8702080644
DETROIT FREE PRESS
870814
Friday, August 14, 1987
METRO FINAL
1D
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1987, Detroit Free Press
SINGING FOR YOUR SUPPER NFL'S MEAT AND POTATOES
We are talking about embarrassment. We are talking about nerves. We are
talking about the moment of truth in pro football training camp.
We are talking about rookies singing.
"Dinnertime, lunchtime, whenever we feel like making them do it," says
William Gay, the Lions' defensive captain, who need only bang his glass with a
spoon -- like an uncle at an Italian wedding -- to make a rookie stand up,
open wide and say, "Laa!"
"Are they any good?" he is asked.
"Some are good, some are bad," he says, rubbing his chin slowly. "And some
. . . are real bad."
Not that it matters. If you are a rookie, you will sing. It is a haze job
by veterans that has gone on forever. Soldiers have boot camp. Fraternities
have rush week. Football has the cafeteria. Sing.
"I was one of the first ones they got," says Jerry Ball, the third-round
draft pick from SMU. "I was sitting there eating and I hear the glasses and
Bill Gay goes, 'We want some singing!' "
"What song did you choose?" he was asked.
"It's called 'Trudy.' "
Right. Yeah. That's a nice one.
Trudy?
Good or bad, you can't win Well. Times have changed. Years ago, most
rookies relied on their college fight songs, as this was often the only song
they knew.
But now, anything goes. Willie Nelson. Tina Turner. Already the Lions'
veterans have heard such hits as "Tiny Bubbles," "Always and Forever" and "My
Girl," none of which will ever be confused with the original artists'
renditions.
"What one did you do?" Reggie Rogers, the Lions' first-round draft pick,
is asked.
"I did . . . uh, um, sheez. I can't remember."
See?
No matter. We are talking tradition here, the tradition of keeping a
rookie in his place. The tradition of breaking tension. The tradition of
fighting boredom. After all, how long can you just beat each other up?
So we have Garland Rivers, from Michigan, who tried his fight song and was
booed before he started. And Karl Bernard, a free-agent running back who
brought down the room with a smoking rendition of "Truly" by Lionel Ritchie.
And then there is poor Ray Brown, a receiver from South Carolina. No vocal
cords. He wound up singing something he heard on the radio, although he
doesn't remember what, and neither do his teammates. They do remember he was
bad. As in sit down, Ray. That'll be enough out of you.
"I'm not a singer," he says, shrugging.
What's a rookie to do? There is no way to win here. If you sing terribly,
they will boo unmercifully. And if you sing well, they will clap and scream
things like, "OOOH, BABY! HOW SWEET IT IS!" And make you sing at every meal.
The best way to avoid singing is to avoid the cafeteria. This can be
tough, however, because it also means you never eat. "We tried sneaking in
early," says Danny Lockett, a sixth- round linebacker from Arizona. "Then one
day, just as I was leaving, I heard Bill Gay yell: 'HOLD UP!' "
That was it. Lockett, who will never be confused with Michael Jackson,
tried his fight song: Bear down, Ari-zona,
Bear down, red and blue,
Bear down, Ari-zona,
Hit 'em hard and let 'em know who's who!
"How long did you last?" someone asks.
"Not long," Lockett says. "Coach (Darryl) Rogers was booing me right from
the start. I forgot he used to be at Arizona State."
The Saleaumua shuffle? There is no telling when the call will come. Could
be lunch. Could be dinner. Could be if a rookie gets a veteran mad by tackling
too hard.
"What if they don't sing?" comes the question.
"Oh, they'll sing," says Gay, 6-feet-5, 260 pounds, in a way that
suggests they most certainly will. "These guys are lucky. If they stink, they
just get booed. When I broke in nine years ago in Denver, they didn't like
you, they threw eggs."
(By the way, you may wonder why Gay gets to be in charge. Obviously, you
never stood next to him. Not everyone can turn to a nasty, bald, muscle-bound
rookie and say, "You sound like my dog." Bill Gay can do that. Also, he has
the eggs.)
So a great tradition continues. The only saving grace for these rookies is
if they make the team, they get to do it to somebody else next year.
Which is not to say there are no surprises left this season. Consider
Danny Saleaumua, a hefty rookie nose tackle. Danny's family is from Samoa. He
knows this traditional Samoan chant and dance. He is saving it for when he
makes the team.
"It's a participation thing," he says. "I yell something, they repeat." He
demonstrates, raising one foot, then the other, stomping. "U-eee tong-ey
al-u-mey! U-EE TON-GEY . . . AL-U- MEY!"
"What does that mean?" he is asked.
"I have no idea," he says.
Should go over big.