A Lesson in Football : Outclassed 49ers Lose Game to Michigan They Will Always Remember

It is Friday morning at 7:30 and the California State University, Long Beach, football players, who have hungrily awaited this trip, are at Long Beach Airport. They look uncomfortable in ties and shirts strained by protruding chests, bulky shoulders and thick necks. They sit listening to music through earphones, while Coach Larry Reisbig, aware that the University of Michigan is a 42-point favorite in tomorrow’s game, paces.

They file onto a Jet America DC-9, which, despite the tonnage these 50 players add, lifts off.

“We’re probably the underdog of the century,” says quarterback Jeff Graham, sitting in the back of the plane as it hums along its northeastly route. “We’re going to play tough football and see what happens. It’s too bad if they don’t take us seriously. The pressure’s on them to blow us out.”

He looks through the Michigan media book at photos of players who, unlike himself, play before crowds not of 3,000 but 100,000.

‘The Ultimate Atmosphere’

“Anybody would be envious,” he says, scanning the long lists of All-Americans, bowl appearances and attendance records. “That’s the ultimate college atmosphere. This will be a taste of what big-time college football is all about. But when you get past the tradition and prestige, it’s just 11 on 11. If by some chance we pull it off. . . .”

The players awake from naps to look down through oval windows at Lake Michigan and the skyscrapers of Chicago. After turning the plane toward Grand Rapids, Mich., the captain says over the intercom, “I understand we have the football team from California State University, Long Beach; I’d like to wish you the best of luck.”

Passage through three time zones has drastically shortened the day, and it is late afternoon when the 49ers land at Detroit’s Metro Airport. Two buses parked on the Tarmac wait to take the team to Ann Arbor for a practice.

Review of Films, Strategy

At 7 p.m., the players check into the Airport Hilton Hotel, eat and go to meetings. They watch Michigan on film and review strategy with coaches.

The big offensive linemen walk through blocking formations. Watching them in the carpeted corridor are the East Michigan District of Wesleyan Women, all 330 of whom “have been touched by Christ,” says the group’s registrar, Joyce Chaplin.

“Maybe we should get their autographs,” one of the women wonders aloud.

On pay phones, the players call home.

“Love you guys,” defensive lineman Mike McCauley tells his parents in Oregon as he hangs up.

In Room 204, Graham sits in bed watching TV and eating Vanilla Wafers. Dan Bailey, the team trainer, attaches the wires of an electrical therapy machine to Graham’s leg. He has a deep bone bruise in his calf.

‘This Is the Big One’

“If we were playing Weber State or Montana State this would be a nice weekend off for me, but this is the big one,” Graham says.

Down in his first-floor room, tailback Michael Roberts recalls his first look this afternoon at Michigan Stadium.

“That stadium takes the breath away from me,” Roberts says. “All those seats, right there, really close.

“All summer I’ve been thinking about this game. We have athletes like everybody else; we can play football with anyone. All we lack is depth.”

As the 11 p.m. curfew nears, some of the linemen, unfilled by dinner and knowing they probably won’t sleep well anyway, order pizza.

“Once in a lifetime,” says Brian Smith of tomorrow’s game.

The Christian women, crowded on an elevator, say that since they are Michigan fans they won’t be able to pray for the 49ers.

The day of reckoning arrives chilly. At 10:30 a.m., after being fed and taped, the 49ers board two buses for the half-hour ride to Michigan Stadium. Reisbig sits behind the driver of one of the chartered Greyhounds; muted music escaping from earphones is the only sound.

The flat Midwestern landscape passes, just weeks away from losing its summer green. Along I-94, the auto industry reveals itself: a Cadillac plant in Willow Run, a Ford plant in Ypsilanti. Farther west, corn fields go by, their stalks reduced to stubble. A billboard advertises Ann Arbor Buick and then, amid thickening traffic, that city is reached.

Scalpers wave tickets. Pregame partiers in blue and yellow drink in parking lots. The buses pull up to the stadium and a player breaks the silence: “This is it . . . go Niners.” Another yells, “Strap it on” and a third’s cry is, “Biggest upset in history.”

