Going to Camp with football's finest

By Sharon Lin

A Walter Camp All-America Football Team has been selected every year since 1889. The Walter Camp Football Foundation (WCFF), founded in 1967, hosted its 31st Annual National Awards Weekend in New Haven from Thurs., Feb. 12 until Sun., Feb 15. When one dines with athletes the stature of Calvin Hill, PC '69, U.S. Rep. Steve Largent (R-Okla.), Peyton Manning, and Charles Woodson, it's hard not to get somewhat star-struck--but the experience turned out to be rather thought-provoking.

Friday morning: Hanging with the All-Americans

WCFF honorees--identifiable by their red, white, and blue warm-ups--sat at round tables eating eggs, croissants, and pork products, and discussing college, the upcoming draft, and money at the Alumni Brunch, which was at the North Haven Holiday Inn.

Courtesy Yale University Archives Calvin Hill, PC '69, the 1997 Walter Camp Man of the Year, addressed the Walter Camp All-Americans at Yale University Commons on Sat., Feb. 14.

Andre Wadsworth, 6'4", 282 lbs., an unblockable defensive end, ACC Player of the Year, and a walk-on for the Florida State Seminoles, is expected to be taken by the Chicago Bears and was very happy about it, despite recent rumors of an Arizona Cardinals pick. Without commenting on the weather, he exclaimed, "Jerry Springer! You can't beat that!" Beside him, Greg Ellis, 6'6", 265 lbs., a defensive lineman from the University of North Carolina, was the consummate gentleman-athlete. He had even played two seasons of junior varsity basketball at UNC. "So you're sort of like Michael Jordan, too," I ventured. "Not quite," he replied, smiling. Besides talking about football--his favorite pro team is the New York Giants--we discussed majors; he had started out as a psychology major, but is now finishing in interpersonal communications.

Ellis noted a certain camaraderie among some of the All-Americans, but I got the feeling that there were those regarded less highly. Later, I heard that Ellis was one of the players around whom everyone rallied and respected, not only for his obvious football prowess (he owns UNC's record for all-time sacks, with 32.5), but for being an all-around nice guy.

I had more trouble trying to communicate with Benji Olson, a 6'4", 310-lb. offensive lineman from the University of Washington. He seemed bored by the breakfast. It was like trying to talk to a mountain. Obviously, neither one of us is an interpersonal communications major. He did, however, volunteer that his team, the red team, had won the charity basketball game the night before. I wished him luck in the draft and moved on.

One guy I really wanted to meet but didn't was Chad Kessler. A punter from Louisiana State, he has a 3.91 GPA as a microbiology major. I also missed Marshall wide receiver, 6'5", 210-lb. Randy Moss, who finished fourth in Heisman Trophy ballotting. Moss is a sophomore, possibly younger than I am, and he's entering the draft.

Noticeably absent was Charles Woodson, the Heisman-winning Michigan Wolverine defensive back. "Where's Woodson?" I asked Alfonso Barbarotta, one of the Walter Camp Football Foundation vice presidents. He rolled his eyes skyward, as if to say, "Don't even mention that name," but replied that Woodson would be arriving that night, maybe Saturday morning. It was apparent that, to Walter Camp officials, Woodson was already behaving too much like the prima donna pro star he is sure to become.

Friday afternoon: A conversation with a legend

The weekend also marked the return of one of Yale's football greats, Calvin Hill, PC '69, an Eli running back who went on to have a stellar career with the Dallas Cowboys. I thought perhaps I'd say hello, because he was a legendary Yalie and the father of Detroit Pistons forward Grant Hill. We introduced ourselves and chatted about Yale classes and colleges. I mentioned that I would be attending his speech in Ray Tompkins House later that afternoon. Then Hill asked me what I thought he should address in his speech. I said, "I've always liked it when people talk about their Yale days."

Hill replied, "I called Brian Dowling, BK '69, yesterday, and he said, `Remember when Levi Jackson, TC '50, used to come talk to us?'" The legend wondered what relevance his Yale experience had to ours. I told him I thought it was great that he and "B.D." from Doonesbury were still in touch. The introduction unexpectedly lengthened into a conversation.

