NFL teams
Eric Adelson 19y

Lean Mean

North Texas Mean Green, Miami Dolphins, New England Patriots

Let's be real: the University of North Texas is not going to beat LSU in Baton Rouge on Sept. 3. This is what UNT head coach Darrell Dickey refers to as a "money game." Just like the other 14 games UNT has played against BCS heavies this millennium (all but one losses, all but two on the road). But don't blame the Mean Green for grabbing some mean green. The school's 53-year-old Fouts Field is-keep it real, now-decrepit. The players call it the Tin Can. A tattoo parlor sits near one side, the softball office-a trailer on blocks, with a flat tire-bumps up against the other. The athletic director says there's a bunch of people on campus who'd like to run the place over with a bulldozer.

Opponents regularly try to get North Texas to hold "home" games 32 miles away, in Texas Stadium. (UNT has obliged 20 times since 1971.) When North Texas was invited to hold an intrasquad scrimmage at a local high school field, it said sure. Can't blame the Mean Green for that, either: the facility had FieldTurf. Fouts Field? Beat-up old AstroTurf. But don't feel sorry for North Texas, either. You can't pity a place where public expectations are as low as attendance. See, down in Denton, no boosters bitch about a boring running game. No big-city reporters whine about the Dallas prep who got away. No overbearing alums call for the coach's head after a blowout loss to Oklahoma. And no egotistical recruits mope about blocking for a slower guy or sharing reps with a smaller guy.

Let the BCS schools deal with the "disappointment" of a three-loss season and a December bowl. North Texas is on its way to an almost-unheard-of fifth straight conference championship, whether it beats LSU or not. And nowhere else in America, nowhere, will you find two running backs who have each led the nation in rushing and yet happily share the same room on the road, let alone the same huddle. Maybe Michigan or USC could learn something from li'l old North Texas. Want to see the best football? LSU's your team. But if you want to see the purest football…

EXACTLY HOW is it possible that a music school (Norah Jones' alma mater) has hit the national football consciousness after decades of dormancy? Even Mean Joe Greene— yes, he inspired the nickname— couldn't get this team to a bowl. What turned the tide? Some would say it was Dickey's bludgeoning running game, which has produced the wonder-twin backfield of Patrick Cobbs and Jamario Thomas. (The pair have rushed for a combined 3,537 yards over the past two seasons.) Others would credit AD Rick Villarreal, the former Domino's franchise owner, who employs guerrilla tactics like driving up to students on campus and offering them North Texas gear. But let's be fair: it started with Booger.

Who's Booger? First of all, know that in the five years before Booger arrived in 2000, North Texas was 16— 39 with no winning seasons. And the Mean Green's bowl history? A loss to New Mexico State in the 1959 Sun Bowl, a loss to Nevada in the 1948 Salad Bowl and a win over Pacific in the 1946 Optimist Bowl. UNT even dropped down to the D1-AA Southland Conference from 1983 to 1994. But that was before Booger.

Booger is Brandon Kennedy. He's 5'10" (maybe), 350 pounds (definitely) and-by the way-he can dunk a basketball. (Reality check: "Not no more-I picked up 25 pounds," Booger says. "But I can still get up.") Booger got snubbed by the big schools, but when the defensive lineman rumbled onto campus, the 2— 9 Mean Green quickly discovered they had a rarity around Denton: an NFLcaliber player. Booger (his aunt called him her "little booger bear") laid such waste to double- and triple-teams that referees told him they couldn't call holding because there'd be a whistle on every play. Mack Brown, who knows something about dominating defensive tackles, said his Longhorns couldn't block Booger, that he looked like an All-America against them. "Our offensive philosophy was hand off and punt," says offensive coordinator Ramon Flanigan, "because nobody could do anything with him. He changed our athletic program."

As Booger rampaged, his team clawed its way to respectability. From 3— 8 in 2000 to an improbable 5— 7 Sun Belt championship season in 2001 that began with five losses. Dickey finally had something to sell across the plains: a shiny trophy and a bubbly and bubble-shape star. Every prospect to visit Denton spent quality time with Booger.

One of the first recruits to be wowed by Boogereven before that Sun Belt title-was another undersized underdog. The book on Patrick Cobbs, a 5'9" powerlifter, was that he was an inch too small and a step too slow to play D1-A, even after he gained 2,354 yards at Tecumseh (Okla.) High. He realized North Texas was the kind of place that gave a guy a shot. "He was in the same situation as me," Booger says. "He didn't have too many choices. Coach Dickey doesn't care about that. He'll put you out there." Dickey didn't promise BMOC status or BCS hopes. All he promised was the chance to get a degree, play some and win.

More championships followed. Money trickled in, and improved facilities-including new turf and a weight room better than the one at the local Curves-sprouted. And a framework for success was hatched: run like hell, hit like hell and recruit kids the big dogs left behind. "We don't print out the top-100 list," says Flanigan. "We go on recon missions. We look at how a kid talks to his mom."

