It's All in• •

Despite cerebral palsy, Doug 'Blevinshas made himself into one of the mostastute kicking coaches in the gameBY KARL TARO GREENFELDPhotograph by Walter P. Calahan

MAMAALWAYS tells her son he can be whatever he wants tobe-as all mamas do-but in Doug Blevins's case it's probably a lie.She's watching him through the kitchen window, orange Nerffootball jammed between his wooden crutch and his right ann

after he takes a handoff from Jimmy Lowe. The neighborhood kids are playingtackle football, and they aren't taking it easy on her handicapped son. She's al-ready had to rush him to the hospital after his kneecap was shattered by a roughtackle, Still, Mama can't tell her boy that the words on those inspirationalsigns she buys at the drugstore, those lit-tle plaques reading GO FOR IT and REACHFOR THE STARS, are just platitudes-that a.

. short, scrawny boy with cerebral palsy,well,he can dream of a lot, but he shouldn'tdream of a career in professional football.

When Doug was three, in 1966, hecaught a stomach virus and was hospital-izedwith dehydration. He was a tiny boy,weighing just 20 pounds, and Mama-Linda Blevins-carried him everywhere.The pediatrician who treated Doug tookLinda aside and told her, This boy is smart.Most kids with cerebral palsy are brain-damaged and suffer from speech impedi-ments. "Not this boY; he said. "You've gotto make sure he gets his chance."

Mama always knew that her boy wasbright, and she fought for his chances.When Abingdon (Va.) Elementary Schoolofficialstold her that Doug was welcometoattend special education but not main-

STAR PUPIL Thanks to Blevins, Vinatieriwent on to kick for the Patriots and nail theSuper Bowl-winning field goal in '02 (above).

iai·Jl .stream classes; She protested that Doug wasnot retarded."Well;'. a member of the schoolboard suggested Whep. the buck was passedto him, "how about we send a teacher toyour house three days a week?"

No, Mama told him, what Doug needsis school. He needs other kids. He's a realbright boy, she would shout, and he canbeanything he wants to be.

Mama, a skinny woman with big hair,got her way. Doug went to school. And shenever told anyone her doubts about the onething Doug really wanted to be. Becausehe decided when he was four years old thathe was going to have a career in pro foot-ball. Mama said he could be anything,right? Doug never neededmuch sleep, andhe stayed awake until the end of theMonday-night game, tucked under a lightblanket in his wheelchair, his head listingto the right as it does when he is rapt.When his beloved Dallas Cowboys lost abig game, he would cry, whether he wasfiveyears old or 10, and his daddy, WillisBlevins, would say, "Son, it's just a game."

And Doug would think, No, Dad, no. It'snot just a game. Football was the one placea kid in a wheelchairwas never,eversup-posed to go. That field was reserved for thestrong, the powerful, the healthy-for menwho were nothing like Doug. But Mamasaid he could be anything he wanted. If be

Blevins'ElevenBesides the NewEngland Patriots'Adam Vinatieri, the (Iactive NFLpuntersand kickers picturedat right havebenefited from theexpert tutelage ofDoug Blevins. . Kyle Ric:hanIson. Bengals

could make it in football, Doug knew, hewould have transcended his handicap.

After his parents went to bed, he wouldsit in his room, in the cone of light cast bya helmet-shaped lamp, surrounded by realfootball helmets and team pictures andsigned photos, and he would write letters.To presidents, CEOs and, of course, foot-ball coaches and players. Ronald Reagan,Tom Landry, Roger Staubach. He wouldexplain who he was and ask them ques-tions. And they would answer. How couldthey not'? They would tell him about theirlives or the game and wish him well andsend him a signed photcollhose late nightshe was working his wayJoward something,refining his interest inthe game. He real-ized, after sending letters to Landry andCowboys kicking coach Bob Agajanian withsome questions about kicking, that no oneseemed to know-or care-very muchabout the subject. And when Agajanian an-swered and the two began a regular corre-spondence, Doug realized that here it was.A way into the NFL. Kicking.

"I remember watching kickers tie theirtoes up on the sidelines;' Blevins says, re-calling the practice that ensured a squaretoe in the days before soccer-style kicking."It was medieval. I was thinking there hadto be a better way. And I knew, since Iwould never playa down, that Ihad to de-velop a. specialty and become the best inthe world at it to even have a shot."

He was in high school when he beganworking with kickers, He sent away for everytape and instructional manual, watchedvideo of every NFL kicker. There were sim-ilarities in the techniques of successful kick-ers: Morten Andersen, Efren Herrera, JanStenerud. Each repeated the same motions.He measured his steps precisely, planted hisfoot in the same place before every kick andsquared his body to the end zone. Each hada leg that was not only powerful but alsofast. Blevins watched the tapes and made

Man TIIrk, DolphIns JDSh Miller, Patriots Chris Hansen, Jaguars DaIT8n Bennett, Viking:

notes and compared the NFL kickers withthose he was seeing in high school and col-lege games, and in all of the amateur kickershe noticed flaws, inconsistencies, tiny im-perfections that resulted in wide lefts orwide rights or short kicks.

