The System: The Glory and Scandal of Big-Time College Football

by Jeff Benedict

  No matter the look of the palace or the size of the budget, as Saban made clear to Moore during their flight to Tuscaloosa, the lifeblood of every college football program was the players. Every year at Alabama The Process began not with the recruitment of talent but with the selection of it.

  Saban and his staff followed what defensive coordinator Kirby Smart called “the blueprint” for success. As detailed by Andy Staples in Sports Illustrated, that blueprint targeted high school athletes who fit certain character/attitude/intelligence criteria and position-specific height/weight/speed guidelines tailored to Alabama’s offensive and defensive schemes. Cornerbacks, for example, should ideally be between six feet and six feet two inches and about 190 pounds and run a sub-4.5 forty-yard dash; linemen should stand no less than six feet two because, as Smart drily noted, “big people beat up little people.”

  One of Saban’s pet peeves was the gross expansion of the entire recruiting game and the overload of information. The recruiting Web sites and four- and five-star rankings held reduced weight inside the program. “We have player descriptions, player profiles,” added Smart. “Guys that don’t necessarily fit that description, they may be a five-star guy, we’re just not interested in [them] because that’s just not what we’re recruiting. Sure there are exceptions to the rule, but we don’t want a team full of exceptions.”

  For all his old-school temperament, Saban was decidedly new-school when it came to communicating with recruits. He maximized social media, routinely carving out thirty minutes to Skype with athletes he believed fit the Alabama profile.

  Coming out of his high school in Memphis, Barrett Jones heard from all the big schools and all the slick pitches from coaches at Florida, North Carolina and Tennessee. “Everyone told me we’d win championships if I came there,” he said. But not Saban, after a lackluster 7-6 record his first year at Alabama. While others said it, he showed it.

  “Coach Saban came with a detailed plan as to how he was going to do it,” said Jones. “He had much more impact. He walked me step-by-step through the process. After my first meeting with him I was blown away. I was set to go. I committed soon after that.”

  Dee Milliner was one of those athletes who fit the selection process to a T. At six feet one and about 199 pounds, and with a vertical leap approaching forty inches, he was rated the No. 1 cornerback in the nation by Scout.com and was a Parade high school all-American. Everybody who was anybody wanted Milliner—USC, Florida State, Georgia, Oklahoma, Stanford, Auburn and Tennessee, to name but a few of the finalists. Then, one day, Saban showed up unannounced—at least to Milliner—in the football coach’s office at Stanhope Elmore High in Millbrook, Alabama.

  “It was kind of a shock to see Coach Saban,” said Milliner.

  Saban got right to the point.

  “He didn’t sugarcoat anything,” recalled Milliner. “He didn’t tell me, ‘If you come here, you’re going to play.’ He said, ‘Look, you’re a great player. I want you. But I don’t need you.’ That’s what I was looking for. That caught my attention right there. He didn’t lie to me at all. He didn’t tell me I was going to be a starter. I had to work for it.”

  For Milliner the work—The Process—began in the classroom, proving to Saban he could be on time and make good decisions. “He would tell us, ‘If you’re not doing it in the classroom, you’re going to have a problem with me on the field,’ ” said Milliner. After the textbook came the playbook, and more tests, Saban again looking for consistency. “He starts trusting you,” said Milliner.

  Milliner would earn enough trust to start his last eleven games as a true freshman in 2010 and make some freshman all-American teams. He started six times his sophomore year. In 2012 he earned consensus first-team all-American honors and blossomed into one of the true stars and trusted leaders on the team before coming out early for the 2013 NFL draft.

  “It was a long process,” said Milliner, the ninth overall pick of the draft, selected by the New York Jets. “But it was worth it.”

  Damion Square knew full well the meaning of those words. He committed to Alabama in the spring of 2008, along with Jones, shortly after Saban’s initial season, which saw the Tide lose four of its last five games. The six-foot-three, 286-pound Square was such a talent coming out of high school in Houston that he was ranked in the top forty nationally as a linebacker, defensive tackle and defensive end. He had stunned Smart and other coaches with his athleticism. Saban went to Houston and made his pitch. “Coach Saban said to me, ‘You come here, we’re going to win games,’ ” said Square. “ ‘That’s the way we recruit. We only recruit great ballplayers that want to play ball and that fit into my system.’ ”

  Square accepted the challenge and chose Alabama over LSU. He was on his way to being a star when, as a redshirt freshman, he suffered a serious knee injury and was out for the year. But Saban and his staff loved his attitude and athleticism, and by the time his final season was starting at the Capstone, Square was as well. It was his face featured on the cover of the 2012 football media guide.

  “He handles us like men,” Square said in an emotional locker room following the BCS title-game win over Notre Dame. Square found that out firsthand during one particular leadership training session in which he had stood up to Saban, telling him, in essence, he didn’t want to be a leader. All he wanted to do was his job.

  Saban gave him a look. “That is your fucking job,” he snarled.

  “He holds us accountable for everything,” said Square. “And that’s the way I live my life now.”

  Sometimes lost in the holistic-sounding nature of The Process was this cold-blooded football fact: under Saban, the Crimson Tide had become the most physically dominant team in college football. Beyond big athletic linemen, the Tide consistently rolled out tackle-breaking backs, quicksilver corners, smashmouth linebackers, a quarterback who could think and throw and top-end athletes at every skill position. And then there was this: Alabama is unquestionably the best-conditioned team in the country.

  To that end the program employed no fewer than four strength and conditioning coaches, led by Cochran, the 2011 Samson Strength & Conditioning Coach of the Year and a certified wild man known for his signature yell—Yeah, Yeah, Yeah, YEAH!—and infectious high-octane energy. “The days you don’t feel like it, that’s when I’m going to get the most out of you,” he said. “And you might hate me at first, that’s okay. But you’re going to have to do this for your own kids and your own job one day—and I’m not going to be there! I’m not going to be sitting right there jumpin’ your tail when you ain’t ready to get up.”

  Watch the start of the fourth quarter of any Alabama game ever played and you’ll see Cochran five or six steps onto the field in the center of a swarm of players, arms above his head and four fingers extended. He’s not signaling the start of the final fifteen minutes of the game. No, those fingers and thumb symbolize something else entirely. “Commitment, discipline, effort, toughness, and the thumb is pride,” said Cochran.

  Those fingers also symbolized Alabama’s Fourth Quarter off-season conditioning program, a not-so-secret weapon at the heart of the Tide’s success.

  “The longest hour of my life,” said running back Eddie Lacy, describing the seemingly endless drills and sprints the previous spring and summer. “Seemed like five hours.”

  “Running, tears as you sweat,” recalled Milliner.

  “It will get you prepared, I tell you that,” said starting left tackle Cyrus Kouandjio. “It will get you prepared for anything you have to counter during a game.”

  In its most basic form the Fourth Quarter program was no different from any other elite program. Spring and summer months devoted to drills and 110-yard sprints until you dropped. Saban used Fourth Quarter first at Michigan State, then later at LSU, where he hired Cochran, who at the time was an assistant strength coach for the NBA’s New Orleans Hornets.

  There was no magic to any single drill or sequence of sprints, said Cochran. The difference, he
said, was—not surprisingly—in the details: how the players were coached; the pressure Saban put on his assistants to ensure every little thing—the placement of a foot in a mat drill, for example—was done exactly the way he wanted it. “Coach Saban has a command that each coach has to use for their drill,” said Cochran. “Coach walks around, and if it’s not the way he sees it, that coach is going to get coached up. So the players know they better get in line or their coach is going to get chewed.”

  Jones told the story about the importance of putting your hand exactly on the line for sprints. Not an inch over the line. Not an inch behind the line. On the line.

