’t too many passes on the tapes I looked at, and the only passes I got to see were short.”

  McHale was torn up, but there was still hope. Daniels was being considered for a job at the University of Mississippi, and when he accepted, McHale squealed with delight. Daniels’s replacement was Jack White, the Southern Miss receivers coach and a man exasperated with the team’s predictable offensive schemes. White loved the idea of opening things up, but knew the Golden Eagles lacked anything resembling a drop-back quarterback. Their top-rated recruit was a quarterback out of Tangipahoa, Louisiana, named Michael Jackson, who ran for more than 1,400 yards as a senior, while passing for only 900. “I wanted to throw the ball down the field, and I wanted to throw it often,” said White. “Michael Jackson was supposed to be the future, but he was an option guy. Mark kept talking about this kid named Favor, or Favray, or whatever it was. Nobody could pronounce the damn name. But the tapes were inconclusive. I told Mark I needed to meet him.”

  When high school athletes are being recruited, they’re allowed to make official visits to five colleges. For big-time prospects, it’s an arduous process of narrowing down hundreds of schools. Brett Favre faced no such dilemma. There was a single university sniffing around, and he was waiting (praying, really) for a legitimate invitation. As the weeks passed, from late November to early December to late December, more and more of the quarterbacks on Southern Miss’s board committed elsewhere. Mickey Joseph from Marrero, Louisiana, was Nebraska-bound. Deems May of Lexington, North Carolina, would be a UNC Tar Heel. Matt Vogler from Tallahassee, Florida, picked Auburn, and Ricky Vestal of Houston was set to attend Baylor. The official signing day was February 12, 1987, and Southern Miss was running out of options. When McHale again mentioned Favre to Carmody, the Southern Miss head coach asked whether he could play other positions.

  Um . . . sure. Favre could be a safety. Maybe even a linebacker. Hell, he once made a 26-yard field goal. Punted the ball 43 yards. “My goal was to get him in the program,” said McHale, “by any means necessary.”

  On the weekend of January 31, Brett Favre was finally brought to campus for his official visit. He and his parents loaded into the family van, made the hour-and-15-minute drive from Hancock County, and enjoyed dinner with McHale at the Wagon Wheel restaurant. That Friday night, Brett hit a couple of local bars with some of the Southern Miss players while Irvin and Bonita met with McHale. The next morning, Brett convened with White for the first time. “I spent a lot of time with Brett that day, chatting, talking football,” said White. “There was something about him. A sparkle. I can’t place a finger on it, but it was there. A special feeling.” White tried making small talk with Brett. The kid promised the coach he would be great, and wanted to know if a scholarship awaited. “He didn’t lack confidence,” said White. “It’s usually a turnoff. But not in a quarterback. You want that.” The next time he saw McHale, White pulled him to the side. “You’re right,” he said. “We should get this kid.”

  Carmody’s hope was to sign three quarterbacks. Two had already agreed to scholarships—Jackson and Jay Stokes, an all-city standout from the Bolles School in Jacksonville, Florida. On Sunday, the last day of his visit, Brett had a scheduled 10:00 a.m. meeting with Carmody. He and his parents arrived at 9:30—no Carmody. At 10:00—no Carmody. At 10:30—still no Carmody. At 11:00 . . . 11:30 . . . 12:00 . . . 12:30 . . . Finally, at 1:00 p.m., Carmody opened his door and greeted the Favres, who were miffed and embarrassed. It was the clearest signal to date that Southern Miss viewed Brett Favre as a last-minute option, not a prized possibility. “Look, we knew he was a good athlete with good size,” said Carmody. “But he never threw. So how am I supposed to be overly excited over a high school quarterback who never had to make big throws?”

  His meeting with Brett lasted 15 minutes, and the young quarterback exited the coach’s office with no promises. Known for his bluntness, Carmody told the family it would be a last-minute decision, and indeed it was. On signing day, Southern Miss coaches were scrambling throughout the office, trying to fill the final five vacant slots. A couple of defensive backs had committed elsewhere, as had a linebacker from Georgia. Around four o’clock that afternoon, a somewhat resigned Carmody motioned for McHale. “Mark,” he said, “I want you to call Brett Favre and tell him we have a scholarship for him. I’m going to fill out that defensive slot with him. We’ll take him as a free safety.”

  After a few misplaced calls, McHale had Brett on the phone. Favre was inside his Aunt Lane’s house, babysitting her two children. His voice had the nervous crackling of a teenager sitting on the verge of a dream. “Here’s a question,” said McHale. “Are you still interested in coming to Southern Miss to play football?”