"There hasn't been a great deal of think-ing about kicking," Blevins observes. "Thespecial teams coach is in charge of kickers,and he's almost never been a kicker."

Blevins put his theories into practiceworking with kickers as a student assistantat Abingdon High. In his senior year hewon Abingdon's Ray Petty MemorialAward, a scholarship usually given to aplayer. In 1983 Blevins matriculated at Ten-nessee, where he worked with the footballteam as an administrative assistant. Pretty

Jets' G.M., and told him about Blevins.Steinberg said, "He can't walk, how thehell do you expect him to coach'?" But hecalled Blevins and listened to this self-described "geeked-out cripple" talk foot-ball for two hours.

"Then," Blevins says, "this cripple sent ina fax report after every Jets game analyzingwhat the kickers were doing wrong." Thenext season the Jets took Blevins on as akicking consultant. "The happiest momentof my life," he recalls. His reward for finallymaking it to the NFL: about $10,000 a year.

"This is an uphill battle;' Blevins says."It's hard enough if you're not an ex-player.But if you're a cripple'? Forget it. Ineeded tohave walking, talking resumes out there.If I had guys I found Jlho became sue-

Footballwas the one place akid in a wheelchair was'N,EVER, EVER SUPPOSED TO GO. The fieldwasreserved for menwho werenotbtng like Doug.

soon 'the parents of kickers at nearby highschools were paying the kid in the wheel-

'chair $25 to $40 anhour to work With then.prodigies . .As for the Vols coacbes, he says,"They had me doing all the s=-work, fil-ing, grading film. It was like, Here's thecripple, give him stuff to do." ,

Blevins transferred to East TennesseeState in 1986 to serve as its student kick-ing coach. After graduating two years later,he formed his own kicking consulting Com-pany. Later he was hired as ari assistantfootball coach at both Abingdon High andSouthwest Virginia Community College inRichlands. At night he was back in his bed-room at home, staying up until 3 a.m.,sending out letters and resumes to NFLgeneral managers, reviewing tapes, grad-ing every kicker in the league.

An administrator at the community col-lege knew Dick Steinberg, the New York

cessful kickers in the NFL, then I'd alwayshave a place in this league. I needed to de-velop an All-Pro kicker."

THE 'GRADUATE, a kicker and punterwho had hoped to get invited to an NFLca.mp when he finished at South DakotaState in 1995,was back in the bedroom hegrew up in, staring at his old soccer tro-phies. Every morning he loaded bundles ofThe Rapid CityJournal onto trucks beforechanging into his swiinsuit and climbingthe high chair to lifeguard at a public pool.

One afternoon his college coach calledand told him that Brian Hansen, then theJets' punter, would be working out at a highschool just across the state line in Min-nesota, The graduate drove there in his1988 Nissan pickup and punted withHansen for an hour. "He was so much moreconsistent than me; the graduate says: "My

vid Men;, Eagles .100 Nooney, Titans

best ball and his best ball were about equal,but then I'd hit a s----y one, and he'd crushanother one. His were money every time."

The graduate wondered aloud abouthow to achieve that sort of consistency."Call this guy;' Hansen said, handing himDoug Blevins's business card.

The graduate sent Blevins a tape of him-self punting and kicking in college and wastold he had a good leg but needed to workon a few things. "How soon can you gethere'?" Blevins asked him.

"Give me two days," the graduate replied.WhenAdam Vinatieri got off the plane

at 'Iri-Cities Regional Airport outsideBlountville; Tenn., there in the arrivalslounge was this tiny dude with a droopingright eye and a gnarled left hand that wasbent in at the wrist like a field-hockey stick."I thought someone was making a big joke;Vinatieri recalls. "Here is this handicappedguy being wheeled around by his wife. I'mlike, Seriously, where's Blevins at'?"

Olindo Mare, DOlphins Shayno Graham, Benga/s

But in the minivan on the way to Abing-don, as Blevins described the areas theyneeded to work on-Number 1: Make sureyou are square with the goal line every timeyou kick, dammit-Vinatieri felt he hadcome to the right place:' No one had evertalked to him this knowledgeably aboutkicking. "Doug has the perfect kick in hismind," Vinatieri says. "Your perfect kick.He's never kicked a football, so he doesn'thave this idea that there is only one way todo things. He watches you and figures outwhat you need to do."

Vinatieri rented a tiny apartment inAbingdon and took successive jobs driving a. taxi, waiting tables and tending bar. Thatwinter and spring he kicked four days a week·with Blevins and headed over to Mama'shouse for Sunday dinner. "We ate, slept and.drank football," Vmatieri recalls. "We werelike two kids on the outside 100lGng in."