  “If not, and Coach catches it, we start [the sprints] all over again,” said Jones.

  To watch the discipline and suffering firsthand is to see a methodical breakdown of ego and self. In March 2013 about 120 players attended a Monday afternoon conditioning session, every single player, from stars like quarterback AJ McCarron on down, identified by the last names taped to the backs of their T-shirts. In the middle of the indoor practice field stood, or actually, more accurately, raged Cochran, screaming in some foreign football language long on grunts and indecipherable roars. He took charge of about 60 players lined up in waves of 10 or 12, running them through an endless series of explosive, oxygen-sucking push-ups, jumps, hops and knee lifts, all conducted under the watchful eye of a platoon of trainers, managers and coaches.

  “Right now! Right now!” he screamed.

  Meanwhile, along the outer edges of the field two more groups of about 30 players experienced wave after wave of commitment-testing sprints: Line up. Sprint a hundred and ten yards down one sideline. Walk the back line of the end zone. Line up. Sprint a hundred and ten yards down the other sideline. Walk the end zone. Line up …

  All the while Saban stalked the field like a hungry cat.

  “I’ve said it a hundred times today and nobody sprints,” he said to one group at one point, biting off each and every word. “So we’ll just have to start all over.”

  So they did. More sprints. More drills. More taste of what it’s like to be part of The Process.

  In the locker room celebration after the national championship game, Square had paid tribute to Cochran and the bond the Fourth Quarter program had built. “We ran together like brothers. ‘Coch’ worked us like crazy. That’s what jells you, man. You put in those hours with the guys. You’re out there running those one-tens; that’s what comes out in the fourth quarter. That’s what we’re thinking about when we’re coming out of the locker room. That training. That winter training. Getting up at 6:30 in the morning and getting a workout in. Coming back at 4:00 and running. Those are brutal days. But they are all for this moment.”

  Yet in recent years the Built by Bama theme touted by the school’s marketing gurus had come to mean the mind as much as—or even more than—the body. This was another reflection of Saban’s gifts as a coach. Said defensive coordinator Smart, “To me that’s where he has established himself as a coach ahead of the curve because of his ability, mentally, to create an advantage with his team. And he makes us realize as coaches it’s not going to be about what we call, it’s not going to be about what we rep, it’s about the mind-set in [a player’s] head that’s going to make the difference in this game.”

  “I think it’s huge,” said Saban during his 60 Minutes interview. “If you create a lot of anxiety because you’re a worrier, you’re not going to perform nearly as well … I think consistency in performance is what helps you to be successful. I think to get that consistency in performance in anything you do, the mental part is the key.”

  Saban was asked how many consultants or coaches he had who focus on the mental side.

  “As many as will put up with me,” he answered with a laugh. “ ’Cause, you know, I think that’s where it all starts. How you think is very important to how you act, the result that you get.”

  Saban had at least half a dozen player development consultants on the payroll at any one time. Dr. Kevin Elko, a top motivational speaker, was one. Another was Trevor Moawad, the former director of performance and mental conditioning at IMG Academy in Florida now working with Athletes’ Performance in Arizona.

  “There’s nobody even close to what Nick is doing,” said Moawad in the summer of 2012.

  Moawad estimated that he had spent twenty-five hours a year for the last seven years consulting for Saban, dealing primarily with issues like visualization training and mental toughness.

  “Performance is not just about movement, speed and strength,” he said. “Performance is about how you think, communicate and respond, all of these elements. And these elements can be taught.”

  In addition, Saban regularly brought in a string of speakers to address the team. Some would talk about overcoming adversity or addiction; others, the power of belief and conviction; still others would deal with relationships, stress, personal growth and expectations. Moawad said the most intense sessions occurred during August training camp and that part of Saban’s genius was that he understood that no matter the skill set, he was inheriting vulnerable kids from various backgrounds. For those times when they made mistakes or poor decisions, as they invariably did, the safety net had to be strung as far and wide as possible.