TWO MAMA'S boys walk into a conference room for a film session. They are the nation's leading rusher in 2003, Cobbs (152.7 yards per game) and his successor to the title, Thomas (180.1). Flanigan shuts off the lights, flicks on a projector and uncorks his laser pointer. Today's subject: the inside zone. No surprise there. The Mean Green run it on about every offensive down. They call it "32." No fun 'n gun for UNT. Just a run, usually straight ahead, kind of like a draw. The wideouts block like tight ends; the tight ends block like tackles. "This," says Flanigan, "is what got us our new facilities."

It's simple enough. The right guard takes out his man-"All we want him to do is not miss," Flanigan says-while the center and left guard hold up their guys, keeping an eye out for oncoming linebackers. The tailback takes a side step, waits for a hole and goes. Repeat as necessary, like 40 times a game. No Barry Sanders cutbacks or Orlando Pace pancakes required. "Hand the ball off and look at the right guard," says Dickey. "After that, it's Did we do a good job recruiting?'"

That would be a yes. Cobbs' only D-1A offer came from Dickey, who trusted his gut more than his stopwatch and measuring tape. Thomas stiffarmed interest from Texas Tech and Arizona State, in part because of North Texas' specialized academic program. He has dyslexia. "I got so frustrated in high school," he says. "I wanted to give up." (UNT also has a quarterback and a wideout with dyslexia.) A sophomore with a big-jawed smile, Thomas, who looks younger and more impressionable than his 20 years, speaks to local kids about overcoming the adversity. Cobbs, a senior with light eyes and a knowing grin, looks older and wiser than 22. He does volunteer work with boys who are growing up without fathers. Neither Cobbs nor Thomas has any visible tats or a swagger, no front. In fact, you could easily mistake them for second-stringers. "Both are giving, humble, considerate," says Flanigan.

Each of them grew up within a three-hour drive of the school (Cobbs to the north; Thomas to the east, in Longview, Texas). That means they can get back every now and then for some home cookin' and TLC from Moms. And their families are happy they don't need a dish to see their boys play.

The pair quietly watch the film as if it were of a humiliating loss instead of one of UNT's 25 straight conference wins. They don't hesitate to point out their own mistakes. Thomas nearly strangles himself when he sees a decent off-tackle gain that could have gone outside for 75 yards and a score. Cobbs tries to will the film version of himself to take a slower sidestep (a key to the inside zone) before plunging into a gap. Flanigan glares, grimaces and grins in accordance with each play and sprinkles the tutorial with jabs at Jamario's increased girth. Did he overeat this summer? Thomas, of course, confesses.

Cobbs ran for 100 yards in nine straight games in 2003 and became the nation's only back that season to blow past the 200-yard mark four times. "We'd like to say we thought he'd accomplish what he has," Dickey says. "But it wouldn't be true." Then Cobbs hurt his left knee in the second game last season, and in came Thomas. In his first start, against Colorado in Boulder, the freshman took his first handoff, lowered, exploded into the line and broke through for 57 yards and a TD. When he came back to the bench, he was gaping in amazement and gasping. "I can't breathe!" he said over and over again, as Cobbs, on crutches, laughed.

Thomas ended up with 247 yards against the Buffs. The Mean Green lost (52-21) that day, as they would every Saturday that September, but Thomas never stopped running. Then North Texas reeled off seven straight conference wins and punched a fourth straight ticket to the Big Easy for the New Orleans Bowl. Thomas was one of three freshman backs ever to run for 1,800 yards (Ron Dayne and Adrian Peterson are the others).

Through it all, Cobbs cheered his road-trip roomie. And he still does, even though he knows full well that they'll be competing for carries this season. "I'm looking forward to it," he says.

So is Boog. "Man," he says. "Give one of them the ball and just watch."

THE COLD, hard truth is that five nation-leading rushers might not be enough to put North Texas on the same level as fifth-ranked LSU. The Tigers claim to have the largest training facility in all of college athletics; it's nearly four times as big as UNT's brand-new pad. Tiger Stadium (recently expanded to 91,644) will easily draw more fans on Sept. 3 than Fouts Field did in five games last season (75,921). "It's gonna be crazy," says Thomas. "People will be throwing beer cans." Flanigan peers down the conference room table and tells the sophomore about the caged tiger that will snarl at the visitors and maybe even shred a tiny Jamario Thomas doll before kickoff. Thomas' eyes widen.

"This is not a little tiger," Flanigan says. "This is a National Geographic tiger!" Thomas just stares. Flanigan repeats it: "A National Geographic tiger!" North Texas' mascot is a sneaker-clad eagle named Scrappy.

Then again, the final score doesn't actually matter. UNT coaches have told the team that even a win at LSU and an undefeated season will land them in the same postseason place as always: the New Orleans Bowl. So the Mean Green will play hard, take their check, put it toward a new stadium and start working their way back to Louisiana.

Booger, now at camp with the Detroit Lions, has a good feeling about the game: "LSU better put 12 men in the box, or they're going to be in trouble." And why wouldn't he? This program has already accomplished plenty. Booger and Patrick and Jamario have North Texas on the verge of becoming only the 11th D1-A school in history to win five straight conference championships. And Thomas may end up as one of the most prolific backs in the history of the college game. He's already good enough to start almost anywhere-even Baton Rouge. Heck, he might eventually be bigger around here than Booger.

For real.

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