I'll Tell You When You're Good!: America's 12Th Man Quarterback

I’LL TELL YOU WHEN YOU’RE GOOD!

America’s 12th Man Quarterback

David Walker

AuthorHouse™ LLC

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© 2011 David Walker. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/17/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4634-0673-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-0675-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-0674-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011908007

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Contents

Prologue

Foreword

Dedication

Introduction Seventies Rock

1   252 Read

2   Old Silver Tooth

3   Shan The Man

4   Real Coaching

5   The ‘Dad’ Thing

6   Welcome To Aggieland

7   The Youngest Ever

8   Enter The Triple Option

9   Slammed To The Turf

10   Turd Bowls And Razorbacks

11   I Think I’ll Pass

12   Pardon The Swagger

13   Isolate And Eliminate

14   The Split Finger

15   Tiptoe Through The Tulips

16   You’ve Got To Fight, Boys

17   The Foxhole

PROLOGUE

Since the first publication of my book, questions have arisen about the timing of its release in relationship to the demise of my former college coach, Emory Bellard. I would like to address these here.

I last visited with Coach Bellard at his book-signing in College Station in April of 2010. Former Bryan Eagle sports editor Jerry Waggoner was there, along with the gentleman who co-wrote the book and also Coach Bellard’s youngest son. Coach signed the book I purchased with, We were good with you under Center. Emory Bellard. I saw him again later that afternoon at the Maroon and White Spring Football Game as he headed up to a suite in the press box. Little did I know this would be the last time I would see him.

Previously I hadn’t seen Coach since the passing of his first wife, Mary Kay, at her funeral in Marble Falls, Texas years earlier. I felt it was important for his former A&M players to be represented. I recall seeing several of our coaches in attendance but unfortunately, no players. As a result I was especially glad I had made the drive from Houston to show my support for him and his children. My best friend in Marble Falls, Brother Max Copeland (I’d served there as the high school’s head coach), performed the service.

The last time I’d visited with Mrs. Bellard was at the retirement banquet held for Coach Bellard in Houston where he’d coached at Westfield High for a number of years. Mrs. Bellard was obviously ill from her battle with cancer, but very warm and gracious as I’d always remembered. She joked with me about how ironic it was to be in her condition when she and Coach were finally at retirement age. It saddened me deeply.

I visited at length with my buddy and teammate Garth Ten Napel during the ceremony, but didn’t know anyone else except long-time A&M boosters Keith Langford and Fred Nasser. When Coach Bellard was at Westfield and I was head coach at Memorial High School, we had attempted to schedule some non-district games between our two schools. Unfortunately, my athletic director would not agree to this. Still, it was a good night of fellowship with the Bellards and several old friends.

Earlier in the Spring of 2010, I created a video of our A&M football players, coaches, managers and trainers, and set it to the only music that would fit the personality of our era—George Thorogood’s Bad to the Bone. Coach had remarried and when they heard about and requested the DVD, I happily sent a copy to their home in Georgetown, Texas. His wife emailed me back how much Coach had enjoyed it. I had a serious automobile accident soon afterward that changed my life.

My mother had been asking me to write a book for many years, but my work as a coach and Cadillac sales manager while raising two beautiful girls made this impossible. After my accident, in which I suffered an undiagnosed broken neck, and with my Mom now 79, I felt it incumbent upon me to devote everything I had to the project. As you will learn, my C4 and C5 cervical bones in my neck were completely dislocated and were pressing dangerously close to my spinal cord. I thought it was just a horrible crick that would someday go away. High pain tolerance can get you in trouble at any age.

The C-T scan taken immediately afterward was negative. My right arm was paralyzed to the point that I couldn’t strap on a seat belt without using both hands. My head sat cocked to the right and I could not straighten it, as much as I tried. My right shoulder remained next to my right cheek and my arm curled in stiffly, with my hand pressing against my chest. To turn over in bed I had to grab my hair to move my head, because my neck was unable to do so. When sitting or walking I felt I was continuously balancing 12 pounds on my neck and was constantly thinking about doing so. This isn’t normal.

I never have learned how to type. I still use my left middle finger and sometimes assist it with my right forefinger. This was my condition as I sat down at my desktop computer to type out my story one morning, one letter at a time. I started with a single meager paragraph; I quit many times, but kept coming back. I know thousands of people have written books, but I know of nobody who wrote one under these conditions. My only pain medication was Ibuprofen. I had divorced two years earlier from my wife of 25 years and lived alone with my young blue heeler, Moon.

Revisiting the tough times from my youth was difficult in my condition and made the loneliness even worse. Some of the things I shared would leave me exhausted for two or three days and unable to write anything, whatsoever. Many nights, I worked until daybreak. Finally on July 7, 2010, my work was complete. I emailed the manuscript to a friend who agreed to help with punctuation, word usage, and other editing issues during her free time. I looked forward to receiving it back and getting it to my publisher.

Then on August 6, 2010, I received a group email notification that Coach Bellard had been diagnosed with ALS. I was faced with a moral dilemma, and ultimately made the decision I would not release my book as long as Coach remained with us on this earth. This was my decision to make, and, in my opinion, it was the only choice that seemed right. I am very honest and forthcoming with my feelings and experiences in this book, as you will see, and felt it inhuman to potentially cause any further stress or worry at such a difficult time for Emory.

