NFL teams
Gene Wojciechowski, Senior Writer 18y

Golden Boyz

Chicago Cubs, Baltimore Ravens, Notre Dame Fighting Irish

Thursday is Jarhead Day at the Notre Dame residence of the Consonant Twins, Jeff Samardzija and Tom Zbikowski. Every week during the season, Zbikowski takes a seat and Samardzija takes a hair trimmer, puts it on the dreaded No. 1 blade and has at it. Soon the junior strong safety is sporting that Camp Pendleton look. Hoo-rah!

Zbikowski, of course, wouldn't think of shearing Samardzija's shoulder-length locks. The last time Samardzija got a buzz cut was after his old man dropped him off in South Bend for his first training camp two years ago. "We'll take good care of him," an assistant coach told Sam Samardzija. "None of that hazing stuff happens here."

Really? "First picture I see of him on the Internet … sure enough, shaved head," says Sam.

If anyone tried that now, they'd have to answer to Samardzija's roommate and best bud, and you wouldn't want that. Zbikowski is a Golden Gloves heavyweight who once fought for Team De La Hoya and still knocks around the heavy bag. He's the kind of guy who wears a sleeveless T-shirt in the dead of winter just to mess with the California kids on the roster. "They're like two eggs from the same carton," says Sam. "They've become brothers, really. Pick on one and you're picking on both of them."

Then again, try to cut Samardzija's celebrated locks and you'll have to deal with worse than Zbikowski. Notre Dame's coeds would pour hot wax from Grotto candles on anyone who snipped a single strand. The junior wideout has officially achieved full hottie status on the Quad.

A few weeks ago, just hours before the Irish's final home game, two volunteers stood outside Notre Dame Stadium hawking football calendars to benefit a local charity. A young woman paused and glanced at the cover before asking if Samardzija was inside. "No," said one of the volunteers, who added quickly, "but he'll be in it next year." The prospective buyer walked on.

This is too weird. A year ago Notre Dame was a .500 program. Casual fans thought Samardzija was a prescription drug and knew Zbikowski only as that guy who spurned a shot on The Contender. But now, in no small part because of The Unpronounceables, the Irish are relevant again. Cool, even.

At Stanford Stadium, after the Irish clinched their first BCS bowl bid in five years with a last-minute win, Samardzija needed help from security to get from the exit gate to the team bus. His dad couldn't even get to him. Yes, the hair has something to do with it, but so do those 15 touchdowns (two against Stanford, including an 80-yarder) and 1,190 receiving yards, both single-season school records.

Zbikowski has his own followers too, not least of whom is Passion of the Christ star and football honk James Caviezel. Caviezel, whose brother-inlaw is Miami Dolphins offensive coordinator Scott Linehan, attended the USC game in South Bend, tailgated with the Zbikowskis at Stanford and sat next to Tom's dad, Ed, during the game. Jesus … Notre Dame … comeback win. Figures.

Everything is divine at Notre Dame this season: victory totals, NBC's ratings, sales figures of anything gold or plaid. Compare that with the end of 2004, when you needed a triage unit to sift through the rubble of last season. There was the canning of Tyrone Willingham after just three years. A 17-point loss in the third-tier Insight Bowl. The whole mess was bloodier than the final shootout in Scarface. "There was no reason for us to be 6—6," says Zbikowski, who doesn't bother to hide the disgust in his voice.

For this year's 9—2 record, Fiesta Bowl invite and busloads of A-list recruits, Irish fans should address their thank-you notes to Charlie Weis, the first-time college head coach who has rightfully earned the adoration. Quarterback Brady Quinn, the school's all-time leader in passing yardage, touchdowns and Weis-arranged phone calls from Tom Brady, will get some fan mail too. So will leading rusher Darius Walker, 1,000-yard receiver Maurice Stovall and linebacker Brandon Hoyte.

But the faithful need to save a couple of stamps for the 6'5", long-maned receiver-who began the season without a TD since his senior year at Valparaiso (Ind.) High-and the 5'11" bruiser of a converted quarterback from Arlington Heights, Ill., who nearly ditched the Irish during the worst year of his career. Both are shining examples of what this resurgent Notre Dame team is made of: survivors.

Samardzija is of Serbian descent. Zbikowski's roots are Polish. Samardzija is a White Sox fan. Zbikowski favors the Cubbies. Samardzija likes to fish. Zbikowski would rather stick knitting needles in his eyes. Samardzija also plays baseball for the Irish. Zbikowski would rather stick knitting needles in his eyes. But both come from tough, Catholic, middle-class families. And they share the same old-school morals, loyalty and addiction to winning. "There's not one thing he could ask me that I wouldn't do," says Samardzija of his roomie. "If that's what constitutes being brothers, then I think there's no better way to describe it."

"Pretty much the same for me," says Zbikowski.

Samardzija's caught 15 scores; Zbikowski (9) has four on returns.

Notre Dame would not be cashing that $14 million-plus bowl check if not for Zbikowski and Samardzija. Just ask Weis, who calls Zbi/Mardzija "definitely two significant keys." Trust us, for a careful guy who'd probably call Touchdown Jesus a "significant mural," that's high praise.

And yet, neither Samardzija nor Zbikowski has heard a peep from two-time Super Bowl MVP Brady, or, for that matter, from any player Weis coached during a three-ring run as the Pats offensive coordinator. They don't take it personally. Well, not too personally, anyway. "I think it's a little secret crush Coach Weis has for quarterbacks," says Samardzija. "Tommy is just waiting for Rodney Harrison or Mike Vrabel to give him a call. I'm waiting for Deion Branch or David Givens."