  “Hell yeah, I’m still interested,” Favre replied.

  McHale asked if he’d be willing to work his rear off; to give 100 percent to the program.

  “You won’t be sorry, Coach McHale,” Favre said.

  “OK,” he replied. “Welcome to the University of Southern Mississippi.”

  McHale couldn’t tell whether he heard laughter or tears on the other end of the line.

  It might have been both.

  5

  College-Bound

  * * *
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br />   HIS NAME WAS Ailrick Young, and he was the University of Southern Mississippi’s starting quarterback.

  That’s what Brett Favre was told before arriving on the Hattiesburg campus for his freshman year, and that’s what he was expected to believe. And really, why not? Young possessed everything the Golden Eagles needed and Favre lacked—he was a returning junior with experience running the wishbone attack. He was fast and quick and—at six feet one, 200 pounds—built like some sort of chiseled ode to the Roman gods. He clocked the fastest mile time on the team and, as an ROTC enlistee, seemed to be in perpetually top shape. Teammates nicknamed him Rambo. “The lowest body fat of anyone, anywhere,” said Tim Hallman, an offensive lineman. “Nobody was more physically fit than Ailrick Young.”

  Meanwhile, the obscure, unwanted, unaccomplished incoming 17-year-old freshman was just that—obscure, unwanted, and unaccomplished. Coach Jim Carmody’s newest class featured 27 players, all from Southern states, all with résumés highlighting All-This and All-That selections. Alphabetically, Brett Favre placed 7th, right behind a linebacker out of Hattiesburg named David Dawkins and immediately before a wide receiver from Tuscaloosa named Anthony Harris. On expected importance to the future of the program, however, Brett Favre was 27th. “I would be lying,” said Nick Floyd, the school’s assistant athletic director, “if I told you I knew at the start of the season that he existed.”

  On April 18, Favre and the other incoming recruits attended the annual spring game between two squads of returning players. With Andrew Anderson, the Golden Eagles’ outgoing quarterback, having wrapped up his eligibility, the starters were Young and a freshman speedster named Simmie Carter. Standing along the sidelines, Favre was unimpressed. Both of the quarterbacks had Flash-like speed. But they were clearly mediocre passers. When the game ended, Favre located Mark McHale, the assistant coach who had recruited him, and said, “I can play quarterback this coming season.”

  It was one of the dumbest things McHale had ever heard. Sure, he was the coach who wanted Brett Favre. But the kid had no idea what he was stepping into. Although Southern Miss was the state’s fourth-most-successful collegiate program (trailing Ole Miss, Mississippi State, and Jackson State) and far from a national power, its 74 years of football had produced 55 professional players, six bowl appearances, and a handful of upsets over Division I powers. Just five years earlier the Golden Eagles had been quarterbacked by Reggie Collier, a third-team All-American who guided the school to stunners over Mississippi State, Florida State, and Alabama. Collier went on to spend three years in the United States Football League before jumping to the NFL, and was regarded as one of the greatest college players of the decade. Now here was Favre, the thrower of a whopping 32 passes as a high school senior, thinking himself ready for Alabama and Auburn? It was farcical.

  Four months later, on the afternoon of August 12, the freshman members of the Southern Miss football team reported to school. For many, like Brett Favre, coming to Hattiesburg from scattered small towns across the South was akin to a trip to London or Paris. Located 106 miles north of New Orleans, Hattiesburg had a population of 45,000 people. The once-thriving lumber town was best known as the home of Camp Shelby, the largest National Guard training base east of the Mississippi River. Hattiesburg was nicknamed Hub City in 1912 due to its proximity to a number of important rail lines. It had multiple hotels and restaurants, nearly all revolving, one way or another, around the 300-acre Southern Miss campus.

  Except for a handful of drives to New Orleans, and a senior class trip to Boston and New York, Brett had spent precious little time away from home. During the recruiting process he had bonded with Chris Ryals, an offensive tackle from Purvis, Mississippi, and requested they become roommates. Carmody, however, placed Brett with a linebacker from Slidell, Louisiana, named Alan Anderson. “I think Coach Carmody thought Brett would be a linebacker before the end of summer camp,” McHale recalled. “I couldn’t work things out for Chris and Brett.”

  The football players all lived in Vann Hall, a three-story athletic dormitory on the northeastern portion of campus. Favre and Anderson were on the second floor, four rooms down on the left. The players lived in two-bedroom, one-bathroom suites. Each resident had his own California-sized king bed. “The beds were sort of side by side,” said Anderson. “The older guys figured out how to make them into bunk beds so there was more space. We didn’t do that.” Favre kept things simple—his side of the room was filled with shorts, cutoff T-shirts, a couple of worn baseball caps, and, Ryals recalled, “maybe a book . . . maybe.” (Favre majored in special education, and generally attended classes.)

