The year of the 'cats: reflections of an alumnus on Northwestern's phenomenal season

Sporting News, The, Dec 11, 1995 by Michael Wilbon, T.J. Simers

It could be a Disney movie now, except as we know, truth is always stranger than fiction. The Bad News Bears were never as pitiful as Northwestern football, the school that once lost to Chicago Dental and the Denver Athletic Club. How many universities have more famous alums from the drama school than the football team? It's the sorry, comically bad 113-year history of the Northwestern Wildcats that makes this the most ridiculously delicious college football story since Rudy.

We're talking about a school 47 years removed from a bowl game, a school that once lost an NCAA-record 34 consecutive games, a school that went from 1976 to 1985 without once winning back-to-back games, a school that hadn't had a winning record in 24 years and had averaged two victories per season since. And it's not like there was a logical progression from two victories to five to a berth in the liberty Bowl to New Year's Day. From out of nowhere, with virtually no warning, some guy named Gary Barnett, who'd never been a Division I head coach, says he's going to take Northwestern to the Rose Bowl and DOES IT! From 2-9 to 3-7-1 to 10-1 and No. 3 in the polls and a trip to Pasadena. Sherry Lansing, a Northwestern alum and the CEO and Chairman of Paramount Pictures, would have tossed such a script.

Geoff Shein, a fifth-year senior linebacker who arrived before Barnett and has a little more historical perspective and appreciation, says of this season, "I feel like I've just been rescued. It was like being stranded in the ocean or on a desert island for many, many years and the plane just came in."

Tight end Jay Riemersma, whose Michigan Wolverines helped put Northwestern in the Rose Bowl, said after beating Ohio State, "I just wish I'd have put some money down on it, Northwestern 8-0 in the Big Ten. The odds would have been incredible." To be exact, the odds in September were 200-1 at Caesars against the Wildcats winning the Big Ten.

Yet, Barnett had come up with positive slogans: "Take the Purple to Pasadena" and "Expect Victory." He signed autographs, "Gary Barnett, Expect Victory." And corny as it sounded, the slogans became mantras. Even after winter workouts months before the start of the season, players would chant, "Rose Bowl ... Rose Bowl ..."

And of course, absolutely nobody outside the program paid attention. I'm a Northwestern alum, Medill School of Journalism, 1980. Unlike the Johnny-come-latelys, I've worn NU hats and sweatshirts for years, and I keep up with the football and basketball teams fanatically. I remember very clearly hearing from college and NFL coaches that they thought there was something different about Barnett, that he could be the guy to turn things around. I'd heard similar things about Francis Peay (1986 through '91, 13-51-2), about Dennis Green (1981 through '85, 10-45). Some very good football coaches, including both those men, have been beaten down trying to reverse field at the Big Ten's smallest school (7,400 undergraduates), the Big Ten's only private school, and the Big Ten's most academically demanding school (and I don't want to hear a word from Michigan, Purdue or anybody else). Ara Parseghian (1956 through '63, 36-35-1) and Alex Agase (1964 through 72, 32-58-1) were even worn down by the demands.

Losing wore out everybody. One of my closest friends, Bill Kornegay, was on the team from 1979 through '83. He was there for the infamous streak, the 34 consecutive losses that were then an NCAA record. "We always had 11 or 12 guys who could have played for any school in the country," Kornegay says, ticking off the names of teammates like Chris Hinton, Steve Tasker, Curtis Duncan and John Kidd who've gone on to enjoy long NFL careers. "But the other Big Ten schools had 22 to 25 players who could play anywhere. I'd go home to (Flint) Michigan and my friends who played at U of M would say, `Our practices are tougher than playing you guys.' Athletes are eternal optimists, and they have short memories because you fall and you have to get back up. But we took a lot of grief. A lot. As far as the football, it wasn't the best of times."

But because the profile of the school is unique compared with the huge state schools in the Big Ten, losing wasn't merely accepted, it was something akin to a badge of honor. As my friend Ray Ratto wrote in the San Francisco Examiner, "It was as if the media guide cover once bore the legend, `We're Smart, We Don't Have To Win' and that the attitude on campus was like, `Oh, I'm sorry, we were busy producing Nobel Prize winners. Were we supposed to beat Purdue last Saturday, too?'"

Ratto nailed it. We'd leave the library on Saturday, go to dinner and ask, "How much did we lose by?" If the score was something like Ohio State, 35-17, I'd walk down the hall and ask one of the players how in hell we got so close. Instead of throwing me out the door, somebody would patiently explain it, we'd both go back to the library and that was that. There was periodic talk that Northwestern should drop out of the Big Ten, or be kicked out, because it was simply impossible to achieve an Ivy League-level education while playing successful Big Ten football.