the coach JOhn Gagliardi got it done ON Saturday for win 408 to tie Eddie Robinson. this was an article in the WAshington Post on Saturday morning and is a great article on this coaching legond.
By Liz Clarke
Washington Post Staff Writer
Saturday, November 1, 2003; Page A01
COLLEGEVILLE, Minn. -- It's the day before the big game against Concordia-Moorhead, and all 171 members of the St. John's University football team are busy on the practice field
You hear the rustle of fall leaves; the "Caw! Caw!" of crows in the pines; the chime of the bell tower that's central to this Benedictine campus, heralding that Mass begins in 10 minutes; and the occasional thump of a football hitting a receiver's hands.
What you don't hear is a coach's whistle; the bone-jarring crunch of 300-pound players slamming into one another; or a single voice raised in anger or impatience.
Welcome to college football as it's played under Coach John Gagliardi, maestro of unconventional methods for teaching an essentially brutal game.
Under Gagliardi, the St. John's Johnnies don't tackle during practice; don't practice if it's too rainy, hot, cold or if the mosquitoes or gnats are bad; and don't hold meetings, spring practice or mandatory weight training. When the weather merits, players spurn traditional calisthenics in favor of the "nice-day drill," in which they flop on their backs and remark, "Nice day!"
Lest Gagliardi be dismissed as some gridiron Professor Harold Hill -- the smiling charlatan in "The Music Man" who promises to teach a small town boy's band how to play music by the "think system" -- let it be noted that he is about to become the winningest college football coach in the history of the game.
With 407 victories to his credit, Gagliardi (pronounced "Gah-LAR-dee") will tie the retired Eddie Robinson of Grambling State for the record if the Johnnies (7-0) defeat longtime rival St. Thomas (3-5) on Saturday, which also marks Gagliardi's 77th birthday.
"I just try to do the best I can every day," Gagliardi says in trademark gentle, measured tones. "Today we try to do our best. Tomorrow we try to do our best. Pretty soon you're 30 years old, then you're 40, then you're 50 and then, gosh almighty! . . . But if you've got a good job, you feel lucky."
Gagliardi has been St. John's football coach since 1953 -- long enough to send hundreds of young men off to careers in law, medicine and teaching and, along the way, win 25 conference titles and three NCAA Division III national titles.
He has witnessed profound change from his vantage point on campus, recalling with a chuckle the era when cars were banned and curfews applied. "Today they've all got pierced ears and tongues," he says. "Of course, that's just the faculty!"
Gagliardi never has been bound by convention, either. He never played college football, but when his high school coach at Trinidad Catholic in Colorado was drafted during World War II, the 16-year-old Gagliardi asked if he could take the reins. He got permission, promptly tossed out every rule that didn't make sense (like denying players water during practice) and led his high school to four conference titles in six years as coach, while earning a degree from Colorado College.
After graduating in 1949, he replicated his coaching success at Carroll College in Helena, Mont. That led to his current job at St. John's, where his wife is the athletic department's secretary and one of their two sons is the team's offensive coordinator. "If Notre Dame had offered me a job, I would have gone, but they never did," Gagliardi says with a smile. "I've been satisfied with every job I've ever had -- even being an auto-body man. Heck, I was content."
It's hard to say what's the greater anomaly: Gagliardi's 51-year tenure at St. John's, his career record (407-114-11) or his serene and singular approach.
No game is more structured than football. And few professions are as derivative as that of football coach, with schemes and systems handed down from mentor to assistant like sacred tomes. Coaching styles are mimicked, too, with the capacity for rage often mistaken for expertise. Does the coach's face redden with anger? Do veins bulge from his neck? Is his voice hoarse from screaming? Then he must be good, conventional wisdom says.
For better or worse, Gagliardi sprang from a mold of his own making. And for five decades, he and St. John's have offered an alternative to young men who love playing football but also want to leave college with a degree, their health and their dignity intact.
"I was really beat up in high school just from high school sports at the time I was making my [college] decision," says linebacker Cameron McCambridge, an English major from Edina, Minn., who was recruited by NCAA Division I-A Wyoming. "When I came here to visit, there was no hitting in practice and no yelling at you. It was a nice aspect."
Ryan Weinandt, a defensive lineman and elementary education major from Wabasha, Minn., agrees.
