Forrest Gregg, the new football coach at Southern Methodist University, is in pain, and not from the foot that he broke trying to move a blocking sled. Gregg is running practice at Ownby Stadium in Dallas this fall afternoon, and everywhere he sees missed blocks, bad tackles, poor passing. For Gregg, fresh from 30 years in the pros, the tableau is as grim as anything he encountered on the offensive line with the Green Bay Packers.
"Stay low," "Move it," "Lift your arms," he rasps in a low monotone. The tackling drill is aptly called "the Nutcracker," because either the lineman or the runner, who must maneuver between two blocking dummies, will be taken down hard. "Oh, come on, come on," the coach yells, as a scrawny running back is pounded. Another brave runner tries, and the smack of pads / echoes across the Astroturf. Wham! Plop! He is down. Gregg grimaces and turns away.
The Mustangs move to a scrimmage, but the scene is no prettier, only now it's the defense that falters. "Stay on 'em -- push!" he implores the linemen. Gregg hobbles across the field, as if in hopes that guards and tackles will look less like Swiss cheese from the far side. At 6 ft. 4 in., 254 lbs., he is a hulking bear, bigger than nearly all his 70 charges. That is a large part of the problem. The players are underweight and untested. Most are freshmen. At every position, more meat and muscle are urgent. "We need speed and big people," he confirms.
The coach needs a team, but what he has instead is an assemblage of bodies. The problem is serious because S.M.U. plays in the Southwest Conference, where taking the field against such powerhouses as Texas A. & M. and Arkansas with untested lightweights is almost unthinkable. Gregg and his alma mater are in this fix because last year the N.C.A.A. suspended S.M.U. from play for wrongful payments to players. The revelations of blatant corruption shook the campus to its roots and forced the resignations of athletic director Bob Hitch and football coach Bobby Collins. (S.M.U.'s president, L. Donald Shields, citing ill health, also left in the midst of the disclosures.) After the unprecedented college-football "death penalty," nearly every letterman fled the campus. The suspension lasted one season, but the ranks were so depleted by the scandal that the school decided not to compete this year as well.
And so, S.M.U.'s greenhorns are suited up with nothing to do till the fall of '89 except batter one another. The linemen average a bare 225 lbs. The runners lack brawn and speed. "We'll make our men bigger," Gregg vows. He plucks out would-be wide receivers and sends them off to pump iron, pile on calories and return as linemen. The orders are firm: 15 lbs. here, 20 there. "I need 35 lbs. in the legs," confides guard Steve Benotti. "That's a lot of chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes."