Читать книгу A Legacy Unrivaled - Boz Bostrom - Страница 11

“If I catch anybody not talking during this shooting-the-breeze period, I will flunk you,” John said to begin class. He then pointed to a guy in the second row and warned, “And you are pretty close to flunking.”

Then, “That reminds me of a story. I asked my Italian uncle to tell me the key to a happy marriage, and here is what he told me.” In his best Italian accent, John continued, “After our-a wedding, we was-a riding along in the horse-a and buggy, and the horse-a stumbled. I said, ‘That’s-a once-a mister horse-a.’ We go a little further and he stumbled again, and I said, ‘That’s-a two times a mister horse-a.’ After a while, the horse-a stumbled again, and I got down and said, ‘That’s-a three times mister horse-a.’ And I shot him in the head. Now my new wife comes-a down-a out of the buggy and is screamin’, ‘You crazy man, how could you kill this beautiful horse?’ I let her go on for about ten minutes and then said, ‘Ah ah, that’s-a once.’”

As the class erupted in laughter, John said, “Now, my uncle didn’t really say that,” and he pointed to the guy in the second row, “but that’s-a once for you.”

He abruptly changed the subject. “Most of you don’t know the TV show Cheers. There was a mailman on the show named Cliff. He would meet a good-looking gal, and he couldn’t talk. But Sam the bartender sure could talk, as he had confidence. But the most important thing he had was ignorance: he didn’t know how stupid he was. He had confidence and ignorance. That’s the key to my life, too.

“As a matter of fact, about fifty years ago, we won our first national championship. Fifteen guys on the other team went on to play pro ball. One of them, Otis Taylor, went on to star for the Kansas City Chiefs team that beat the Minnesota Vikings in the Super Bowl. They were all on scholarships; we had none. They had a platoon system, and we had a stupid coach who played seven guys both ways. You know how we beat them?”

After pausing for a moment, he continued. “We were stupid and didn’t know how good they were. We had the two most powerful things on our side: ignorance and confidence. That is the secret to life.”

As I listened to John’s words, I thought of how students are constantly asking their professors for more real-life application of the lessons being taught—and it doesn’t get much more real-life than winning a national championship.

John shifted gears. “I remember a guy asking me one time after we won our fourth national championship if I thought I’d be doing all this. I told him there was no way I imagined it. I just took it one day at a time. All I was thinking about is if I could get a mercy date from that good-looking gal who would become my wife.” John pointed at handsome Luke and sternly said, “You will have to depend on one of those.” The class burst out in laughter at Luke’s expense, knowing it certainly was not true.

“But little did I know after that first date that I would be married all these years. How many years?” John paused. “I don’t know how many years.” The whole class, especially the guys, seemed to enjoy his admission of forgetfulness.

“I never imagined that someday this good-looking gal would be a grandma and still look good to me. These things happen gradually.” He paused.

“Okay, let’s watch some film, some running plays. They are more complicated.”

After John showed a play, a long touchdown run, he pointed at a woman in the front row and said, “What did the left guard do on that play?”

After she mumbled her reply, John said, “You are soft spoken. That is good when you are cuddling but not now.”

After showing another long running play, he pointed at the same woman and said, “What do you call that?”

She had learned, and confidently replied, “Great coaching.”

“That’s right. I had the right guys in the game and called the right play.”

After a while, he proclaimed, “Enough of this nonsense,” and shut off the film. John drew seven faces on the board, ranging from a very happy face all the way down to a very sad face. He asked a few students where they were on the happiness scale, and most replied that they were second or third from the top. John asked, “How can we get you to the top? Here is how I get myself happy. I say, ‘It’s a great day. I’m happy to be alive. I’m in class with all these great students. I’ll probably get paid this month.’

“And when you are sick, you have an army in your immune system that will protect you from anything. Tell that immune system army to kill the sickness. Say ‘I believe that I can cure anything; my immune system is tougher than anything.’ You’ve got to rally the troops.”

Toward the end of class, assistant coach Gary brought a few recruits into the classroom. Gary knew John would not mind the interruption, and in fact he welcomed it. John shook hands with all the recruits and asked each one where they were from. When he heard the name of a familiar city, he pointed at a student in the class who was also from that city. And instead of talking about Saint Ben’s and Saint John’s himself, John asked students in the class what they liked about the institutions, and the students did the talking for him. The recruits likely found it more genuine that way.

A short while later it was time to go. There were two doors leading out of the classroom. John stood at one door, and every student stood in line to exit through that door. He shook every student’s hand as they left and asked, “Did you enjoy class?” Each and every one lit up and replied, “Yes!”

When John and I got back to his office, we plopped down in our usual chairs by his desk—he behind it and me in front. I asked him why some of his assistant coaches have worked out better than others. He thought for a moment and replied, “The best coaches have usually been guys who played for me, and they not only understood my system, but they believed in it. Also, my better coaches have been guys who were good teachers and could clearly explain things; I think that’s a gift. Some coaches tried to change things, and they didn’t fit in well here. That doesn’t mean they were bad coaches. They just needed a system that fit them.

John diagrams a play for Craig Muyres, Ken Roering, and Bernie Beckman prior to the 1963 national championship game. Courtesy of Gagliardi family.

“That’s also why I don’t recruit players that hard. I want a guy who first of all wants to come to Saint John’s, because the school attracts a certain type of guy. I want to know he will fit in here before we think about him playing football here.”

As usual, John redirected the conversation back toward me. “Remind me why you chose Saint John’s.”

I told him how I had it narrowed down to Saint John’s and Trinity Christian, a college in the suburbs of Chicago. Trinity’s football coach at the time was Leslie Frazier, a defensive back on the legendary 1985–86 Chicago Bears team. When Coach Frazier called my home one evening to offer me an athletic scholarship, my dad suggested that we check out the school.

I remember that when I arrived on campus, I was separated from my dad and escorted to a player’s room. Although I was told that the player would soon arrive, he didn’t show up for nearly an hour, during which time I simply stood in his room. After a mildly entertaining evening hanging out with other football players at the student commons, I mentioned that I should get some sleep because I had an early meeting with Coach Frazier. My host began to walk me back to the dorm room. Then he stopped, handed me the room key, pointed in the general direction of the room, and said, “You know how to find it, don’t you?” Too shocked and timid to be truthful, I nodded and eventually found my way back to his room.

After we met with Coach Frazier the next morning, my dad and I started the six-hour drive home. Dad asked me to take out a sheet of paper and list the positives of Trinity on one side and the positives of Saint John’s on the other. After I finished, the list of positives on the Trinity side was much longer— significantly cheaper, closer religious affiliation, promise to play right away. My dad said, “Well, it seems like you’ve made your decision.”

But then I looked at the list on the Saint John’s side and saw the phrase, “Really enjoyed the guys I met.” And I thought back to my recruiting visit at Saint John’s: from the moment I stepped on campus, prominent players were by my side the whole time, showing me where to go and what to do, and introducing me to many female students. The players had learned this from John, a coach who prohibited hazing of younger players and required that seniors seek out freshmen in the dining hall and sit with them.

“But Dad,” I replied, “I want to go to Saint John’s.” John smiled and nodded as I told him my story.

A few months later, John was in his office when his phone rang. “Gagliardi,” he answered as always.

“Hi, John. This is Leslie Frazier with the Minnesota Vikings. I want to invite you to come down and be our guest at one of our mini-camp practices.”

John went to the event and later told me, “I was eating lunch with Leslie after practice, and I was tempted to tell him your story. But I decided against it.”

“Good restraint,” I said with a smile.