  Wes Neighbors knew full well the size of that net. He enrolled in Tuscaloosa as a third-generation member of certified Alabama football royalty. His grandfather Billy, who passed away after a heart attack in 2012, co-captained Bear Bryant’s undefeated national championship team in 1961. A two-way star at guard and defensive line, he played eight seasons in the AFL and NFL with the Boston Patriots and the Miami Dolphins. In 2004 he was elected to the College Football Hall of Fame.

  Wes Neighbors Sr. was next. A center, he played under Ray Perkins from 1983 to 1986 and was so good, like his father, he won the SEC’s award for best lineman. Wes junior started playing the family game in the seventh grade and quickly fell in love. By the time he graduated from Huntsville High in Alabama, he was an honorable mention all-state safety and ranked in the top twenty-five safeties in the country by ESPN.com. Vanderbilt and Georgia Tech offered scholarships. Then the Tide came calling. “I mean, this is where I wanted to go,” he said. “I’ve been going to games here since I was born.”

  Rocked by the intensity of practice and long, grueling days, Neighbors, like so many freshmen, hit the wall early. At Alabama the average football day began at 6:15 a.m. and didn’t end until some fifteen hours later after a training table meal and two hours of tutoring and study hall. “I feel like I almost came in here blind because it is such a time commitment,” said Neighbors. “It does become your life.”

  Neighbors admitted he had his “fair share of issues” his freshman and sophomore years—not the least of which was buying and drinking alcohol underage. “The program found out,” he said. “I had to face the consequences.” There was a sit-down in Saban’s office where they talked about decision making and whether Neighbors was willing to hold himself accountable for his actions and attend individual and group sessions with counselors. He was.

  “It helped me a lot,” Neighbors said. “I wasn’t representing the football team as best I could. Some people don’t ever become aware. They don’t realize they’re representing their team and their university in a way that’s unacceptable.”

  He redshirted as a freshman in 2008. In 2009 he didn’t play a down, serving solely on the scout team at practice. But by the time Neighbors was a redshirt sophomore—his junior year academically—the six-foot-one, two-hundred-pound defensive back was starting on every special team. Then, just a few days before the first game of the 2010 season, he tore the meniscus in his left knee in practice. He missed the first game. He played the next week against Penn State but felt a mysterious pain in his right foot that doctors eventually traced to an old fracture. The pain grew worse as the season wore on and limited Neighbors’s ability to cut. His role was reduced to straight-ahead kickoff coverage. At the end of the season he was medica
lly released from the team. In March 2011 he found himself back in Saban’s office for a different reason.

  “We’ve always had a cordial relationship where I felt very comfortable talking to him about certain things,” Neighbors said. “It was pretty open. I just asked if there was any way to stay and help. And he was, ‘Of course, of course.’

  “I knew I wanted to stay involved. Coach told me he thought I had great potential to be a coach someday. So I was allowed to come in as a student assistant.”

  Saban believed that if you invest—honestly and truthfully invest—in building a better person—whether it’s Wes Neighbors or stars like McCarron and Amari Cooper—you end up with athletes who, in times of intense stress, embrace the moment rather than run from it. “The mental game can’t win it for you, but it can lose it for you,” said Moawad. “It’s a 5 to 6 percent difference, and at this level that’s big.”

  Saban seemed to understand better than any other coach of his generation the razor-thin difference 5 or 6 plays could make during a 135-play game. The Process was built for those defining plays—for times when trained leaders stepped forward and rallied the troops and an entire team displayed the ability to perform at its best.

  Nowhere was that 5 percent factor more evident than in the 2012 SEC Championship game in Atlanta. The game was a spectacular sixty-minute slugfest between two jacked-up, athletically gifted teams. No. 2–ranked Alabama beat No. 3 Georgia 32–28. But only after the Bulldogs, led by quarterback Aaron Murray, playing the game of his SEC life, came up just five yards short with four seconds left on the clock.