Win Forever

by Pete Carroll

  Not to be discouraged, we forged ahead and hoped another attractive opportunity would come along. We waited and stayed positive, resolved to stick to the plan we had set. Finally, the phone rang. This time it was a school near the ocean but on the opposite coast. The next thing I knew, I was on my way to meet with the athletic director at USC.

  It was easy to recognize him when I arrived—after all, I’d grown up with a poster of him on my wall. Mike Garrett was USC’s first Heisman Trophy winner in 1965 and went on to have a fantastic professional career with the Kansas City Chiefs and the San Diego Chargers. He was someone I had always held in very high regard. Mike was an explosive and hard-nosed back, the first in a long line of legendary running backs whose performances resulted in the University of Southern California being dubbed “Tailback U.”

  After his NFL career, Mike quickly made his mark outside football and earned a law degree. He returned to USC to become its athletic director in 1993. When his office called requesting the interview, I knew that the very proud and storied football program was off course and that the pressure was on Mike to find the right coach to get it back on track.

  Before I traveled to California, I studied the other candidates who were being interviewed to figure out what I was up against. I thought back to some advice given to me years earlier by the legendary Jim Valvano, who was the head basketball coach at North Carolina State when I was the defensive coordinator there. Then, I had been in the process of preparing to interview for the head coaching job at UOP. Coach Valvano called me to his office one Sunday morning to talk about the interviewing process and work on my strategy. As we sat there for over four hours, he taught me a number of interviewing tactics that I will never forget.

  Coach Valvano told me that my goal should be to walk out of the interview with “no negatives.” Every comment, phrase, or story must be positive, and I had to be prepared to talk only about things that put me in the best light. No matter what the topic, it was my job to turn every answer into a response that highlighted my strong points. Like his point guard, who controlled the court, or my middle linebacker, who controlled our defense, I had to control the interview. He taught me that if they asked a question that I couldn’t answer, then I shouldn’t answer it but instead find a way to turn the question to something I could talk about comfortably, positively, and honestly. He explained the importance of being disciplined in that setting and avoiding any and all negative thoughts. If I spoke with positivity and confidence, it would be evident that I believed in myself, and that belief was what the interviewer would be looking for. Coach Valvano’s advice, like so much else in life, came down to practice: The bottom line was that if I was to control the interview, I would have to be prepared on so many levels that I could speak about a variety of subjects with conviction and strength no matter which way the conversation went.

  I did not end up getting the head coaching job at UOP. Bobby Cope, a longtime friend and mentor did, and I joined Bobby as his offensive coordinator. Next time around, the advice from Coach Valvano ran through my head once again as I prepared for my upcoming interview with USC at the Sheraton Hotel near the airport. Not only was I ready to present my new personal and coaching philosophy, but I was also confident knowing that Coach Valvano was there in spirit.

  I walked into the Sheraton Hotel and sat down with Mike and then senior associate athletic director Daryl Gross, with whom I had worked at the New York Jets. A large table sat in the middle of the room with two notepads on it. Mike explained their situation and why he believed USC had recently begun to slide. He took me through his game plan for his search for a new coach and made it clear right up front that he was not worried about the media during the process. He was focused on finding the right guy for the job, regardless of how long it took; what we were there to talk about that day was whether or not I might be that person.

  As I listened to Mike, I knew with more and more certainty that I was in the right place. I couldn’t help but feel a growing eagerness to present what I had been developing over the past few months. I began by explaining what I thought had occurred in New York and New England. As Mike asked me questions, I didn’t always respond in a way that answered the question directly, but I responded in a way that conveyed every ounce of my vision and philosophy.

  When it came time for me to present my vision and plan, I stated my intentions in the clearest and boldest way that I could think of.

  “Mike, our goal is simple: to do things better than they have ever been done before.”

  As I prepared to elaborate, I could tell that both Mike and Daryl were intrigued. I took them through my philosophical approach, discussing everything from the central theme of competition that would be synonymous with the program, the importance of practice, defensive schemes, recruiting, adjusting to the college game, handling the Los Angeles media, and what I felt it would take to get USC back on track to be the program it had been and deserved to be. With each statement I gave, I felt more confident. The more confident I felt, the more excited I became.

  As the interview came to an end, Mike asked me what I would say in my first press conference and our first team meeting. As I began to answer him, I felt as though I already was the head football coach at USC and they just had to formally offer me the job. After Mike, Daryl, and I had shaken hands and I was leaving the Sheraton, I felt great. I knew that I had just delivered a comprehensive explanation of how I would lead their storied program, but more important, I knew that I had just presented who I was as a person and a football coach in a comprehensive and completely authentic way for the first time in my life.

  I spent the next few days in the beach area, relaxing by the water and enjoying the LA environment. In fact, I was on the beach when the phone call came in the afternoon of December 15, 2000. It was official—I was the new head coach of one of the most successful and storied programs in the history of college football.

