My first experience with Mike Leach came during a film study session at the University of Kentucky. It was a camp for high school quarterbacks, of which I was one, though I wasn’t one of the guys they were heavily recruiting. The coaches — particularly head coach Hal Mumme and his recruiting coordinator, Claude Bassett, who would later be banned from working for an NCAA school for recruiting violations — focused most of their attention on Jared Lorenzen, who would later start four years at Kentucky (though only one for Mumme) before bouncing around the NFL. But the camp was a small one, much smaller than your typical college camp, and the coaches didn’t farm you off to local high school guys like too many of the big name college camps did then and still do. And the film instructor was some receivers coach — “Hey, where is Coach Mumme?” — named Coach Leach.
To make matters worse, we watched the same play, a flood route everyone has in their playbook (he just called it “94“), over and over again against every SEC team they ran it against. And then we got a quiz. “How far is this throw here?” he asked, as he pointed to the 10 yard out. As the route had a “10″ next to it to show where the break point was, one hapless soul raised his hand and offered, “ten yards?” I didn’t know where this was going but I knew that wasn’t the right answer, and Coach Leach just made a face like someone had broken some serious wind.
But he didn’t miss a beat and moved onto the next question: “Hey, how many of you remember the Pythagorean theorem?” No one was going to answer that question in a room full of football players, and certainly not after the last offer. “Okay, how many of you guys took geometry?” I sheepishly raised my hand, as did Lorenzen and a couple of others. Most did not. We clearly were a lame audience, so our teacher decided to push us along a little bit more quickly.
“Fine. The deal is that you can figure out how long these throws are using the pythagorean theorem,” he said, as the light went off in my head (oh yeah, that pythagorean theorem). He quickly showed us how to calculate how far each throw was based on the quarterback’s drop, the depth of the route and how far it was from the quarterback or how close to the sideline. And then we were on to another pass play.
This Mike Leach — analytical, odd (especially in a football context), but ultimately incisive and creative, shines through in his new book, Swing Your Sword. The book, edited by Bruce Feldman of ESPN**, is a highly readable and enjoyable look at the former Red Raider coach’s upbringing, influences, and experiences as a coach on the fringe who made it to the big leagues, and within one year went from the highest of highs (his team upsetting #1 Texas in November) to being dismissed and finding himself in the midst of a massive battle with ESPN and ESPN personality Craig James.
But the James fiasco aside, Leach’s legacy is as a pass-first maven who, along with Hal Mumme, created the Air Raid offense, which that took over the high school landscape and won Leach a lot of games (not to mention fans) during his times at Kentucky, Oklahoma and most significantly Texas Tech. The book does a nice job showing how Leach became the kind of coach he would become, as he was particularly drawn to the passing game. It’s actually a bit hard to remember now, but for most of football history if you were a “throwing coach” you were more of a trickster than you were a real coach. Leach says that when he and Mumme got to Valdosta State in Valdosta, Georgia in the early 1990s, he was often approached by enthusiastic and supportive but concerned fans:
Sometimes people would come up to me at the coffee shop and say, “I hope you guys do well, but you know you’re gonna have to run the ball up the middle here.”
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