In the shirts and ties they wore the day before on the plane, the 49ers, scrutinized by fans in “M” hats, file off the buses and enter a gate. From nowhere appear the Michigan players--all in blue blazers--marching behind their coach, Bo Schembechler, to their dressing room.

Graham goes straight down a long tunnel onto the field of artificial grass and stands in the middle of the 50-yard line. Endless rows of empty blue benches tower around him. He says, “I’ve got a chance to own this place.”

49er Rooters on Hand

Later, with his leg heavily taped, Graham warms up. The footballs he throws against a sky that is losing its clouds spiral perfectly and come down in the hands of receivers.

“Go Beach,” yells a group of 49er rooters who have made the trip.

The Michigan players--in a seemingly endless row of dark blue jerseys and maize pants--spill onto the field. They have that powerful, raw-boned look that the football-oriented towns of the Midwest produce, but inside their helmets their faces, like the faces of the 49ers, are startlingly young.

Moments before the game, the 49ers sit on folding chairs in the quiet dressing room.

“No mental mistakes,” says Reisbig. “None.”

On the field, the Michigan band members, high-stepping like halfbacks, play their school’s famous fight song. The blue benches have filled with 101,714 people. The day has become warm and golden. And from out of the tunnel, the 49ers run into this scene they’ve never seen and won’t forget.

The game begins. After intercepting a Graham pass, the Wolverines soon have a third down on the Long Beach 1-yard line. But their fans’ anticipation of an early touchdown turns to shock when the 49ers make a goal-line stand.

The Long Beach defensive players are euphoric.

The offense takes over. Roberts makes runs of 9 and 11 yards. But mental mistakes--three illegal procedure penalties on the offensive line--cost the 49ers 15 yards. Graham overthrows a receiver; the ball lands in the Michigan band. The 49ers punt.

Michigan begins to run at will behind an imposing offensive line that includes a 6-foot-7, 306-pound tackle. But after the first quarter, the 49ers trail only 7-0.

Down 21-0 at Half-Time

The Michigan radio announcer says the 49ers look like a pickup team with their different shoes--”some Converse, some Nikes, some just dirty tennis shoes.”

The Wolverines run in their black shoes through the 49ers. Tailback Jamie Morris, on his way to 171 yards, scores a touchdown to make the half-time score 21-0.

Morris runs 57 yards on the first play of the third quarter and two plays later Michigan leads, 28-0.

Graham throws another interception and loses a fumble. He completes only five passes for 48 yards.

Michigan scores three more TDs.

Lane McCarthy, the 49er strong safety, sits on the bench as the last two minutes run out on this 49-0 game.

‘Like a Wall of Humanity’

“I got ran over,” he says. “And that hasn’t happened to me this year. But we stopped them when we were fresh and they were fresh.”

Nose tackle Nathan Deaton, his face fiery red, says, “I got knocked back a couple of times, but not that hard. They just get in your way like a wall of humanity.”

“Dad.”

Center Mike Hollingshaus spots his father, who comes down from the stands to tell his son, “You played well.”

“I felt like a midget,” says the 6-2, 250-pound Hollingshaus.

The Long Beach locker room is strewn with tape, pads and equipment bags. Music plays.

“When I first walked out of that tunnel I had a cold sensation in my back,” Roberts says. “I couldn’t believe all the fans.”

$300,000 for Athletic Department

Graham sits on a stainless steel table and says, “I’ll take the blame for this sucker. It was completely my fault.”

Off to one side, Athletic Director Corey Johnson and Robert Donlan, senior associate athletic director, talk quietly. They know that because of this game their department is getting $300,000 it badly needs.

In an adjoining room, Reisbig addresses the media: “It was a lesson in football, (but) there was never a time when I was ashamed of our performance. Our kids really came to play.”

Now the kids walk out into the warm sun, through postgame litter of programs, food wrappers and cups, and onto the buses.

They are going home.

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