  We knew that my selection would be met with a fair amount of criticism. After all, I was an NFL coach with two firings on my résumé, no recent college experience, and unfamiliarity with Pac-10 football. I certainly wasn’t the first choice of a lot of fans—and for many I wasn’t even on the radar at all. The buzz had surrounded three successful college coaches. None of them seemed to want the job, but I think the general expectation among the fans and boosters was that they were going to get one of the names they knew. When I was announced, it really caught people off guard—and understandably so. The coach who had just been fired at USC was a former NFL coach, and because it all sounded so similar to them, there was a real firestorm. I was definitely coming in with a lot to prove in the eyes of the community.

  I knew that my first public appearance at the USC press conference would be crucial in setting the stage for future success. I had learned many lessons during my years facing very tough media markets in both New York and New England, and I was ready for anything.

  Because I was personally so clear about the direction of USC football and really feeling confident in the style and philosophy I intended to bring to the program, I actually couldn’t wait for the press conference to begin, even though I knew the stakes were incredibly high. I just laid out my philosophy for the program for all the world to hear. I told the assembled press, “Talk is cheap right now—we have to get to work. My teams are going to play hard, they’re going to play with enthusiasm, they’re going to play with great intensity.” When they asked me how long it would take to win, I simply said, “We’ll be good when we’re good. My goal is to win right now.”

  I heard later that some of my comments seemed a bit bold and stern, but I was just living the philosophy that I had laid out months earlier for myself and my future teams. I wasn’t worried about the transition from the NFL to college because I had been coaching college kids for years—I just got them when they were a few years older. All I could think of was that I was about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime. After an entire career spent learning the game of football, I
finally had a comprehensive, authentic philosophy that came straight from my heart and now had the opportunity to put it into motion. The real test of my Win Forever philosophy would be what happened once it was applied.

  In my nine years at USC, we worked hard at applying the approach and stuck to the core beliefs that we could and would do things better than they have ever been done before. We competed in everything we did, from practice to teaching to showing up early. We worked to gain confidence and erase fear by practicing for every contingency. And we stayed constantly focused on maximizing the potential of everyone in the organization. We applied ourselves and our philosophy diligently, and we started to win. I cannot even describe how grateful I felt and how fortunate I was to lead that historic program.

  11

  LAYING GROUND RULES

  After the first press conference, it was time to focus on hiring a staff and recruiting a team. Finding the right coaching staff was important, and fortunately, we were able to put together a great group. In the early meetings, we spent a lot of time laying out what the program was going to look like and how we wanted it to work. I needed the coaches to teach the players, so I needed to teach them first.

  I explained that we would have a new way of thinking. I told them the whole story, from Coach Wooden on. After that, I talked about how it would all fit together. I told them where we were going, how we were going to compete, how we were going to practice, and how we were going to build our team and coach the players to be great. This was my philosophy, I explained, and while it would guide the program, I also wanted them to think about their own philosophies. I wanted them to think about how they could utilize that same approach to develop their messages for their position groups as well as to make themselves the best they could possibly be.

  It was the start of a tradition built around keeping everyone connected to the philosophy. I would bring the staff together at the beginning of every season to repeat those lessons.

  Once we had set the vision, “do things better than they have ever been done before,” we had to pursue it. We needed the players to buy in. We needed to make sure they understood how to battle, how to compete, and how to push themselves to the limits both physically and mentally. That process began with our first workout.

  In our first workout with our players that spring, we tested them. For two hours our staff put them through the grinder. Sprints, drills, up-downs, agility tests, and more were part of our workout. The only goal was to make it so difficult that the players would never forget that day.

  At the end of the afternoon, the players were drenched in sweat and our coaches were satisfied. We had set the tone and begun to ingrain the commitment to working hard. But we were not done with that day’s work.

  I told the players to meet me at the fifty-yard line in the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum at 10:30 P.M. and we would finish our workout there. As the players left the Howard Jones Practice Field, I could hear them asking one another, “What are we doing at the Coli?” The funny thing is, I didn’t know the answer either, but my instinct told me that we had to be there.

  The Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum has hosted the Super Bowl, a World Series, the Olympics in 1932 and 1984, and John F. Kennedy’s acceptance speech at the 1960 Democratic National Convention, among many other events. It was also the site of USC home games.

  After leaving the practice field, I decided that we needed a rope. After learning that the local fire station was across the street from campus, I walked over to Station #15 and asked if I could borrow their longest and thickest rope. With a “what is this guy up to?” look, they obliged, and over my shoulder went a very heavy rope.

  Ten P.M. arrived and I stood on the fifty-yard line awaiting the players. Ten fifteen came, and still I stood alone with just our staff. Finally, around 10:25, I began to hear cleats echoing in the tunnel of the Coliseum as the players began their walk to the field. Soon the tunnel was echoing with their expectant chatter. As they spotted the coaches waiting for them at the fifty-yard line, they went dead silent. Some players were dressed to work out, and others were coming from class with their backpacks, but no one knew what to expect and none were prepared for what happened next.

