It Was No Picnic for This Father and Son

The hero was going to hit the worshiper.

The coach was going to hit the player.

The father was going to hit the son.

Several years ago in another corner of the continent, Mosi Tatupu was scolding son Lofa in the tiny high school football office when Lofa cursed him and walked away.

Mosi pulled him back inside, closed the door, and here it came, 16 years of pushing and prodding boiling over into one punch.

Recalled Mosi: “I was tired of his attitude.”

Recalled Lofa: “I was tired of being in his shadow.”

Recalled Mosi: “I was going to knock him down.”

*

When they see each other late Tuesday night in the bowels of Pro Player Stadium, they will hug.

“It’s been a long journey,” Lofa Tatupu said.

Long, and strange, with enough irony to fill an Orange Bowl.

Only by walking in his father’s cleats could the son finally take his own steps.

Only in letting his son fly could the father finally draw close.

Playing at a school where Mosi Tatupu once starred, linebacker Lofa Tatupu has a chance to glow even brighter, double his father’s USC national titles, trump his father’s legendary USC era, make both men glow like the trumpeters after halftime.

Yet Lofa never wanted to come to USC.

And Mosi never cared if he did.

Neither man thought he needed the other.

Both men were terribly wrong.

Said Mosi: “We bumped heads many times, but I am so proud of him, walking his own path.”

Said Lofa: “I wanted to get away from being the son of Mosi ... but being his son has made me stronger.”

Stronger, as in, he is the leading tackler on a defense whose ability to stop Oklahoma’s Adrian Peterson could decide Tuesday’s national title.

Stronger, as in, he’s gone from being a Maine Bear to a main man in the span of three years.

Stronger, as in, he smiles now when he passes the photo of the 1974 Trojan national championship team on the Heritage Hall wall.

Said Lofa, laughing: “Every day, I see my father, he’s the one in the front with the wild afro.”

Said Mosi, laughing: “That was a great afro. My son doesn’t know anything about afros. He wears his hair in, what, cornrows and beads and things?”

*

The father did not hit the son.

Assistant coaches rushed into the room and stopped him.

But for the rest of that tense afternoon several years ago at King Philip Regional High in Wrentham, Mass., head coach Mosi would not speak to quarterback/linebacker Lofa.

“The other coaches had to coach him, I just couldn’t do it,” Mosi said.

It was like that often during Lofa’s teenage years, a divorce having placed the two men together against the world and each other.

After Mosi’s ex-wife, Linnea, moved to San Diego, Mosi and Lofa became roommates, moving from house to house, staying with friends, sometimes struggling to make ends meet despite Mosi’s successful 14-year NFL career that ended in 1991.

“It wasn’t much fun,” Lofa said. “It was not what you would think.”

Mosi was such a hard-nosed daredevil, college football’s special teams player-of-the-year award is named after him.

But there was nothing special for Lofa as the son of a guy who gave away much of his money to relatives and lived simply.

“I tried to teach him the right values, but kids don’t like to listen,” Mosi said. “It was hard on both of us.”

In the end, it taught Lofa to want to play as far from his father as possible.

Said Lofa: “I was not going to spend the rest of my life in his shadow.”

Said Mosi: “I didn’t blame him.”

Lofa wanted to play for San Diego State near his mother’s house. But the Aztecs didn’t recruit him, nor did any other Division I team.

“I was too small, too slow, you name it, I heard it,” said Lofa, who even today is only 6 feet and 225 pounds.

So he want to Division I-AA Maine, played hard and grew stronger and tried again to go to San Diego State.

Again, the Aztecs didn’t respond to his tape.

So, finally, his father sent a copy to USC, where Pete Carroll was impressed ... sort of.

“We saw three games, and he made every play ... but you couldn’t tell how fast he was, or how big he was,” Carroll said.

So then his father offered the one thing that Lofa didn’t want -- a recommendation.

Said Lofa: “I didn’t want to be a charity case.”

Turns out, it wasn’t charity, it was common sense.

Said Carroll: “He was not a slam dunk ... but we trusted his father a little bit.... His father was tough and competitive, so when he talked about his son, we listened to him.”

With much reluctance, Maine officials allowed him to transfer.

Having no other choices, Lofa went to USC.

And what do you know. Being little Mosi wasn’t such a terrible thing after all.

His father’s work ethic helped him in the weight room, his teachings helped him on the field, and his humility helped him avoid Hollywood.

Little Mosi became Big Lofa. A good Trojan. His own Trojan.

“It’s weird that my father and I have been in the same places, doing the same things,” Lofa said. “But I’m proud to be his son. Who knows what would have happened if I wasn’t?”

Every Sunday, on the phone, the two men talk.

The first part of the conversation is always about Lofa’s last game, technical stuff, football stuff.

The second part is father stuff.

Lately, the second part has lasted longer than the first part.

Said Mosi: “It’s more like a fatherly thing now, these talks.”

Said Lofa: “It’s nice. He’s not my coach anymore. He’s my dad.”

Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com. To read previous columns by Plaschke columns, go to latimes.com/plaschke.