In early September I began having breathing problems, so I went to see my chiropractor, Ted Stephenson, the son of Ed Stephenson, our team’s chiropractor during our playing days. I explained what my concerns were and that I felt I just needed an adjustment. Instead, he took X-rays and informed me I had a broken neck and needed surgery immediately. This was a full four months after the accident had occurred. We both realized my neck had been broken for that long and the situation was quickly deteriorating. I gave my editing friend all the information she would need for submitting my book to my publishing company in the event I became a quadriplegic before or during surgery. Thankfully she agreed to do so and promised me that I could count on her.

On September 24, after my youngest daughter’s Ring Dunk ceremony at A&M, a pre-graduation ritual, I went in for 7 straight days of traction that was unsuccessful in separating the bones from my spinal cord. I then wore a halo for two weeks while my surgeon decided how to approach this very delicate surgery — a fusion operation that had a strong possibility of leaving me paralyzed.

On October 18, I went in for spinal surgery. Fortunately, I still walk. I have 50% of the original rotational movement of my head, and I’m very thankful. Looking for blindsides with my head on a swivel are no longer one of life’s priorities. My breathing is normal and I no longer feel electrical shocks running to my fingertips when I cough or sneeze. I am not in a wheelchair.

Once I returned home after surgery and recovery, I felt it necessary to add this experience as my final chapter—one that was also very difficult to write. Since I could no longer afford a professional editor (the total cost of my surgery was paid for by family loans, gifts and tapping out 5 credit cards which remain unpaid), I reread the manuscript over and over and searched for things that needed correcting. I still didn’t get it right. In my published book a couple of misprints and misspelled names were found, and I’ve tried to correct those in this second printing. Otherwise, this book remains identical to the original.

Four months after my surgery, on February 10, 2011, Coach Bellard succumbed to ALS. I entertained the idea of disposing of all of my work; yet, I felt MY family deserved the right to know of a past they’d never heard me mention. I owed it to my Mom, a huge LSU fan, who had been forced to suffer through it with me. I owed it to Sulphur, my coaches, teammates, supporters and our great Louisiana Hall of Fame coach, Shannon Suarez, who still resides in my hometown. He is still one hell of a character and loves the University of Alabama deeply. Without Coach Suarez, the best coach I ever played for, there is no book. I owed it to those who encouraged me throughout the ordeal. I owed it to the university, my A&M fans and Aggie teammates. I owed it to the great institutions of American football, amateur athletics and all their participants. And time is movin’ along.

Almost one year to the day after I emailed the final draft to my friend, this book was published in hard and soft covers, roughly six months following Coach Bellard’s death. My Mom, then 80 years old, had asked me to make sure the print was large enough so she could read it easily. I delivered her copy in August of 2011, inscribed in part with, It was tough Mom, but we made it through it all, together. She cried. Her first comment when she called from Sulphur was, Your introduction is almost brilliant. That was close enough to perfect for me. Mom loved literature. There are personal revelations in this book about my own Dad and our upbringing, yet she never flinched. She knew all too well our family history. Dad’s been gone since March of ’97.

One year later, on August 4, 2012, she, too, was gone. One of the personal items in her hospital room was her copy of this book, as if to take it with her. No, I have no regrets. My only regret would have been not writing this book.

FOREWORD

I’ve been a huge football fan for as long as I can remember. I played the game for nine years of my life and experienced many highs and lows, but none to the extent of those you will discover here. Written by the youngest quarterback in college football history, this is the in-depth story of a young boy’s unparalleled journey from early childhood to young adulthood, and the experiences and relationships with his family, friends, teammates and coaches that impacted not only his life, but also the fortunes of some outstanding high school and college football teams.

Other than fullback Bucky Sams, who is my older brother, David Moon Walker was my favorite player at A&M during the Seventies. I still remember as a thirteen year-old listening to the radio when he started his first game, and hearing the announcer saying excitedly that David was a mere seventeen. I thought, "This guy isn't but a few years older than me, and here he is playing quarterback for the Texas Aggies! How does a guy do that? They started calling him the Brazos Babe" in the newspapers and the Aggies soon started winning football games. This young Cajun boy who seemingly came out of nowhere could really play.

What immediately impressed everyone about David was his winning attitude, his quick smile, his self-assurance, and of course, the arm. He seemed to have the whole package that the good folks at A&M had been looking for. I personally knew all the great players from the previous season but this lefty from Louisiana seemed special, like a whole different kind of cat ready to explode onto the scene. From the moment David stepped on campus there was a real excitement building with the players that was apparent to everyone. Very few had ever seen a guy pass a football like David could. When he became the starter in his first season, the Aggies were without a doubt destined for greatness.

Now after having been an ardent Aggie football fan for all these many years, I still found myself wondering how these outstanding teams from this era were never successful in achieving their goals of winning championships. They were loaded with talent but never reached the pinnacle, saddled almost every year with crushing, season-ending losses. Each of us can probably imagine how difficult it is to discuss tough situations and losing efforts publicly, but David was there in the thick of it for five years and once again he’s laying it on the line.

As both a passer and an option quarterback, Number 8 was the quintessential decision-maker once the football was in his hands. He lived it and breathed it, and it is my personal belief that the insightfulness he delivers to the reader is unlike any you’ll find in sports history. David is exceedingly open and candid with his thoughts regarding those he was closely associated with. He speaks in great detail about the influence each had on his team and his frame of mind. David also gives those who have expectations similar to mine a better understanding of this exciting era in college football history that has grown into the game we enjoy today. He has opened new doors here for every sports enthusiast and analyst, and for this documentary of events I am sincerely grateful.