  At the time, I knew only a few players by name, so I called out to Carson Palmer and Troy Polamalu: “Carson, Troy—give me your best eleven on offense and your best eleven on defense. We’re having a tug of war.”

  Guys started ripping their shirts off, tying up their shoes—they were ready to compete, and the energy of the group exploded. Carson and Troy had chosen their squads, and they proceeded to take hold of the rope. “One, two, three!” and the battle was on. The offense took a quick lead, but the defense pulled even. Back and forth they went, with extra players from the defense eventually jumping in to help them try to claim victory. The players were howling and cheering support for one another. Neither side could dominate, and the whole team fell together into a heap of bodies. I called everyone together and asked Carson one question: “Carson, what did we just learn?”

  After a long pause by our starting quarterback, I said to myself, Oh boy, we’re in trouble. He responded, “I dunno, Coach.”

  I realized he needed some help, so I said, “Carson—didn’t we learn that if we’re pulling in opposite directions we all can’t win as one?”

  “Yeah, that’s right, Coach!” he quickly responded. My next thought was, Well, at least he’s coachable.

  Then I told them to huddle on the fifty-yard line, everybody back to back, looking out, and with everyone touching. I wanted us leaning on one another totally connected, so close that nothing could come between us.

  Standing in the middle of our team, I told them that if we remained as tight as we were at that moment, it didn’t matter who came over the walls of this great coliseum to challenge us. Notre Dame, Washington, UCLA, anyone—if we remained close enough so no one could ever come between us, we would win. I told them their coaches were looking for their commitment to this new program, and that we wanted each player, when he was ready, to declare, “I’m in!”

  Imagine a clear, dark night inside the Coliseum, with only a few lights illuminating a space that holds more than ninety thousand screaming fans on game day, however tonight this place belonged to us alone. The setting was out of a movie, and the sensations and emotions were running high. I told them to think about the commitment I was asking for but I didn’t want them to jump in just because of the excitement of the moment. I told them that when they were ready, truly ready, to commit to being a Trojan, then I wanted them to stop by my office, send me a message, or leave me a note with two simple words—and to firmly understand the importance behind those words, what they meant, and the competition those two words stood for.

  Day by day, player by player, it happened.

  I’m in. . . . I’m in. . . . I’m in. . . . As each of those guys stopped by and made that affirmative commitment, I could feel the team taking shape, and I became more and more excited about what we could accomplish in the season ahead.

  Every year, as you build your team, there always seems to be a critical moment when things either come together or go south. If a coach is lucky enough to sense this moment, he captures it and puts it into proper perspective for his players, and they become stronger and more connected as a result. We had such a moment at USC in the 2001 season that not only changed that team but affected our teams for years to follow.

  We flew into Tucson in that first season with a 2-5 record to play the University of Arizona. We had suffered through last-second defeats at the hands of Oregon and Washington and were struggling to find any kind of positive identity.

  When we arrived at the stadium, we carried out our day-before-the-game routine of checking out the locker room, dressing out in warm-up gear, and getting a feel for the stadium and the turf. It was designed to be a light workout to get familiar with the surroundings, relax, and stretch our legs following the plane flight. It was still very hot in the desert that afternoon,
and when we got to the stadium, the players seemed a bit listless and uninterested. I was concerned, to say the least. As soon as we arrived at the hotel, I gathered the coaches to address the situation. I told them what I thought of the status of the team and, with all my competitive fire, implored them to come up with the most gut-wrenching, emotional, and passionate speech or presentation they could muster for the final Friday-night meeting in preparation for Saturday’s game. We knew we had to pull off a miracle to get this team in the right frame of mind.

  This night was a real competitive challenge for me and our staff. We had reached a critical moment for our new program, and the way we responded to this challenge could make or break us in this season. We had to run this meeting better than any meeting had ever been run before. Our coaches took the challenge to heart and came up with some speeches that were so ridiculous that the players were stirred by the craziness of their efforts, if nothing else. At the end of the meeting, I felt like we were back on track.

  The following night, late in the game, we were leading, but Arizona had come roaring back to make it close. Like the past two conference games, this one could go either way. It all came down to a critical play late in the fourth quarter. Arizona’s quarterback dropped back and threw a pass. Our cornerback, Kris Richard, read it perfectly, stepping in front of the intended receiver, and intercepting the ball with impeccable timing. He raced down the sideline, having only to beat the quarterback himself, and with what he would refer to as the old “shake and bake” move, he rumbled into the end zone for the game-securing touchdown.

  It was a great moment for our team and for our program. In the locker room following the game, I told them that we had shown that we were a team that knew how to finish. “From this point on, we don’t have to lose anymore!” I told them excitedly. And for years to come, we went into every game knowing we had what it took to win.