Blevins quickly turned Vinatieri from anaverage college kicker into a very good col- .lege kicker. By the end of the winterVmatieri had become one of the most con-sistent kickers Blevins had ever worked

. -with. "The ball was exploding off his foot,"Blevins recalls. He had become a consul-tant for NFL Europe and needed a kickerfor the video he would show to the con-verted soccer players the league was flying

.. over to Atlanta for training camp. He used .Vinatieri to demonstrate the proper tech-niques for field goals, kickoffs and punts.Pretty soon NFL Europe G.M.s were ask-

.' ing Blevins, What about the kid in the video,.can we sign him? Vinatieri joined the Am-sterdam Admirals in the spring of 1996 andwas in the New England Patriots' camp thatsummer. Two Super Bowl-winning fieldgoals later, Vinatieri says of Doug Blevins,"I wouldn't be here vvithout him."

SUPPORT TEAM Linda (in pink) and Nancyhave Doug's back as he pursues goats thatwould daunt a less determined man.

Kris Brown, Texans Aaron ElUng;Viklngs

Blevins has since helped eight otherkickers and punters make the NFL, andhe's worked with another 13 who were al-ready in the league. That's almost twodozen walking, talking resumes.

THERE IS no handicapped sticker onBlevins's minivan. He refuses to park inspaces for the disabled. And if you feelsorry for him, he has this to say to you: Pissoff. His relentlessly positive attitude seemswillfully unrealistic. When he has beenfired from coaching jobs (as when the en-tire Jets staff was dismissed after the '94season) or passed over by NFL teams, hehas insisted on seeing the rejection as anopportunity. Mama says that's just howDoug is. "Everything has been twice ashard for him," says Linda, who divorcedDoug's father in 1975. "That's really irri-tated me. But he just doesn't let it botherhim-or he doesn't let it show."

Blevins says his affliction is the "Cadillacof handicaps," in that it's not progressive orlife-threatening or completely disabling. Histireless optimism enables him to keep hisdignity when he has to hold his bladder onairplane flights; when he needs assistanceclimbing in and out of the shower; when heneeds help wiping himself at the toilet

"The hardest thing about being physi-cally handicapped;' he says, "is that womendon't find me sexually attractive." Fortu-nately, he will tell you, they ate drawn by .his blustery confidence. "Men are shallow;"he says, "but women aren't, thank God."

Blevins has been married twice: first toNenita Colon, with whom he has a six-year-old son, Roman, and now to Nancy Duque,42. Doug and Nancy just had their firstchild, Sarah Elizabeth. Both of Doug's chil-dren are healthy. The only time his mooddarkens is when he is asked about Roman,over whom he and his ex-wife are fightinga custody battle. "That's hard," he admits."That's a tough deal there."

-_ _ L__ ~ __ _ .

DOUG BLEVINS

,- -'.'::'

.i --I He does get hurt, insists the Colombian-born Nancy, but he will never admit it. "Hehas been punished;' Nancy says. "Peopleonly see him as handicapped. They don't

. see the professional in him, the man in him?'Doug is quick to dismiss pity: "We live in

the entitlement age. I'm entitled to this, tothat. F--- that Iget what Iget because Icando [the job], not because it's given to me?'

hoping to win a job with the Vikings asan assistant special teams coach. After sixseasons with the Miami Dolphins as akicking coach at $25,000 per year, hiscontract was not renewed last year, in partbecause, Blevins says, the team wantedhim to choose between coaching and run-ning his own consulting business. "I hadto support my family;' he says.

If you feel sorry for Blevins, he has this to say to you:Piss off. "Everything has been TWICE AS HARD for'him," Linda says" "but he doesn't let it bother him."

AT THE Vikings' training camp in Man-kato, Minn., the' players in their pads andcleats click across Stadium Road from thelocker room to the Minnesota State prac-tice fields. Daunte Culpepper, Randy Mossand Chris Hovan all represent ideals ofthe human form. Then here comesBlevins, buzzing along in his electricwheelchair, a baseball cap perched on hishead, which lists as he pushes 'the joystickforward with his good hand. Blevins is '

The Vikings' kickers and punters are, gathered on one of the practice fields. Askicker Aaron Elling, a longtime Blevinsclient, sets up for 30-, 40- and finally 50-yarders, Blevins wheels back and forth, mak-ing semicircles behind the kicker, impart-ing advice in his raspy Southern drawl.Elling is hooking a tiny bit. Blevins tells himto shorten his first step about six inches.

"He just sees things," says Elling. "Tenminutes and he'll improve your kicking."

Vikings coach Mike Tice agrees: "I'venever seen anyone that knowledgeableabout kicking."

BLEVINS REMAINS an insomniac.Nancy complains that when he finallywants to go to bed, at four or five in themorning, he gets her up to help him takea shower. Now, however, Doug's nocturnalhabits have an unexpected benefit. He canrespond if the baby wakes, and Nancy canget a few more hours of sleep.

Until Sarah Elizabeth stirs, Doug sits inhis office, watching videotape. The Vikingsdidn't offer him a full-time job, but he stillhopes to coach in the NFL.

He admits to just one regret: "I will neverknow what it's like to play football, to go outthere when you're hurt and it's fourth downand it's cold and raining and you've gotblood dripping down your face. I'll neverknow what it's like to be in the huddJe andsuffering and a little scared but mostly firedup and wanting it so bad that it's killing yourinsides. I'll never know how that feels."

You already do, Doug. You mow exact-ly how that feels. 0