"John's style attracts a lot of great players because there's less chance of getting hurt with the practices the way they are," Weinandt says. "He knows people come for academics, so we don't have a rigorous schedule as far as football goes -- an hour-and-a-half a day, tops. Nobody likes to come out and get beat up every day and get hazed."
At St. John's, about 80 miles west of the Twin Cities, nearly one-tenth of the 1,900-member student body is on the football team (the roster is limited only by the number of lockers). Of the 171 players, 147 are from Minnesota. And this year they range in size from a 5-foot-4, 150-pound freshman running back to a 6-3, 330-pound senior offensive lineman. Though who can be sure?
"I don't know what they weigh," Gagliardi concedes. "I let them put down whatever they want. But if they're happy with it, it's fine by me."
No one gets cut and everyone plays if the game is a rout. Because Gagliardi thinks every graduate should be able to put "team captain" on his résumé, the honor rotates among seniors each week. Captains lead the squad in warm-ups -- a waste of time in Gagliardi's view, so he limits the sessions to a few minutes and lets the players make up the exercises.
Last Friday's practice opened with two tomahawk chops, followed by pats on the head with the right hand and tummy rubs with the left. "It's to loosen up our heads and bellies," Weinandt explained.
Warm-ups ended with one deep breath.
"Break it down!" the captains said, clapping twice to signal the start of practice.
Game day brings slight variations to the warm-ups. As the Concordia Cobbers stretch in earnest before kickoff, the Johnnies place their helmets on the field beside them, extend their arms and lean down to pat their helmet for good luck. They do two tomahawk chops, one-and-a-half jumping jacks and end with two swivels at the waist, hands on hips, as Gagliardi walks up and down the rows shaking each player's hand.
St. John's 5,500-seat Clemens Stadium is filled to capacity, and the overflow crowd spreads out on folding chairs that dot the hillside. Students huddle under blankets in the end zones, while dozens of children, so bundled up against the cold that they're as wide as they are tall, tumble on the grass and do cartwheels along the track that circles the playing field.
The home crowd stands and claps when the Concordia Cobbers run onto the field.
"Yes, it's a football game, but it's still only a game," says Michael Hemmesch, the St. John's director of communications. "We're in the business of education. Ultimately we want everyone involved, win or lose, to be good people and of service to people in society."
The St. John's men's chorus, dressed in white tie and tuxedo, leads the crowd in the national anthem, followed by the school's fight song
"Fight, you Johnnies! Fight, you Johnnies! Stand and fight like men for old Saint John's," they harmonize.
There is no marching band or cheerleading squad. Spirit is provided instead by four shirtless guys in boxer shorts and face paint known as the "Rat Pack."
St. John's fumbles on its first series, and Concordia takes a 3-0 lead. Through their first six games the Johnnies have outscored opponents 285-45, and this is the first time they've trailed all season. Gagliardi looks on impassively, buried inside a burgundy parka with his hands clasped behind his back.
Concordia's offense ultimately withers in the face of the Johnnies' defense.
St. John's is sound all around, with explosive punt returns and a reverse that's run in for a touchdown. Not one big play is followed by histrionics; players simply trot to the sideline for a handshake.
The game ends with a 24-12 Johnnies' victory, and parents, girlfriends and siblings stream onto the field to find their loved ones and share their pride. While family photos are being snapped, Gagliardi retreats to his office to snack on a roast beef sandwich and wait for the reporters to drop by.
Today is no different than any other Saturday this fall. From the beat writer in St. Cloud to visiting journalists from Fargo, N.D., and beyond, they all want to know about the record that's about to be broken. Gagliardi hasn't given it much thought, he says, other than to wonder what the reporters will find to write about afterward.
His office walls are covered with mementos of a 51-year career: Plaques and citations; a proclamation from the Pope; a photograph with former Minnesota Sen. Eugene McCarthy, a St. John's graduate. The shelves are crammed with trophies, weathered footballs, game tapes and books.
Gagliardi has had three books written about him so far. He has authored just one and asks a reporter who has been searching for the secret of his success to pull it off the shelf and give it a skim. It's a dusty, hard-cover tome, easily 250 pages long, with the prodigious title, "All About My Success Coaching Football for 35 Years: You'll Find These Great Truths Fascinating to Read and Easy to Apply to Your Life."