I doubt if any fan will hear a behind-the-scenes story as fascinating as this one. It stands tall and it stands alone. You’ll find this unusual narrative to be an exceptionally unfettered view into a true quarterback’s mind, his art, his discipline, and even the pain hidden within during the times he’s shouldering the blame for his teams’ collapses. I believe David has provided all athletes, Moms, Dads, coaches and every sports fan a very personal, inside-out look at how a young student-athlete, while playing the most demanding and pressurized position in sports, somehow constantly stared down the stigma placed upon him for not being ‘the guy’. In so doing, he introduces us to situations we’ve never before imagined and can never forget. Until now, I’d only presumed I’d seen remarkable examples of undeniable determination in sports. David Walker went through Hell for his scholarship and I don’t say this lightly. We may never view ‘amateur’ athletics the same way again.

Jerry Sams

DEDICATION

I’ll Tell You When You’re Good is humbly dedicated to those who no longer walk or move their fingers. I would challenge all who are healthy to imagine stepping into your shoes to understand the reality of paralysis. Hopefully the strides made to alleviate the devastation of spinal cord injuries will continue to escalate. These injuries are unspeakable tragedies for all involved. Please know we’re pulling for you. May God bless you and those who love you.

This book is dedicated to my dear Mom, who has stood behind me and supported me so generously throughout my life; my beautiful sister, Laura, for everything you’ve meant to me; and the three other ladies in my life, Pam, Lindsey and Carly. You were why the Lord brought me to Texas. I’ll always be grateful for the unconditional love I’ve received from all of you and thank you for the joy you’ve given me.

To all my teammates, first as a kid in Louisiana and then in College Station, and especially to my all-time coaches, Sulphur’s Shannon Suarez, A&M’s Tom Wilson and my late Dad and Papaw, thank you for being you and for the countless contributions to excellence you provided.

And to you who spurred me on to put a few stories down on paper in the summer of 2010 and who faithfully supported me from its inception, particularly through the darker days of doing so, thank you so much for caring and propping me up when I needed it most. You can attest to everyone, this didn’t come easy for us. You are in my heart and thanks to you, we made it to the finish line together. Once in awhile we get more than we bargained for and I hope that’s how you see it.

This dedication and my sincerest prayers also go out to the many special coaches and players, the guardians and grandparents, and to all the Moms and Dads across this great country for the tremendous roles each of you play. This book isn’t about negotiating pro contracts or getting sweet endorsement deals. This one’s for us little people, the common folk among us, those whose playing careers begin in pee-wee league and continue maybe a decade or so, if we’re lucky.

It’s for those who are paid nothing more than the occasional compliment along the way, and have no guarantees for further advancement. It’s dedicated to those who have only their individual performances and their wins and losses to assess their value to their teams. It’s for those with a deeply ingrained competitiveness and a willingness to sacrifice, and for all of us who show up when no one believes we will. Many of my own players from when I coached high school football are now among you. My hope for you and yours is when you rise to your next challenge and slay the dragon, may you always have someone there who will tell you when you’re good.

INTRODUCTION

SEVENTIES ROCK

Some folks say, Dave, let it go, while others still find themselves intrigued about how it all went down. For years I’ve been trying to decide which side I was on. Others have said, David, isn’t it rather presumptuous of you to write a book? To them I replied, Yes, absolutely. And thanks for your input. But, please, don’t tell someone who’s doing it that it can’t be done. And I must say there’s a ton of folks who I greatly admire who strongly encouraged me to go with it, so here we are. We’re venturing.

It’s been a mystery on many fronts for quite some time, this A&M football tale, so I’ll just lay it out here for you as memory serves and we’ll damn the torpedoes together. After all, what do we have to lose, right? Are you ready for some real down and dirty football? We’re going deep here and it could get nasty, you know, with a lot of finger-pointing and stuff. Unsavory things like this sometimes happen when a plan fails to come together.

For your information, or fyi, we’ll be staying primarily within the Ark-La-Tex region of the country with occasional overnight jaunts into Kansas, Washington, Virginia and maybe even Michigan. If we went anywhere else for a football game which I’ve neglected to mention, I sincerely apologize for forgetting the trip.

Now to be honest with you, my quarterbacking career didn’t last very long. I didn’t follow in Joe Namath’s or Kenny Stabler’s footsteps except for perhaps some isolated instances off the field. I didn’t go Pro. My quarterbacking career spanned from start to finish about a decade or so, from the ages of twelve to twenty-one. I was an amateur quarterback who first played the game for the pride of a small refinery town and then later for what passed as my higher learning, a genuine college education.

Mine is the story of a boy who went from a snotty-nosed kid to a wily old veteran in a manner unlike any other, and one who performed in a unique set of circumstances impossible to duplicate. These aren’t boastful statements on my part, only honest ones. For the record, all the brutally honest statements are due to arrive a little later when things get a little testier. As Howard Cosell said many times during our era when Monday Night Football was first making its way in the Seventies, I’m just tellin’ it like it is. You watch, you’ll see.

I decided to write this book shortly after an automobile accident seemed intent on putting me into a wheelchair from spinal cord injuries. I didn’t know I had these injuries when I started writing but I’d just had a face-to-face with Mortality Junior, and I realized I’d better get this done before his daddy decides to meet up with me. I figured if I didn’t write it now, then the world would never know the real story behind our legacy at Texas A&M, in which I played a part. Shoot, you’d never want to be accused of cheating the world, right? My Dad always wrote stuff down for me real slow because he knew I couldn’t read too fast, but I figured his way wasn’t going to be practical here. I had to git ‘er done.

The reasons any story is deemed important are predicated on its originator, its subject matter and the audience it attracts, and if there is a single reader who benefits or relates or becomes a little bolder as a result of this effort, then I must conclude it’s been a worthwhile endeavor. Boldness does make a difference in your life. I lacked boldness at times when I needed it most.

