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The Architect
Tim Layden
January 07, 2006
Five years of life lessons tinged with tragedy have changed forever the way Mack Brown goes about the business of coaching
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January 07, 2006

The Architect

Five years of life lessons tinged with tragedy have changed forever the way Mack Brown goes about the business of coaching

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ONE BLAST FROM A MANAGER'S AIR horn ended practice and sent the Texas players running to the middle of the field, where they bounced off one another in a giddy scrum. This was on Thursday of the team's mid-November bye week, and the Longhorns would not play rival Texas A&M in their last regular-season game for another eight days. After four punishing daily practices they would soon be turned loose for a long weekend before starting their stretch drive in pursuit of the school's first national championship in 36 years. Players danced and chanted and thrust fists skyward. "Going home!" shouted quarterback Vince Young.

The players formed a fluid semicircle, and many of them dropped to a knee as a man in burnt-orange sweats and a white cap called them to order. "Just a few things," said Mack Brown, 54, coach of the Longhorns and architect of the eight-year rebuilding of the Texas program. Watching from a hillside behind Brown was Darrell Royal, 81, who with his revolutionary wishbone offense had guided Texas to its last title, four coaches and a hundred broken promises ago.

"Give me your eyes now," said Brown, in a slightly elevated version of the syrupy, down-home tenor that developed long ago in his native Tennessee. "When you're home this weekend, or wherever you go, and you're watching the games on television and they put up the BCS standings, feel proud of yourselves that you're 10-0 and sitting up there in the top two. But nobody on this team wants to be remembered for losing to the Aggies. And here's something else for you to think about: Some of the buddies you'll be seeing this weekend don't have the same rules we have on this team. We're going to let you go home again after the A&M game, but know who you're driving with. There's an awful lot of drinking that goes on in that stadium."

Here, a long pause. "Be careful. All of you. Be careful."

ON NOV. 25 Texas went to College Station and beat the hated Aggies 40-29, pushing its record to 11-0 for the first time since 1983 (a season that ended with a Cotton Bowl loss to Georgia). Then, with a 70-3 rout of Colorado in the Big 12 championship game, Texas secured a place against two-time national champion and top-ranked USC in the BCS title game at the Rose Bowl.

Brown, who upon taking the job at Texas in late 1997 was called by Ohio State coach John Cooper "the Number 1 program-builder in college football," will be sainted by the Longhorns' fans for delivering a championship. And in so doing, Brown, who is 82-19 at Texas, sheds a quirky, Mickelsonian burden, for this is his first championship as a coach at any level. ( Brown's only other title of any kind came in 1967, his junior year at Putnam County High, when the Cavaliers defeated Clarksville 26-7 and were crowned unofficial Tennessee public school state champions by a Nashville newspaper.)

"Mack has worked hard, created a good atmosphere for players and hired a strong staff," says Congressman Tom Osborne (R., Neb.), who in his previous life won 255 games and three national titles at Nebraska. "You knew this could happen at Texas, with the talent and the tradition, and Mack has brought together all the pieces."

One piece is relatively new. It's the one that compels Brown to face his players and tell them not only to win football games but also to be careful. It's the piece that's formed when a man has been touched by death enough times that he steps back from an all-or-nothing philosophy and finds joy simply in the pursuit of victory. The death of his grandfather. His grandmother. His father. Eleven Texas A&M students and an alumnus. One of his own players. An old and dear high school teammate. All in a five-year span. "There's no doubt it's changed me," says Brown.

He has been coaching football since 1973, after having played it since age six in his hometown of Cookeville, Tenn., a small city in the Upper Cumberland Region. He grew up in a home in which his parents, Melvin and Katherine, sent their three sons to a Church of Christ every Wednesday and Sunday and enforced a 10 p.m. curfew. "You didn't think about missing it," says Mack's brother Watson, older by a year and now the coach at Alabama-Birmingham. The boys' grandfather Eddie (Jelly) Watson was the town's school superintendent, but he had been the high school's revered football coach when Watson and Mack were preschoolers watching from his sideline.

Like characters from a period piece, the Brown boys, including youngest brother Mel, and their friends played sports year-round. "Every game invariably ended with a fight between Watson and Mack," says Kevin Tucker, a family friend. Watson was a gifted athlete who would be recruited by Western Kentucky for basketball before signing to play football at Vanderbilt. Mack was forever chasing him. "I would run all summer just to keep up with Watson, and he'd do nothing and still be better," says Mack.

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