Inside there is nothing but blank pages.
"I have to update that," Gagliardi says with a smile.
By Liz Clarke
Washington Post Staff Writer
Saturday, November 1, 2003; Page A01
COLLEGEVILLE, Minn. -- It's the day before the big game against Concordia-Moorhead, and all 171 members of the St. John's University football team are busy on the practice field
You hear the rustle of fall leaves; the "Caw! Caw!" of crows in the pines; the chime of the bell tower that's central to this Benedictine campus, heralding that Mass begins in 10 minutes; and the occasional thump of a football hitting a receiver's hands.
What you don't hear is a coach's whistle; the bone-jarring crunch of 300-pound players slamming into one another; or a single voice raised in anger or impatience.
Welcome to college football as it's played under Coach John Gagliardi, maestro of unconventional methods for teaching an essentially brutal game.
Under Gagliardi, the St. John's Johnnies don't tackle during practice; don't practice if it's too rainy, hot, cold or if the mosquitoes or gnats are bad; and don't hold meetings, spring practice or mandatory weight training. When the weather merits, players spurn traditional calisthenics in favor of the "nice-day drill," in which they flop on their backs and remark, "Nice day!"
Lest Gagliardi be dismissed as some gridiron Professor Harold Hill -- the smiling charlatan in "The Music Man" who promises to teach a small town boy's band how to play music by the "think system" -- let it be noted that he is about to become the winningest college football coach in the history of the game.
With 407 victories to his credit, Gagliardi (pronounced "Gah-LAR-dee") will tie the retired Eddie Robinson of Grambling State for the record if the Johnnies (7-0) defeat longtime rival St. Thomas (3-5) on Saturday, which also marks Gagliardi's 77th birthday.
"I just try to do the best I can every day," Gagliardi says in trademark gentle, measured tones. "Today we try to do our best. Tomorrow we try to do our best. Pretty soon you're 30 years old, then you're 40, then you're 50 and then, gosh almighty! . . . But if you've got a good job, you feel lucky."
Gagliardi has been St. John's football coach since 1953 -- long enough to send hundreds of young men off to careers in law, medicine and teaching and, along the way, win 25 conference titles and three NCAA Division III national titles.
He has witnessed profound change from his vantage point on campus, recalling with a chuckle the era when cars were banned and curfews applied. "Today they've all got pierced ears and tongues," he says. "Of course, that's just the faculty!"
Gagliardi never has been bound by convention, either. He never played college football, but when his high school coach at Trinidad Catholic in Colorado was drafted during World War II, the 16-year-old Gagliardi asked if he could take the reins. He got permission, promptly tossed out every rule that didn't make sense (like denying players water during practice) and led his high school to four conference titles in six years as coach, while earning a degree from Colorado College.
After graduating in 1949, he replicated his coaching success at Carroll College in Helena, Mont. That led to his current job at St. John's, where his wife is the athletic department's secretary and one of their two sons is the team's offensive coordinator. "If Notre Dame had offered me a job, I would have gone, but they never did," Gagliardi says with a smile. "I've been satisfied with every job I've ever had -- even being an auto-body man. Heck, I was content."
It's hard to say what's the greater anomaly: Gagliardi's 51-year tenure at St. John's, his career record (407-114-11) or his serene and singular approach.
No game is more structured than football. And few professions are as derivative as that of football coach, with schemes and systems handed down from mentor to assistant like sacred tomes. Coaching styles are mimicked, too, with the capacity for rage often mistaken for expertise. Does the coach's face redden with anger? Do veins bulge from his neck? Is his voice hoarse from screaming? Then he must be good, conventional wisdom says.
For better or worse, Gagliardi sprang from a mold of his own making. And for five decades, he and St. John's have offered an alternative to young men who love playing football but also want to leave college with a degree, their health and their dignity intact.
"I was really beat up in high school just from high school sports at the time I was making my [college] decision," says linebacker Cameron McCambridge, an English major from Edina, Minn., who was recruited by NCAA Division I-A Wyoming. "When I came here to visit, there was no hitting in practice and no yelling at you. It was a nice aspect."
Ryan Weinandt, a defensive lineman and elementary education major from Wabasha, Minn., agrees.
