Brian's Pitch

It was a big evening for Notre Dame Assistant Football Coach Brian Boulac. For six months the recruiter had quietly but persistently homed in on Dennis Grindinger, 17, an outstanding tight end at Jesuit College Preparatory School in Dallas. The competition had been heavy. Oklahoma had dispatched a recruiter to Dallas eleven times to woo Dennis and his family. Texas Head Coach Darrell Royal had phoned twice that very day. Now it was Boulac's turn, and he played his ace: Notre Dame Head Coach Dan Devine came with him to the Grindingers' living room and made a persuasive, impassioned pitch.

"Say 'we,' not 'they,' " suggested Devine as Dennis looked over a schedule of future Notre Dame games. The senior Grindingers and two of Dennis' younger brothers laughed nervously. Then Dennis said shyly, "I think I could see myself saying that, sir." A smile flashed across Boulac's face. "In that case," joked Devine, "I'd better teach you the Irish fight song." In a moment the family was arrayed around Dennis and his mother at the piano as Devine directed a spirited rendition of the old tune. When the coaches departed two hours later, Boulac said, "I've got the feeling he'll sign with us."

Endless Hunt. Grindinger had little time to make his final choice. Last Wednesday was D-day for signing a national letter of intent, the formal document with which high school seniors pledge themselves to one school. For Notre Dame and scores of other colleges, there is no more costly or critical contest than the annual quest for signatures. Nor, for less scrupulous schools, is there a dirtier sport (TIME, Jan. 21,1974). The reason: failure to get enough of the right names on the dotted line can mean disaster in the stadium. "Recruiting is the lifeblood of a college program," says Devine. "Without recruiting, Notre Dame would be 0-11."

Brian Boulac, 33, a 1960-62 Notre Dame end, has been living with that pressure for a decade. For him, the high-stakes competition boils down to a numbing succession of airplanes, strange faces and out-of-focus films of high school games. The hunt never stops. As soon as one class of recruits signs, the search for the next starts. At Notre Dame the pace is killing because the school recruits from coast to coast, yet has no full-time scouts. As a result, all eight assistant coaches live a double life.

For Boulac, whose territory includes Washington, Oregon and parts of Texas and Ohio, the cycle begins in earnest during the summer with mailed queries to hundreds of high school coaches for the names of prospects. Their replies provide a pool of nearly 1,000 candi dates. Next, each youngster receives a questionnaire asking if he is interested in Notre Dame. That begins a whittling-down process designed to cut the number to a more manageable 100 by December when Boulac begins weekly jet tours. Dressed in a green "Irish" blazer, Boulac passes through an endless series of gyms and coaches' offices looking at film and meeting players, trying to identify 20 to 25 blue-chip prospects whom he should visit at home. It is there, around the kitchen table or the fireplace, that Boulac makes the big pitch.

"I tell the boys and their parents that Notre Dame has a great football tradition," he says, "but that we don't sacrifice academic standards to produce a winner. If a boy is very interested in studying, I may work the academic angle harder. I also tell them our campus has a cosmopolitan atmosphere, and you can't forget it is a school with a nationwide following." Where appropriate, he mentions Notre Dame's Roman Catholic underpinnings. Boulac, a gentle giant, helps his sell with a sincere, low-key delivery. When he needs help, he turns to distinguished Notre Dame alumni. In Dallas, he is likely to make home visits with Joe Haggar, whose family owns Haggar Co., the slacks manufacturer, and put up money for Haggar Stadium at Jesuit Prep.

Ironically, Notre Dame's power often works against Boulac. "The biggest thing we have to overcome," he says, "is that people think we've got a bunch of superathletes stacked up on the sidelines. That's not true." Dennis Grindinger, for instance, was concerned because last season Notre Dame had started a freshman tight end. Did that mean that he might have to sit and wait on the bench for his first three years? Boulac had a ready response: "I told Dennis that if he came we would institute a two-tight-end offense."

Such promises are not impulsive.

Every Monday during the peak recruiting weeks of January and February, the coaching staff coordinates tactics. "We've got to see how a guard in Texas compares with a guard in California," says Boulac, "and decide which we want." Notre Dame also has to be careful not to offer too many $4,000-a-year scholarships. In a rule adopted last year to cut costs and stop colleges from buying their way into the top ten, the N.C.A.A. has limited the number of football scholarships a school can give to 30 a year.

Saying No. Weekends in January and early February, Boulac and his fellow coaches gather at Michiana Regional Airport in South Bend to greet prospects flown in for a packed round of parties, sumptuous meals, meetings with admissions officers and chats with Devine. Boulac admits that all this courting could leave a 17-year-old limp, particularly if ten or 15 schools are hot after him. "The toughest thing for a kid today," says Boulac, "is to say no. When a coach comes 1,000 miles to see you at home, it's hard to say you're going somewhere else." Boulac makes the most of that difficulty. Last Wednesday he was sitting again in the Grindingers' Dallas living room as Dennis signed a letter of intent to attend Notre Dame.

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