Truth is, Samardzija and Zbikowski have a not-so-secret crush on Weis. Before the new coach arrived, Samardzija had exactly one career start and 24 total catches. This season he's a Biletnikoff finalist and a lock for All-America. "It's all I've been waiting for," says Samardzija, sitting at a table with Zbikowski at the school's new football facility. "A couple of chances here and there to show what I could bring to the field." His roommate, who can't pull a punch, is less diplomatic. "I've been saying since my freshman year he should be the No. 1 receiver," says Zbikowski.

Zbikowski was an instant Weis fave. He knocks you out of Michiana, plays as if his scholarship depended on every tackle and returns anything that touches his hands (he has taken two of his interceptions and two punt returns to the house). Playing him was a no-brainer. As Weis told Ed after a late-spring practice, "I didn't have to make him tough. He already was."

Zbikowski gives Notre Dame a jagged edge. He's direct, as subtle as a No. 1 blade. Samardzija is no less intense, he just hides it better. His voice is softer; there's more time before his answers. They met as high school juniors at a football camp at Northwestern. But it wasn't until the 2002 Notre Dame Blue-Gold spring game, when the two recruits and their dads sat in the stands in a driving rainstorm, that they began to form their bond. You should have seen the four of them that day: soaked to the bone, laughing, somehow managing to enjoy a meaningless 3-0 game.

The Samardzijas needed a reason to smile. Less than a year earlier, Jeff's mother, Debora, had died of acute respiratory distress syndrome. Her quick deterioration got the best of her usually stoic son.

"I can remember a couple of times Jeff just breaking down and crying," says Sam. "He's 16 years old at the time, that was really a lot for him to break down. Jeff never cried.

"You pick yourself off the floor," says Sam. "You walk around in a gray, dark world, and then one day you hope to come out of it." The darkness lasted much too long. Mom wasn't there for Jeff's games, for prom, for graduation, for the shipping off to South Bend.

Samardzija played that first season, but not much. Sometimes at practice, he and Zbikowski, the former high school All-America quarterback turned safety, would go off to the side and conjure make-believe moments. Zbikowski drops back … finds Samardzija … touchdown! They were teammates in the process of becoming friends.

Zbikowski, who could have gone to Nebraska and run its offense if Notre Dame hadn't always been his only choice (a "Play Like a Champion" sign hung in his boyhood bedroom), dressed for only one game in 2003. On every away-game Saturday, he made the two-hour drive home or waited for his dad to pull up in South Bend. "He'd watch the game and be very, very quiet," says Ed. This was the first time since he was 5 that Zbikowski wasn't playing. "I'd punch things, and not punching bags," says Zbikowski, who has fought nearly 75 amateur bouts. "It wasn't people or anything. Walls. Chairs."

He told Ed it was too cold in South Bend, that there weren't any girls, that school was hard. But really it was about not playing football. He talked about transferring. This, after all, was a player with such a football jones that when he visited his grandfather's grave at Saint Adalbert Catholic Cemetery in Niles, Ill., he also paid respects at the mausoleum of Chicago Bears icon George Halas. "I wasn't the happiest in my life," he says.

Samardzija could see the frustration build in Zbikowski. Everyone could. "One, football means so much to Tommy," says Samardzija. "And two, it's tough to see the guys who are playing ahead of you, and you know you're better than them."

Zbikowski stayed put at Notre Dame, but he didn't stay still. He spent Christmas break training in the gym as if he were preparing to fight Oscar De La Hoya himself. He ran indoor track. He kicked some blue-and-gold butt in spring practice. And he began to show up at Irish baseball games to watch the walk-on Samardzija pitch. The next year they were roommates. It's been that way since.

Thing is, you have to earn Zbikowski's friendship. He's always prided himself on being able to judge character. It's why he admires Willingham, adores Weis and trusts Samardzija.

And it's why Samardzija trusts him back.

It isn't unusual for Samardzija and Zbikowski to make the drive home together in the off-season. Sometimes the road trip takes them to Valpo. Other times to the cul-de-sac in Arlington Heights where "Tough Tommy"--or "Nails," as the neighborhood kids called him--was born and raised.

Everyone knows about the Zbikowski basement. That's where Tom hangs, where his high school buddies, including the guys who served in Iraq, come to bust on each other. Samardzija's been in that basement plenty, taken their best shots and given them back. He has always been able to trashtalk a bit, which is just another reason he and Zbikowski get along. They back down to no one.

Once in a while, they'll sit on the couch and a watch tapes of Zbikowski's Golden Gloves bouts. Upstairs in the kitchen, Ed will be making kielbasa, or pierogi, or stuffed cabbage.

It isn't much different at the Samardzijas'. TV. Hanging out. Maybe a trip to Jeff's favorite Mexican food joint. There's a new stepmom and baby brother. Everyone gets along famously. At last, not so many gray days.

In fact, everyone is downright blissful these days. Zbikowski is playing like he was always meant to, with swagger. Transfer? Who said anything about transferring? "I couldn't have chosen a better place," Zbikowski gushes. As Ed says,

"Now all of a sudden, school's not as hard, the girls are prettier and it's not that cold."

And no player has had a bigger breakout this fall than Samardzija. Player agents have been hounding his dad with phone calls, just in case Jeff wants to turn pro at season's end. Good luck with that sales pitch. Samardzija says he'll return for his senior year. No way he can ditch his teammates, the coach who did mouth-to-mouth to his career or his best friend. "That's just not how I work," he says.

Samardzija can't leave, anyway. Who'd cut Zbikowski's hair?

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