Inspiration by any measure is a wonderful thing, provided you survive it. While pride may come before the fall, as my Dad always said, try getting back on your feet without it. I’ll tell you right now, I’d be betting against you. Perhaps putting this recollection on paper was the part of my healing process that kept me from collapsing into a quadriplegic heap during the months before I knew I was seriously hurt. You see, except for the final chapter, this book was written by a guy with a seriously broken neck. (I know. Is there any other kind?) I actually walked around for four and a half months before seeing a doctor. It’s called not having health insurance, but that’s a subject for another day.

First a quick story about the dumb jock you’re reading about, a story which is obviously a veiled attempt to gain some literary credibility with you. When I was about to graduate from Texas A&M we were required to pass an English Proficiency Exam before our diplomas would be handed to us. This was a lengthy test on vocabulary, punctuation, word usage, written essays, etc. My test score was subsequently relayed to me by Dr. Jerry Elledge, my favorite professor at A&M. Dr. Elledge was my favorite because he had a handle on what it takes to be a great educator. This was his ability to inform and entertain simultaneously. I think it’s a gift because I’ve found it’s difficult to achieve the perfect blend. Anyway, he called me in to tell me personally that I’d scored the highest grade ever recorded in our department on the exam, and of course this news made me very proud.

Soon thereafter I was contacted by a representative of a different professor, one who was not so high on my list. She proceeded to gravely inform me that I had failed the test and would need to reschedule in order to graduate. I told her to recheck her roster, that surely there must be another David Walker in the department. Sure enough she did, and there was, but he wasn’t ‘the jock’. No, the jock would be me, and the ‘real’ student was the one who’d failed. Tough break, right? Uh, Winner. Isn’t this hilarious? I mean, didn’t they know I was somewhat of an English ‘perfectionist’ formally educated in Sulphur, Louisiana by some really excellent school teachers? I never heard back from the rep or from the professor who’d made the assumption regarding my English proficiency. Hey, who could blame them?

You and I will now ride this roller coaster and be flies on the wall as we discover how a budding football dynasty somehow came up short and this Louisiana boy’s impact on the proceedings. I must say, this look back is one that has forever haunted the darker recesses of our intellects and emotions, and only there has this particular retrospect remained securely secluded for all these many years.

Our players at A&M reunite every once in awhile and still shake our heads at how we didn’t get there with all the unbelievable talent we had. I’m sure other athletes have done the same throughout history. We were legitimate candidates for three national championships that were easily within our grasps, and every time we found a way to skip out on taking delivery.

The thoughts, emotions and actions from the past during our lifetimes can be remembered as though it were yesterday, and their lessons applied to real-time situations confronting us in the here and now. Mistakes made then can only be side-stepped when the awareness of their existence is properly revealed beforehand. Most of us would conclude it is imperative these lessons remain in the forefront as a guide for the evolving code of ethics which governs our sports bodies and relationships. Here you will read about a family’s love and devotion for their only son and the loyalty, trust, faith and perseverance required to play and coach this wonderful game of football. We will also explore the single nucleus which holds it all together.

Parts of these pages may not be what you’d expect from a guy barely old enough to buy a beer in most states by the time he was finished. We were all just big ol’ kids playing a game. The game is a vicious one physically, mentally and emotionally, and it is these moments that have brought me the most difficulty in revealing to you. I was caught up big-time in the brutalities of each. Capturing the emotion of such moments is sometimes a difficult prospect but I’ll shoot straight from the hip and this I guarantee.

This is a look at some early life experiences and the various reactions and opinions I harbored for each. We are all entitled to our thoughts and feelings, and sharing them freely is something that none of us in America will hopefully ever be denied. Life can turn on a dime and become very complicated for us at any age. Because we’re all individuals and are programmed in different ways, our reactions to such complex situations vary according to time and circumstance. So, as my pee-wee football coach once told me before my first-ever kickoff return at the age of 11, the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. Run fast, go score, and dodge only what’s necessary. Hopefully the same holds true here.

Warren Trahan, Pat Thomas and Ed Simonini

Football can be one tough-assed life experience that doesn’t exist in houses made of glass or on foundations of clay. You find out quickly whether you’re a real guy or not. You will find yourself being tested by acts and words of intimidation in a continuous game of one-upmanship. The superior and secure among them will want to know if you’re someone to be counted on. The less aggressive your mind-set is, the less chance you have of earning their respect. You shouldn’t play the sport if respect isn’t something you have a burning desire to acquire. Find another calling. This game isn’t for you. The overly-sensitive can get hammered pretty hard, both in print and within the sport. And once you’re in, you can never succumb. You can never lose the respect.

Fellow players can ride you harder than any coach could ever think to. It’s tough — not out there — but in there. ‘In’ there is where you’re tested. There is a lot to be disseminated and then reacted to in the instant of time you’re allowed. You must be quick. You’d better be sharp, you’d better be right, and you better show no weakness or uncertainty. Superior manhood is what it’s all about from top to bottom. Think fast on your feet. No chinks in the armor allowed. The pressure is always on. It’s the world of competition and you play at your own risk.

The starters have their own fraternity. They are the 22 knights sitting together at the Round Table, drinking, laughing and eating burned steaks, potatoes and hot rolls. Should you want a seat, you’ll have to earn it, pilgrim. You’ll have to win a duel with one of those already seated. It is rare when one knight leaves the table for another. After all, the knights are at this Table because their mental prowess and physical attributes are unlike those of other ‘lesser-thans’ whose aspirations ultimately diminish into human folly. The knights draw confidence and power only from each other and no one else enters their quarters without invitation. They see other men not as equals but as either leaders or followers, similar to how dogs see everything, which is the reason these men gravitate to each other.