Hill now serves as a consultant to the Dallas Cowboys and the NFL. I mentioned, "When you played for the Cowboys, that was before the nationalization of the team, when the team was still largely local, but now, there's ESPN, sports news, the Cowboys are having...issues, and your own son is all over the place." Hill noted that the guys we met at breakfast will be multi-millionaires in a few months. He mentioned programs the NBA has instituted for its rookies on money management and said the NFL would soon implement its own. He talked about evaluating shoe contracts with Grant, and touched upon the new financial aid policies and how they might benefit Yale athletics, making college choices "less economically-based for the middle-class."

Hill pointed out that baseball had been his main sport, but that he joined the football team at Yale because the baseball team toured the Jim Crow South. He related a story about a geology field trip where he slid down East Rock gracefully, dressed in the coat and tie de rigueur of 1960s Yale. On the Battell Chapel Board of Deacons, Hill had been leaning towards divinity school before Gil Grant and Tom Landry of the Dallas Cowboys telephoned. "Sports has a power, is a totemic structure. The moments you spend here competing...we rally around what you all do," Hill said. He could have talked all day.

As we walked out of the hotel's hospitality room, I noticed that the video game that had been beeping incessantly behind us was "NBA Jam," in which Grant is a character. He really is all over the place.

Saturday night: An affair to remember

My first black-tie affair since the Prom. Since this was, after all, a football event, most of the men hovered above six feet. My neck began to ache from looking up. It was extremely cold in Woolsey Hall, but no one else seemed to notice because they were all wearing woollen tuxedo jackets and drinking alcohol. A woman in a long-sleeved brocade dress and fur stole smiled sympathetically at me as I shivered and rubbed my bare arms.

I was sitting at the media table, with three guys from the New Haven Register, Michael Kim, an ESPNews anchor, and Al Young from USA Today. The Star Spangled Banner was...interesting. The lady substituted "for" for every "O'er." When it was over, Register columnist Jerry Reimenschneider slapped the table and said loudly, "I don't care if you get the notes right, just get the words right!"

Chris Fowler, the emcee from ESPN, commented that the Valentine's Day was fitting, since "We had dates with these guys every Saturday in the fall." I especially enjoyed the highlight videos, shown on two video screens at either end of Commons throughout dinner and during the presentations. Like debutantes, each honoree was announced by Fowler and walked out to his college fight song. Hill walked out to a standing ovation and "Bulldog." He warned the All-America players to "be circumspect and extremely cautious. Be true to that responsibility, to your family, your university, and all the fans of that university."

As I was leaving, I remembered that Albert had asked for Manning's autograph. The honorees filed off the daïs and into the rotunda. Largent, the former Seahawk receiver and the receipient of the Distinguished American Award, asked if I had enjoyed the dinner.

I went up to Manning, handed him my invitation, and, congratulating him, asked for his autograph. Seeing him, many other people rushed over and clamored for his attention, too. Suddenly, an agent pushed into him, took the ticket away from him and handed it back to me. "No autographs, he has to get on a bus," he said firmly to me and a little boy with a poster. "But I said I would," Manning protested, taking the ticket back. The agent was insistent, and so was the crowd. "Walk with me," he said to me, groping in his pockets for a pen and starting down the Woolsey steps. "If you fall and break a bone, I'm not going to be responsible," the agent said curtly. Manning half-turned to look at him and sighed witheringly as he scrawled his signature across Walter Camp's face with permanent marker, using his All-American plaque as a writing surface. "Thanks," I said. "No problem," he replied. "Congratulations, again," I told him, looking up. "And good luck."

Manning smiled and thanked me as he took the boy's poster and signed over his picture before leaving the crowd of autograph-seekers behind. I know that he needs to be careful, that every bruise to his million-dollar body is an agent's horror, but I also thought that a 21-year old is old enough to know how to walk down stairs by himself. I sincerely hoped that he would stay true to his character and not become disillusioned by the world of pro sports that was already beginning to spin around him. I wished it for each of the men entering the sports drafts this year. It seemed that the older honorees Hill, Plunkett, and Largent, exemplified Walter Camp's ideals of honor, team spirit, and love of football. I only hoped that the younger men would shoulder their newfound responsibilities and follow.

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