Stark contrast

Sporting News, The, Nov 6, 1995 by Steve Harrison

High, high above the Midwest prairie, on a January afternoon, Jon Stark blessed a football coach named Leslie Frazier. Stark called the coach on the AirFone, hours after first visiting his school, and announced that he, Jon Stark, of travel-weary body and well-rested right arm, would enroll at Trinity International University in Deerfield, Ill., a college he hadn't even heard of two weeks earlier.

Frazier listened, stunned, and then dropped the phone.

"Un-bee-lee-vable," Frazier says today. "I was praising the Lord, thanking Jesus. I knew this would be so big for our program."

Had Stark really seen Trinity, Frazier wondered? Did he realize its football stadium -just bleachers, really - was smaller than Deerfield High School's nearby? Did he realize the NAIA was - How to put this nicely? - the lowest level of college football? Illinois ain't exactly Florida, Frazier thought. And Trinity football, all seven embryonic years of it ain't exactly Florida State.

Stark knew this, and shrugged. He didn't have much of a choice, after transferring once already, and nearing the end of his college eligibility. Stark simply needed a team, didn't have to be good, and he needed a few receivers, who didn't have to catch. They merely had to run a route, give him a target and let his right arm fire it in there. Cardboard cut-out receivers would do. Its the pass, man. That's what the scouts really want to see.

So began the final (collegiate) chapter of Jon Stark, the quarterback who has traveled from hope and promise (as a freshman at Liberty University) to tears and trauma (dueling with Danny Kanell at Florida State), to, now four years later, hope and promise again.

And if Jon Stark is as good as NFL scouts say he is, how can that be? How can a man, albeit a man with a David-like body and an atomic right arm, be poised to make a million after throwing 73 passes in his first four years of college?

Jon Stark is loitering in the foyer of the school chapel, waiting for a team meeting nearby, to be followed by a Bible study. A special Friday night "Homecoming Coronation" chapel service is about to begin, something Stark doesn't care much about. The would-be queens are gliding through a galaxy of flash bulbs, dressed in pumps, and black dresses with low, white lace collars, while the boys in coats and ties chase them with pink corsages.

Stark is slouched against a war, wearing a white knit shirt Chris Webber-length jean shorts, sandals and a gold chain. His red hair, ritually shaved before practice in August, has made a comeback to a buzz. Very chic. The kings and queens take no notice of Stark, and he takes no notice of them. Other than the guys on the team, he hasn't made any friends at Trinity. Too busy thinking about the NFL, man. And at this moment, too busy thinking how many days he has left here, on this pure, hermetically sealed campus, far, far away from fun stuff, like dancing.

"I mean this school has been great to me, man," Stark says, watching the homecoming court giggle. "But I think it's time to move on, if you know what I mean."

Yeah, it's easy to know what Stark means. Trinity, a serene suburban school of about 900 undergraduates - 90 of whom are football players - is a nice place for young men and women to spend four years of college. But to the outsider, its rules - no drinking, smoking, cussing, or dancing - seem, well, quaint. It's tempting to drive through campus, roll down a car window, crank up some dance station, and see if any students wiggle their behinds, heaven help them. By the way, Stark's favorite song is, appropriately, "Stayin' Alive." Heaven help Jon Stark.

But don't think for a minute Stark praises only the forward pass. Stark is just as religious - or as his dad, Jon, says "spiritual" - as any parochial school child in a plaid jumper. This is clear as Stark gravely talks about his "mission," "circumstances" and "life lessons." Listening to the story of the last five years of his life, it's quite understandable how football - or rather the opportunity play it - has become an obsession. Not once has he hopped in his white Nissan Maxima and escaped to Chicago's skyscrapers. How could that help his football career?

At first I didn't worry about anything except looking for a place to showcase my talents," Stark says. "You see, I'm here on a mission. I don't want to deal with any of that stuff anyway. I'm totally committed to this thing."

That commitment began early, as the Starks did everything but put a ball in Jon's crib. When he was in high school, his father, a Nashville lawyer, once offered him $100 if he could swish a football from one end of a basketball court to another. Dad paid up. When Stark was a redshirt freshman at liberty, dad once flew to Lynchburg, Va., to see him practice, and flew back the same day. To this day, the elder Stark hasn't missed a game his son has played in since Jon was 6.

After graduating from Donelson Christian Academy in Nashville in 1991 and receiving lukewarm interest from college coaches - Stark rarely threw the football at Donelson Christian, which ran a traditional rushing offense - he went to liberty University, Jerry Falwell's school in Lynchburg, Va., which plays I-AA football and is coached by Sam Rutigliano. After Stark's junior year of high school, his dad helped him get into Rutigliano's high school summer football camp, where Stark shined. Soon Rutigliano was singing Stark's praises; Stark swooned. Who cares about Jerry Falwell? This is Sam Rutigliano, ex-NFL coach, a guy who knows how to get to the pros, man. And he likes me.