Bill Curry, College Football 20y

George Plimpton, Participatory Friend

With the death of George Plimpton, I have not only lost one of my best friends, I have lost the most interesting man I ever knew.

To most of the world, George will be remembered for his long list of accomplishments, not the least of which was his "participatory journalism." I trust that there are enough of us who experienced his "participatory friendship" to keep that memory alive as well. I think it was his greatest gift.

When George turned up at the Baltimore Colts training camp in 1971, he had already written the bestseller "Paper Lion", an account of his experience as a "journalistic quarterback" with the Detroit Lions. We were the defending world champions at the time, and we were part of his next project.

For a television special called, "Plimpton, the Great Quarterback Sneak," George was set to be our starting quarterback against the Lions during halftime of an exhibition game. I was his starting center.

Now, several things were clear from the outset. George was cultured, brilliant, and sincere. He was also tall, awkward, and knew virtually nothing about football. He was a man of refinement and distinction slipping into our warrior world, and players' reactions ranged from amusement to hostility.

But day one, he shocked us by requesting to get into the "nutcracker" drill as a ball carrier. Now, the "nutcracker" is one blocker, one tackler, and one runner. It is the most primitive, violent one-on-one drill in football.

Well, when Ray May planted George head first in the dirt on his first carry, the ball went one way and George's right thumb went the other.

"Dear Gawd, look at this!" he exclaimed as the injured digit dangled uselessly. We all assumed our little television experiment was over.

We did not know George Plimpton.

That afternoon, he was back in pads, taking snaps with the other quarterbacks. Johnny Unitas, who was wonderful with Plimpton, kept asking, "Are you sure you want to do this? You are crazy as hell, man!" George just nodded and stepped back behind me.

If you've never taken a snap from an NFL center with your right thumb dislocated you cannot understand, but I'll bet you can imagine the pain endured. Even the veteran skeptics began to watch him.

When practice was over, we began to run the dreaded conditioning gassers. I heard many an exclamation as George finished each excruciating session in the 90-degree heat. He struggled to run, wobbling along with long, wet hair hanging in his eyes, heavily taped right hand tightly tucked against his stomach.

He was dead last, but he finished every one. Who would have thought a 44-year-old author could match us gut-check for gut-check? We were impressed despite ourselves.

George lasted the entire training camp and we became hooked on and inspired by his project.

When it was time to put his skills to the test against the Lions, 104,000 people gathered in Ann Arbor, Mich., to see if "Everyman" could play with the professionals. It was the largest crowd ever to witness an NFL game.

On his four plays, George did a fine job of handling the ball and almost completing a pass on a slant route. When we walked in, he was disconsolate. Thinking he was disappointed in his performance I said, "Come on George, you did well. Cheer up."

I will never forget his expression when he looked back at me and exclaimed, "That was the damned most disgusting experience of my life! You guys are sick! The hatred out there was palpable! You are all deranged!"

Apparently, his ol' Lions buddies had talked a little trash and he was offended.

I responded, "George, that was not hatred. That was intensity. We are all competitors, and we leave that stuff on the field when the games are over."

But he was inconsolable, and refused to discuss it any more that day.

Thus began our lifelong argument, which also served as dialogue for our book "One More July", in which my sensitive friend sought to understand the complex cravings of football players. He was so curious and honest that he forced me to know myself better, and he evoked truths of which I had been unaware.

As we continued to work together, I came to love and admire him. He became my muse, my mentor, and my friend. He took an interest in my wife's work with women and academia; he was kind and attentive to our children; he showed up at the games I coached, especially when I was in trouble. His passion for participation was more than understanding motives and games.

When George became a friend, he participated in one's life, in the family's fabric and mythology. His greetings were powerful. "Great Bill! I am so glad to see you!" Nobody else has ever said hello to me like that. He encouraged all my ventures with inspirational stories from his rich life.

He spoke easily about the faceless heroes that had inspired him and in the next breath cited names like Robert F. Kennedy or Ernest Hemingway, his close, personal friends. The upshot was to make one comfortable in spite of the fact of one's relative unimportance. I do not recall ever leaving George's presence without feeling better about myself. We were all important to him.

One of my favorite Plimpton memories is of a Thanksgiving Day during the most trying era of my coaching career. We checked voicemail to hear that patrician voice say, "Hi ... this is George. I am calling to express thanksgiving for Carolyn, Bill, Kristin, and Billy Curry. On this day I am very grateful for such dear and wonderful friends. Happy Thanksgiving!"

God bless you, George. We are grateful for you as well. We are better people for your having participated in our lives with such grace and courage.

ESPN college football analyst Bill Curry coached for 17 years in the college ranks. His Game Plans for marquee matchups appear each week during the college football season.

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