Be forewarned, there is no place here for Negative Bullshit. Negative Bullshit makes all knights irritable and contrary. Its spirit is banned from entering the room. If you’re troubled, you keep it to yourself. If you’re injured, go see the trainer. The Room must always be up and happenin’. Negative Vibes are also shunned here. Wipe them from your countenance before entering.

You will learn that once you sit at the Table, there will be high expectations placed upon you. You will learn that where members of the Table go, you must also go. What members of the Table do, you must do. There are no exceptions. The spoils of victory will be plenty and you will be well-rewarded for having earned their respect. Should you thrive in this environment and win many great battles for them, perhaps leadership of the Table will one day be awarded to you. Your mission then will be to remain at the Table with the Gifted Ones until graduation do you part, for it is only the most deserving who will reign here.

This is why almost everyone is familiar with the name of Vince Lombardi. Coach Lombardi was a straight-shooter, a real ‘my way or the highway’ kind of guy. He helped define winning, as did John Wooden. We still appreciate the many lessons Lombardi and Wooden shared with their players that easily reverberate with us today. Vince Lombardi and John Wooden were both bad-ass characters, but in different ways.

Could I have played ball for Coach Lombardi, or even for Bear Bryant? There is no question I could have, because I played for Shannon Suarez and Burt Walker. This again, is no brag. You haven’t met Coach Suarez or my Dad yet, but you will. They were the Lombardi and the Wooden in my life. I also played under a dapper dandy named Emory Bellard. Bellard coached the Aggies in the Seventies while I was at A&M. Bellard began his tenure the season before I arrived and he ended it abruptly the season following my departure.

I must submit that what occurred with these Texas Aggies will be the most unique story ever encountered in college football history. Just sayin’. It is certainly one that will never be repeated. Ours was the time when all men are created equal finally became a reality at every level of football. Perhaps you and yours will recall this particular era when names like Earl Campbell, Lester Hayes, Robert Jackson and Pat Thomas first burst onto the scene. They weren’t following in a long line of African American ball players, but were themselves pioneers at their respective schools.

In the process you will be introduced to intercollegiate sports in a manner you never imagined could exist. Have you ever heard anyone say they’ve seen it all? Well, here we’re talking about winning it all. This was to be our destiny at A&M in the Seventies. We were the ultimate success story gone haywire. We had teams that never reached the mountaintop despite having some pretty talented dudes on hand. Here I describe in no uncertain terms why it wasn’t to be, from behind the blue eyes of a young, left-handed quarterback raised just on the other side of the Sabine River, over ‘dere in Cajun Country.

I write about our era because there is still so much misinformation surrounding specific events regarding our football program, and there is still great curiosity. Others have documented our era along with all the others in A&M history, including names and statistics and brief notes about our wins and losses. This is fine for the casual observer but others wish to dig deeper and get to the heart of the matter. This is because we were unbelievably good and were playing during a very special and unique time. We were the greatest collection of athletes that Texas A&M supporters had ever seen and could physically dominate anybody, even today.

Herein I’ve touched on all the defining moments that comprised our legacy and have no qualms about sharing these insights with you in as forthright a manner as is humanly possible. Included are facts and occurrences that even our own players were totally unaware were happening around them, and for all the football fans who were never able to put their finger on why we didn’t finish the deal, perhaps you’ll be able to shortly.

There’s no reason to pull any punches or sugarcoat anything and you have my word I will not. I just call it the way I see it. Besides, it wasn’t our style at Texas A&M in the Seventies to back off, unless it was to admire our handiwork. We were always in your face and highly aggressive, and I would be doing our fine football teams a great injustice to relate our story in any other way. Please note, I do not pretend to speak for any of my teammates as this is coming from only my heart and mind, but I do wish to properly exemplify their vast abilities.

We were the modern-day pillagers, an aggregation of boundless spirit and unbridled audacity never before seen on the sprawling A&M campus. We lived hard and played even harder, day in and day out, always banding together unapologetically for the entire world to see. We were different both physically and psychologically, and as a result we were sometimes misunderstood or avoided by fellow students. We were okay with this. We weren’t trying to impress any commoners anyway, except for the girls. At A&M, the girls were at a premium.

It takes some ‘Wild Eyes’ to do the job we were brought in to do. We had more than our share of guys who lived on the edge and took everything life had to offer. We were just meant to be. We were history in the making, like the hired gunslingers back in the Old West. What an exciting time it was as we embarked on this great adventure to secure our destiny! We had no rules, except for that of respecting each other at all times. We were brash and bold and daring, and at times possibly obnoxious in a fun-loving way. We had bravado and wit and a true swagger about us, traits found only in those who are totally confident in their abilities and whose undeniable destinies lie clearly ahead. We were the perfect mix, the perfect concoction, a collection of brilliant players coming together at just the right time in history for the greatest conquests of our lives…and this we all knew. We swore to it. We drank to it. We smiled confidently at the challenge. The moon and the stars were all properly aligned. We were football’s new warriors with a brand new mentality.

Because we were all children of the Sixties (I started first grade in 1961) and each had barely escaped the Vietnam War, we were now ready to celebrate our good fortune and expanding individuality. Each of us brought something different and miraculous to the table to be shared by all, black and white and big and small, and together we walked proudly through college life hand-in-hand and arm-in-arm. We were there to win big and to celebrate the lives we’d earned through self-sacrifice and intense efforts in earlier triumphs. We were the chosen ones.

