Indeed, this was a
championship Christmas for Lutes fans. Photo by Pat Coleman, D3football.com |
By Mark Simon
D3football.com
I'm sure someone at some point has referred to reporters as
professional hemorrhoids.
That doesn't and shouldn't insult us. After all, it's our job to be
a pain in the ass. There are plenty of people who don't like us,
which makes those who do all the more fun to meet.
Throughout the course of the week, I had the opportunity to scan
the Internet for stories about the Pacific Lutheran football team.
With each article I read, I became more and more curious about how
such an unusual system could succeed.
Caring and compassion is wonderful fodder for romance novels, but
how could it work on the football field? And how could an
18-to-21-year-old kid, regularly surrounded by all the machismo
that fills football fields, possibly become a believer? It couldn't
have been something that was accepted quickly. There had to be
something special about the message, or the messenger.
When it came around to asking the final question at the Pacific
Lutheran press conference, that was the one piece of the puzzle
that was missing in my mind.
After answering a series of questions for the Tacoma, Wash., media
and introducing themselves and their philosophies to a New Jersey
media that was unfamiliar with them, the Lutes were more than happy
to oblige that last query at length.
As Todd McDevitt started to reply, he was interrupted by PLU head
coach Frosty Westering. I learned later from one news story that
before the news conference began, Westering wanted to know if his
team could sit amongst the reporters, instead of separated by an
elevated table. Every Man a Lute had to include the media as
well.
"Todd," the 72-year-old Westering said in his soothing, Reaganesque
timbre, "tell them about Western Washington."
So the Lutes wide receiver talked about two years of unhappiness
and what it was like to see the PLU team pray on the sidelines for
an injured player. Linebacker Luke Jacobson talked about how at
first he rolled his eyes at some of the things players did, but
then began to accept it once he saw that everyone else was.
Star running back Anthony Hicks was next. He explained the
recruiting process that brings people in. PLU doesn't recruit,
Hicks and Westering said. Players refer their friends and relatives
to the coach. As each group of seniors leaves, younger siblings (44
brothers have played for the Lutes in the past 28 years) take their
place.
PLU quarterback Chad Johnson was the last of the players to speak.
Johnson told how he had been around the program as a ballboy, but
always harbored doubts about his grandfather's way of life.
Eventually they subsided. Though his story of success was filled
with enough references to Jesus to cause some reporters to raise
their eyebrows, there was no doubting his sincerity.
Just moments before, he appeared deep in thought. As one of his
teammates was about to speak, he leaned over the table a bit and
raised a 'thumbs up.'
"Good question,'' he said.
That caught me by surprise. That doesn't happen often, if ever to
most reporters. It was for real. Johnson immediately sat back in
his chair and continued to contemplate his response.
Some people shy from the spotlight, others shine in it. The basking
period didn't end for the Pacific Lutheran team when Frosty
Westering raised the championship trophy. He immediately walked
over to the team's fans, to thank them for their support and good
wishes. It didn't end with the postgame press conference. Westering
stayed for another 15 minutes, regaling reporters with one story
after another. It probably didn't end at the "Afterglow," that
would have occurred win or lose.
Come to think of it, thumbs up was certainly the appropriate
response, not necessarily for that question, but for the team as a
whole.
As several reporters pointed out afterwards, if a movie had been
made about this group, it could only have been labeled as "The
Feel-Good Story of the Year."