  Throughout his high school career, Brett wore uniform No. 10. There was no terrific backstory to his marriage to the digits—growing up, his two favorite quarterbacks were Dallas’s Roger Staubach (No. 12) and the Saints’ Archie Manning (No. 8). Brett arrived on campus assuming he would keep the number. David Bounds, an assistant to the athletic director and the man in charge of uniform distribution, told Favre that Collier had been No. 10, and it was permanently unavailable. “I told Carmody what Brett wanted and he dismissed it immediately,” said Bounds. “First, we were about to retire Reggie’s number. But Coach said to me, ‘He’s a quarterback now, but he’ll probably wind up playing somewhere else. So the number isn’t important.’” For whatever reason, Bounds assigned Brett uniform No. 7, which had been worn a year earlier by a defensive back named Darrell Williams. He dressed in the number in his first official team photograph, but wasn’t happy. “He hated it,” said Bounds. “Just hated it.”

  The freshmen players had four days of workouts before the entire roster arrived. Southern Miss ritual dictates that all newbies practice on both sides of the ball. “The defensive staff observed the players in the morning,” recalled McHale, “and the offense got a look in the afternoon. This helped ensure that the players were in the right positions to help our football team.” Steve Davis, the Golden Eagles’ secondary coach, inserted Favre at safety and was moderately pleased with what he saw. “Good hands, solid feet,” Davis said. “He did everything good.” On offense, Favre raised few first-day eyebrows, especially when compared to Michael Jackson, another freshman quarterback. Unlike Favre, Jackson was a run-first, throw-second operator, and his speed was blurring. Whereas Favre was clocked at 5.0 seconds in the 40-yard dash, Jackson burst through the tape at 4.47—on a muddy surface. He was electric, and even Jack White, the new offensive coordinator and a lover of the vertical passing game, was enthralled. Jackson received the vast majority of the looks at quarterback, as Brett stood to the side. “Michael fit what they were trying to do,” Favre recalled. “I had a lot to learn. They could tell me what to do, but I needed the reps to get it and I wasn’t getting many reps.” Carmody pitted Favre’s and Jackson’s measurables against each other and suggested the kid from Hancock County be relocated to linebacker. “No,” White replied. “Let’s not do that just yet. Let me see some more of him at quarterback and see how he does when the varsity comes in.” A couple of days later, Carmody was standing with his back to the field, observing the defense, when he picked up on a soft whirling noise. “Man, what is that?” he said—then turned. It was Brett Favre’s football, slicing through the moist Hattiesburg air. “I coached in the NFL, and I never heard the football before or since,” Carmody said. “But Brett was doing something unheard of. I was definitely intrigued.”

  Carmody’s observation was coupled with a lingering concern that Jackson—the program’s No. 1 recruit and future quarterback—appeared to be terrified. “I mean, it was striking,” said White. “He couldn’t get the snap from center, and we were just in shorts. He could barely get the ‘Hut! Hut!’ out of his mouth.”

  Favre, on the other hand, was cool, confident. He was also, apparently, bionic. “I knew Brett was different the very first day of freshman practice,” said Alan Anderson. “Michael Jackson was ridiculously fast, and he and Brett were goofing around. We were all out there in shorts and helmets, throwi
ng the ball around. Brett told Michael to take off running and he’d throw him the ball.” Jackson jogged 20 yards, and Favre waved him farther. He went another 15 yards, and Favre again waved. “He went 40 yards, then 50,” said Anderson. “I thought Brett was juking the guy. Just making him run far as a gag. Well, he cocked his shoulder and threw an absolute laser. I mean, it never got more than 15 yards off the ground, and he overthrew Michael by a good 20 yards.” Silence overtook the field. “His arm,” said Anderson, “was a freak of nature.”

  Later that evening, Nick Floyd, an assistant athletic director, was talking with Doc Harrington, beginning his 30th year as the team trainer. He asked whether any of the freshmen caught the old man’s eye. “The Jackson kid can fly,” Harrington said. “But there’s that boy from the coast . . . boy, can he really throw it. I think his named is Favor. Or Favray. Whatever it is, Jesus Christ, he has an arm on him.”

  On August 15, 1987, the returning members of the Southern Miss football team reported to campus. For years, legend has held that Brett Favre was the seventh quarterback on the depth chart, closer to lint than Ailrick Young in readiness.