Now that we were gathered together in this beautiful valley, stardom and fame and beautiful trophies would soon be ours, and Texas A&M University’s. She had called us in to serve her and we had answered that call, many to the chagrin of other more impressive state universities. We were now preparing to satisfy not only our Queen (no, not the Homecoming Queen – there isn’t one), but also her very generous and overly-enthusiastic sugar daddies who supported her. Soon, all of her subjects on campus would rise as one with their thumbs in the air celebrating victory and conquest. Gig ‘em, Aggies! they would yell in unison. Give us room! Yes, like those who had fought with Alexander the Great centuries ago, we would soon dominate and conquer everything thrown before us in magnificent fashion. We would be Old Army’s finest fighting machine ever, and the world’s most revered college football team of all-time. After all, this is what dynasties do.

Where did I fit in? I was recruited among several others to play the position of quarterback for ‘Bellard’s Bunch’, a team nationally known for extraordinary defenses and Bellard’s personal invention, the offensive formation dubbed by a Texas sportswriter as the Wishbone. Within this offense there’d be three different variations that would develop during our run at the school, and in this book we will touch on them all. The different intricacies that separated them were far from the whole story in Aggieland, yet history may ultimately depict them as the most impacting on our final fortunes. I must certainly concur with this premise.

The plan of attack for your football team is of utmost importance and is sometimes the most controversial of all the preparations taking place behind the closed doors of the coaches’ offices. Each play must have rules incorporated to be able to attack any of the various defensive alignments yet still remain simple enough for the players to instantaneously recall their assignments. Football remains the most complex of all team sports because there are so many thought processes and variables within the game itself. It requires an extremely strict discipline in every aspect, from the proper stances to specific blocking techniques.

It is common knowledge that a football team is only as good as its weakest player or its weakest coaching strategy. All of the intrinsic qualities necessary to play the game successfully such as talent, size, speed, strength, courage and hustle, can only be maximized when one memorizes and masters the mental diagrams associated with his individual position. When all of these qualities are equal to the competition’s, then winning boils down to the synchronized execution of the assignments derived from the specific philosophy promoted by the coaching staff. Design flaws, therefore, are like loose lips; they sink ships.

Historically this factor alone is why coaches and their individual schemes have always been of such value to an owner or an institution’s decision-makers. The coach and his philosophy walk hand-in-hand and when you buy into one, you must certainly buy into the other. Visions vary from one leader to the next, as do the corresponding X’s and O’s, therefore the specific diagrams of plays and the techniques performed by each individual take precedence over many other essential attributes.

These distinct strategies are either handed down or picked up on film or discovered in seminars, as there has always been a tremendous dissemination of information among the coaching fraternity at all levels. In other words, it’s a copy-cat world out there that none would deny, and there is an infinite set of blocking rules and adjustments available that are limited only by the human imagination. Where there is one innovator, you will surely find thousands of imitators. Then from the original drawing or concept, different variations are inevitably created which others are quick to take credit for. But hey, you can’t just run quarterback sneaks or throw screen passes all day, right? Every offense needs some diversity branching out from its core. This is why head coaches reportedly created ‘thinking’ caps for all their assistants.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, our head coaches at Texas A&M were the innovators on both sides of the ball. There’s a big ‘period’ that goes at the end of this last statement. They were TRUE innovators and legendary in their profession. These innovators were Head Coach Emory Bellard and Defensive Coordinator Melvin Robertson. Because of these two ‘original thought’ kind of guys, our players took tremendous pride in playing what we believed to be cutting-edge football. We were very different than almost anyone else out there in our approach to the game. We had an identity few others could boast of. The Aggies were we.

Because of our team’s hell-bent for leather psychological makeup and our defensive staff’s kick ass attitude toward life in general, anyone who stepped onto our field against us became a target and could get seriously hurt on either side of the ball. When the football was snapped our defensive players were propelled into a chaotic frenzy that devastated our opponents. Wild Eyes. We intended every game to be a bloodbath, a virtual pounding of flesh, and we would be the ones with the last man standing, holding the girl. Our defense cut like Bowie knives and our offense shredded any defensive front we saw. It was some powerful stuff we’d rolled together down in the Valley.

I once read in a University of Miami locker room after a national championship season under Dennis Erickson that Preparation plus Enthusiasm = Performance. I liked this coaching axiom and took it to heart, although some circumstances I’ll share with very little enthusiasm, as they were the darkest times in my young life. Even so, I have every intention of accurately portraying for you the intensity and the promise that was A&M football back in the day of the Southwest Conference in the Seventies, including the view from the helm that was mine. We’ll also discuss the flawed perspective that ultimately doomed the dynasty and eventually shot down the Sheriff.

So please, walk with me, talk with me, play some quarterback with me, and we’ll take a journey together through images and memories of fleeting moments from generations gone by. You may even feel the back of your right hand pressing up underneath the wet butt of one of our Centers as you prepare to call out the signals. This is how close to the action you’ll hopefully feel. Even if you’ve had no previous affiliation with football or any other sport, I’ve tried to envision myself reading a book about a foreign country with which I have no prior knowledge. If the writer can guide me through seamlessly and offer me the insights necessary for me to feel as though I am indeed part of the country, then I’d consider it to be a most worthwhile excursion. I feel privileged to be your guide. You will soon discover that I believe firmly in concentrating on playing the game in lieu of worrying about the scoreboard. When we’ve arrived at our destination, I hope you will feel compelled to award me a passing grade.

And now as we get back to the script, I must say that I was personally under contract to win four national championships for Texas A&M during my stay there, lest anyone think I attended A&M for any other reason. It was all about mastering the game. It was about being a championship quarterback, maybe even becoming an All-American on top of getting the Ring. Hey, I was pretty good, too.

