Gold Works on Football, Subtleties of ‘Friendly’ at CSUN

The Denver Gold blew into town a few days ago and alighted on the campus of California State University, Northridge, which will serve as its winter habitat this year.

The Gold is not a variety of prairie grass or a migratory bird, but a professional football team. It is migratory all the same and has an ecosystem all its own.

It belongs to the United States Football League, a curious species in its own right because it plays in the spring rather than the fall like other leagues. The Gold has rented the college football field to conduct its pre-season training ritual.

The way that works is interesting. The Gold’s days consist of eating, running around in patterns and sleeping. In the evening, it takes a few minutes off to play dominoes, make long-distance telephone calls and chat with campus natives.

Its coaches are taking severe measures to ensure that it spreads no wild seed while it stays in town.

All of this is currently on exhibit for the residents of the Northridge Campus Residence, a private dormitory where the team is boarding during its winter training camp. The team rented most of one floor to house its men until the season opens on Feb. 23.

The 67 members of the Gold are also on public display every morning and afternoon as they train on Matador Field on the northern part of campus.

So far, not many people have shown an interest in the team that finished third in the Pacific Division last season.

On a wintry afternoon last week, two female students drifted over from the university residence hall to watch the team run up and down the field as its coaches shouted in basso voices things like:

“Punt return! Excitement in the air! Excitement in the air!”

And:

“Hey! Hey! Don’t allow yourself to throttle down mentally.”

And:

“Let’s get communication squared away.”

That last exhortation might sound out of character for a professional football coach.

Gold publicist Steve Gerrish said it had something to do with Coach Darrel (Mouse) Davis’ innovative “run ‘n’ shoot” offense. Gerrish wouldn’t say much about it, because the system is proprietary. But he said it involves a lot of receivers running down field on pass routes that may change as the play develops.

Through a kind of telepathy only football players have, the receivers tell the quarterback what they are doing, so he can throw the ball where they are going to be. The system requires intelligent receivers, Gerrish said.

But that’s enough football. It didn’t seem that intelligence was at issue at all for Beth Niernberg and Marlesa Scott as they sat in the otherwise empty bleachers a few paces down from a grizzled man who was smoking a cigar as he watched the team intently.

The players were lined up in rows. When the coaches yelled at them, they clapped their hands while making guttural noises in their throats.

“It’s so funny to see grown men clapping,” Niernberg said.

She said she is actually a loyal Jets fan but has been going out to watch the team because she wasn’t getting much of a thrill from the local college team.

“After watching the Matador season, Powder Puff looks tough,” she said.

Niernberg hasn’t found the Gold much more inspiring. In the first two weeks of camp, the players were concentrating on patterns and doing very little hitting, she said.

“I’m waiting for the heavy practice because they’re not really getting into it now,” she said.

Strict Schedule

The players might have found that a little nervy. Even if they weren’t into heavy hitting yet, they were fighting a pretty rough schedule, regulated in most respects by the voices of their coaches.

Every day they rise at 7 a.m., have breakfast, practice from 9 to 11:15 a.m., have lunch, attend a meeting at 1 p.m., practice from 3 to 5, have dinner and, finally, attend a meeting at 7. They get out of that around 9:30 or 10 and are on their own until bed check at 11 p.m.

The routine allows little contact with the 700 students in the dorm.

The coaches want it that way.

“We didn’t want them doing anything that might break their concentration,” special teams coach Don Frease said.

The staff will fine players for missing bed check or getting too friendly with resident females, he said. Although Frease wouldn’t confirm it, everyone else said the fine was $500.

“We told them it’s OK if they get ‘friendly,’ ” Frease said, raising two fingers from each hand to make a quote sign.

“But they can’t get ‘friendly,’ ” he said, repeating the sign.

Frease seemed amused by the suggestion that a football player might not know the difference between “friendly” and “friendly.”

“They know,” Frease said. “It’s as clear as water.”

The reaction of resident students to their unusual guests was less than clear.

At 6 one evening last week, the cafeteria was jammed with students who hardly seemed to look up from their conversations when the players began to walk in with a swagger that said “athlete.”

Most pretended not to notice. But they noticed. And when prodded, they said so, some with annoyance over the habits of the visitors.

“Every morning at 7 o’clock, the coaches come and wake them up,” said one student who was consuming three glasses of chocolate milk with his hamburger and enchilada. “They don’t just knock. They go boom, boom, boom,” he said, pounding his fist at the air.

“Oh, they’re pests,” said Debbie Schane. “We’re pestered by several. They’re always asking us to take them places. If they make as much as they say they do, they should be able to rent cars.”

“They’re always making comments,” said her friend Tracy Bethel. “I don’t feel comfortable with people checking me out and making comments.”

A few male residents seemed intimidated.

Players ‘Go Zing’

“See, they don’t just open a door. They go zing,” said freshman Jim Lundquist, whipping his arm sideways.

“They have that angry-looking air about them,” said Jim Trino, a junior drama major.

Trino demonstrated the look by standing up in front of the hall, throwing back his shoulders, raising his chin and scowling.

“It’s not anger,” said sophomore Laura Schultz, unimpressed with the shtick. “It’s exhaustion.”

“It doesn’t look like exhaustion,” Trino said defensively. “It looks like, ‘I’m mad. Don’t mess with me. I’ll risk $500 of my $250,000 salary.’ ”

“I still don’t understand why they eat the food here,” said the man with three chocolate milks.

Many residents resented the fact that students had been asked to move upstairs to make room for the team on the first floor of one hall.

But female residents of two rooms decided not to move and are now surrounded by the team. Two of them, Susan Cohrs and Carol Sheehof, said that from that perspective they have seen nothing malevolent.

“They’re really concerned about us,” biology major Sheehof said. “They call us their little helpers. I hate football. But now that they are here, I’ll watch them.”

“It is a change visually,” Cohrs said. “Some guy will come up and talk to you in a doorway and fill up the doorway.”

They see no evidence that players are pestering residents. But they have observed the reverse of that.

Much Traffic in Hall

“Since they’ve been here, the girls that don’t live in this hall do tend to travel it a lot,” Cohrs said.

The players didn’t seem to mind the distraction. Most of them just ignored the flutter one evening. They spent most of their free time inside their rooms with their TVs or radios on.

“I think it’s great,” said veteran lineman Walt Downing.

Downing talked without ever looking up from the table where his dominoes were spread out. He was losing a boisterous game to his roommate, Tom Davis.

“Last year, we were in the middle of a desert. All your waking hours were dedicated to finding another human being. At least here you have human companionship and you don’t have that urge to get out,” Downing said.

Down the hall a short way, a woman leaned against the wall. It was Schultz, who had stood up for the team when it was being criticized in the cafeteria.

Pats a Few Players

As players walked by, she smiled and said, “Hi.” She reached out and affectionately patted a few.

Some players ignored her. Others stopped to chat. She talked to others through their doorways. No one invited her in.

That, she said, was the difference between “friendly” and “friendly.” The players had made it as clear as water.

She pointed to the threshold of the door.

“It’s a $500 fine if I cross that line,” she said.

Clearly, the Gold has its communications squared away.