"John's style attracts a lot of great players because there's less chance of getting hurt with the practices the way they are," Weinandt says. "He knows people come for academics, so we don't have a rigorous schedule as far as football goes -- an hour-and-a-half a day, tops. Nobody likes to come out and get beat up every day and get hazed."
At St. John's, about 80 miles west of the Twin Cities, nearly one-tenth of the 1,900-member student body is on the football team (the roster is limited only by the number of lockers). Of the 171 players, 147 are from Minnesota. And this year they range in size from a 5-foot-4, 150-pound freshman running back to a 6-3, 330-pound senior offensive lineman. Though who can be sure?
"I don't know what they weigh," Gagliardi concedes. "I let them put down whatever they want. But if they're happy with it, it's fine by me."
No one gets cut and everyone plays if the game is a rout. Because Gagliardi thinks every graduate should be able to put "team captain" on his résumé, the honor rotates among seniors each week. Captains lead the squad in warm-ups -- a waste of time in Gagliardi's view, so he limits the sessions to a few minutes and lets the players make up the exercises.
Last Friday's practice opened with two tomahawk chops, followed by pats on the head with the right hand and tummy rubs with the left. "It's to loosen up our heads and bellies," Weinandt explained.
Warm-ups ended with one deep breath.
"Break it down!" the captains said, clapping twice to signal the start of practice.
Game day brings slight variations to the warm-ups. As the Concordia Cobbers stretch in earnest before kickoff, the Johnnies place their helmets on the field beside them, extend their arms and lean down to pat their helmet for good luck. They do two tomahawk chops, one-and-a-half jumping jacks and end with two swivels at the waist, hands on hips, as Gagliardi walks up and down the rows shaking each player's hand.
St. John's 5,500-seat Clemens Stadium is filled to capacity, and the overflow crowd spreads out on folding chairs that dot the hillside. Students huddle under blankets in the end zones, while dozens of children, so bundled up against the cold that they're as wide as they are tall, tumble on the grass and do cartwheels along the track that circles the playing field.
The home crowd stands and claps when the Concordia Cobbers run onto the field.
"Yes, it's a football game, but it's still only a game," says Michael Hemmesch, the St. John's director of communications. "We're in the business of education. Ultimately we want everyone involved, win or lose, to be good people and of service to people in society."
The St. John's men's chorus, dressed in white tie and tuxedo, leads the crowd in the national anthem, followed by the school's fight song
"Fight, you Johnnies! Fight, you Johnnies! Stand and fight like men for old Saint John's," they harmonize.
There is no marching band or cheerleading squad. Spirit is provided instead by four shirtless guys in boxer shorts and face paint known as the "Rat Pack."
St. John's fumbles on its first series, and Concordia takes a 3-0 lead. Through their first six games the Johnnies have outscored opponents 285-45, and this is the first time they've trailed all season. Gagliardi looks on impassively, buried inside a burgundy parka with his hands clasped behind his back.
Concordia's offense ultimately withers in the face of the Johnnies' defense.
St. John's is sound all around, with explosive punt returns and a reverse that's run in for a touchdown. Not one big play is followed by histrionics; players simply trot to the sideline for a handshake.
The game ends with a 24-12 Johnnies' victory, and parents, girlfriends and siblings stream onto the field to find their loved ones and share their pride. While family photos are being snapped, Gagliardi retreats to his office to snack on a roast beef sandwich and wait for the reporters to drop by.
Today is no different than any other Saturday this fall. From the beat writer in St. Cloud to visiting journalists from Fargo, N.D., and beyond, they all want to know about the record that's about to be broken. Gagliardi hasn't given it much thought, he says, other than to wonder what the reporters will find to write about afterward.
His office walls are covered with mementos of a 51-year career: Plaques and citations; a proclamation from the Pope; a photograph with former Minnesota Sen. Eugene McCarthy, a St. John's graduate. The shelves are crammed with trophies, weathered footballs, game tapes and books.
Gagliardi has had three books written about him so far. He has authored just one and asks a reporter who has been searching for the secret of his success to pull it off the shelf and give it a skim. It's a dusty, hard-cover tome, easily 250 pages long, with the prodigious title, "All About My Success Coaching Football for 35 Years: You'll Find These Great Truths Fascinating to Read and Easy to Apply to Your Life."
Inside there is nothing but blank pages.
"I have to update that," Gagliardi says with a smile.