Kids daydream in classes and play in the backyard and loudly announce their own games with the following vision in mind: Three, two, one, he’s back in the pocket, now scrambling out to the left! He plants his feet and lets it go deeeep downfield….TOUCHDOWN! TOUCHDOWN! HE DID IT! TOUCHDOWN! This happens all the time in our neighborhoods and schoolyards and even in the desks inside our classrooms.

Championships. Bright lights. TV cameras. Adulation. Winner.

Now give me my trophy, my cap and my t-shirt! Thank you, thank you very much.

No one visualizes like a youngster. Their daydreams are extravagant. They are the masters and creators of the movies they choose to play inside their heads. They play out this scenario or something similar every day. They thicken the plot, count the clock down to nothing and then hit the amazing shot. Make the putt. Hit the grand slam. Lean first into the tape. Clear the bar. Make the winning goal. Make the game-saving tackle. Their minds make it vividly real. Visualization can sometimes lead to greatness in places other than there in the kid’s imagination. Sometimes it all actually happens in real life and you’re riding around on your teammates’ shoulders and waving at the delirious crowd. You’re being interviewed on national TV. You mastered the game. You were dead solid perfect. You are the one.

Each of our childhood visualizations led us to Texas A&M.

With all the talent we had, I figured all it was going to take to accomplish this feat was a little practice and a little teamwork. Hey, no problem. I think in most instances you’ll see many things haven’t changed at all over the years in college football, other than TV’s technologies in covering it and the expanded exposure. It’s been really nice not jacking with rabbit ears or adjusting the antennae pole outside. And what you see now in the sport was alive and kicking, even during the early years of our favorite sit-com, All in the Family. That’s right; we were big-time good, championship caliber and one hell of a family ourselves, if not a little dysfunctional at some of the most inopportune times. I don’t know, maybe we were more like the Cartwright family on Bonanza. We sure found ourselves circling the wagons a lot.

First we’ll jump ahead with a quick synopsis of my sophomore year at Texas A&M, a major university located in the Brazos Valley in the town of College Station. I must forewarn, though, my sophomore season was no beauty in the eyes of this eighteen year-old. It’s not a chapter one would characterize as kinder or gentler in nature. In fact, these two words may show up in rather rare quantities throughout this text.

1974 was the killer, ladies and gentlemen. 1974 sealed our doom. It’s when the unnoticed crack in our foundation first originated. Back in the ‘70’s we had a term for anything we liked, which we immediately characterized as ‘good bull’. This year would be strictly from the ‘weak bullshit’ category. Yes, this year would be quietly stored away in our mental football archives with universal agreement to be a season forbidden for conversational revalidation. 1974’s shortcomings ultimately led to more self-destruction in ‘75 and even bled over into 1976, our greatest year of all, stealing away yet another championship in the process.

Yes, the ’74 season was when our program’s demise actually began, even as our Win-Loss records were vastly improving. And there’s the paradox. When you’re on the brink and have already spoiled the populace with win after win, it would be best for all concerned to finish the deal. This season is when Aggie teardrops began falling and tongues started wagging and fingers started pointing…and one head went rolling off the Round Table. Shock, disbelief and frustration prevailed for the following three seasons, as though a dark cloud was ominously eyeing the university and playing its devilish tricks on all its inhabitants. We couldn’t win for losing in the big ones. Texas A&M was certainly no place for the thin-skinned or weak-spirited to be huddled. A&M was where ‘stoicism’ probably first earned its place in history. Stoicism became an Aggie tradition, right next to that of dogged perseverance and poking out the eyes of Texas. You stand tall and pretend it doesn’t hurt, and then you either change the subject or you walk away.

Hey, we knew we were too darned good to let all those championships slip away, but we did, and they would leave their ugly marks of failure and defamation on each of us who had a seat at the Table. These are the remembrances you live with when you’re deemed lacking or unworthy, regardless of how great you were individually or the excellence of your starting eleven. To win thirty-six games in four years sounds very impressive, and it is, but it wasn’t nearly what was expected. Not for any of us.

We had a bomb ticking out in the woodpile of which our team was totally unaware. Like slow radiation poisoning or some other insidious air-borne contaminant coming into human contact, the Texas Aggies never knew they were infected. When it was finally diagnosed, the wrong antidote was applied. The devil was all over the details.

Perhaps it’s true; some things are best forgotten and left alone to fade away…but here we are, you and I, heading into the trenches. You ready? It’s about to get loud.

Down, HUT!

"Sheeit, Walkuh, I never promised you a rose garden."

1

252 READ

I managed to play quarterback in 42 of 46 games during my college career and I make the following statements with complete authority, as well as wistful sorrow. There’s no shame in telling you this is a most unpleasant task for which I have no enthusiasm. Still, it must be said because it was my experience. As was stated in the introduction, this ain’t no rose garden or romance novel you’re looking at and I can offer no apologies for its content. Play that funky music, white boy.

A single misguided thought and our resulting offensive futility cost Texas A&M not only a run at the national championship in 1974, but also eventual national championships in '75 and '76. Head football coach Emory Bellard forced upon us an error-prone offensive scheme that was bloody murder on any quarterback and totally ill-conceived for the increasing speed of the game which was swiftly arriving onto the scene in the Southwest Conference and the rest of college football. You may put that in your pipe and smoke it.

The offensive strategy of ’74 entailed allowing two quick as hell defensive dudes, the End and the player inside him, to be left unblocked, and then required an unprotected quarterback staring down this double-barreled shotgun to react to each of their individual movements, in sequence, in a millisecond of time. It was called the triple option because it was comprised of three choices for the quarterback. He would (1) hand the ball off to the first guy, (2) run with it himself, or (3) pitch it to another guy. In the time it just took you to read his three choices which I just set before you, the play is already over. Pretty fast, right? The only thing you missed here were the violent collisions and maybe a little cussing under the breath.

‘252 Read’ was THE PLAY and in today's game would be considered utter lunacy. As triple option offenses go, this is not a play you run once in awhile but a good 75% of the time during a game. ‘252 Read’ was the basis of our offensive playbook in 1974 and the ultimate downfall for all who played for Texas A&M during the entire era. Yes, that crazy old ‘252 Read’ dropped out of the skies from out of nowhere and ripped our hearts smooth out. We memorized it but never mastered it, and the thought of it still makes me shudder. ‘252 Read’ invaded us and conquered us, team by team and quarterback by quarterback, like the mutant virus that it was, even long after it had been eradicated. ‘252 Read’ was the natural-born killer that was forcefully injected into our bloodstreams as if it were a life-saving compound created from a veritable fountain of youth. It was the plague of plagues in the college football world for all our legions.

Coach Emory Bellard took all that was successful in ’73 and turned it into all that was atrociously vile in 1974. Feeling systematically that any passing game was sub-standard in his Wishbone alignment due to having only one wide receiver, Bellard in his third season was compelled to install his first triple option version of the Wishbone for all his new Aggie friends to see. In his mind, the triple option would replace and suffice for the perceived shortcomings and apparent unavailability of a well-structured, consistent passing attack within this ground-oriented offense. The thrill of seeing a football flying through the air would thus be sacrificed in exchange for watching two guys trying to decide who was going to get to keep the football.

The birth of the triple option on Kyle Field’s artificial turf was an ugly and pitiful sight to behold. It was agonizing and extremely painful to watch this monster being born. How do I know? I was there at its inception.

It was truly the cruelest of demons and would live only one short season, then be silently exorcised in a back room. I’d been around this man Bellard for a year and a half and I now realized this new absurdity was the final piece of his personal agenda in fulfilling his role as the sole creator of the Wishbone. I guess for some this would be something to take great pride in but for us, we just wanted to win. Perhaps initially nobody could blame Bellard for this act of strategic extremism, except for the indisputable fact that none of our quarterbacks could run the damn thing. I mean, none of us! Doesn’t this usually count for something in the decision-making process?

And please let me emphasize, all my compadres at quarterback were fine people, great people, and were as dedicated to the game and our teams as anyone possibly could be. They worked their butts off for Texas A&M and their teammates. Please know when I refer to any of them it’s only in a football playing sense. I had nothing but the utmost respect and admiration for them as individuals and leaders, and all they were trying to accomplish. They were excellent competitors on every level.

‘252 Read’ was much more imposing than any defense could ever imagine itself to be. Most coaches take mental notes when players have such obvious limitations or allergic reactions to a particular system, but Bellard forged ahead anyway, stubborn as always, hell-bent on his triple option succeeding in life and getting all the credit. Emory was the General and Generals are to be followed. We tried like hell to do so, too, but it wasn’t to be. Not for any of us.

Yes, somehow on a beautiful springtime day Bellard convinced himself that David Walker could operate all facets of ‘252 Read’ after introducing this particular atrocity to me in slow motion during the off-season. After two or three feeble attempts at it, he said I took to it like bees on honey and then triumphantly walked away, all aglow with himself. I just shook my head in disbelief. You gotta be trippin’, Emory. Me? Triple option? What the hell’s in that pipe you’re smoking? Maybe Emory had it all confused with ‘stink on shit’, but I sure didn’t.

I was nothing less than petrified at the prospects of running this offense in front of huge crowds under the lights. For the first time in my quarterbacking life, I was intimidated. Playing quarterback had been a hell of a lot of fun my freshman year in college and the position was difficult enough without installing this foreign bullshit he now expected me to run against the fastest, strongest human beings I’d ever seen on the planet. I was a complete novice and totally unskilled, as was everyone else lining up under Center later that spring.

Dad and Fred Nasser with me and Coach Bellard

After all, before I’d ever signed with A&M I had told Bellard, I’ll come as long as there’s no triple option. It’s not for me. Had I known he would go ahead and put it in I never would have stepped foot on the A&M campus. I mean, I was thinkin’ we had us a deal. I hadn't run much option in high school, heck, I may have run an option play maybe five times in real games in my whole career, and I darned sure wanted no part of any triple option. Running the triple option was my worst nightmare. Hell, I already knew my limitations.

I was a classic drop back passer like the ones you watch in the NFL, a guy who could also run the sprintout and bootleg passing games very well. Both had run-pass options and these were the times I would get my running opportunities in high school games. We didn’t run the option as a rule and if we did, it was only a lead option where I would just run down the line and pitch quickly off the defensive end. Rarely did I keep the ball and cut up-field because our option plays weren’t designed for this. For us, in our way of thinking, the option was a safe and easy way to get the ball into our halfback’s hands without having to block the defensive end. It was quick simple stuff that just about any quarterback alive could handle.

I just wanted to be clear with Emory before I signed any scholarship agreement with Texas A&M University that I didn't want to jack with a handoff read on the option. Please General Custer; I don’t wanna go be a major laughingstock in some foreign stadium on national TV. Comprende, Boss Man? Heck, I had good reason. We had looked at reading the handoff one day in high school and our coaches immediately dropped the idea. My being pretty horrible at it could have