Sport: The Specialist

(3 of 7)

The Crisler System. The intricate system that Chappuis fits into at Michigan is designed by a man who likes to construct puzzles. At 48, greying Herbert Orin ("Fritz") Crisler has the easy, competent air of a skilled physician (he once studied medicine at the University of Chicago). An ardent admirer of Robert E. Lee's battle strategy, he tries to imitate it: feinting at one point, hitting another.

Crisler hasn't a single so-called "power play" in all his bag of tricks. Yet he builds his plays on the single-wingback, a formation fundamentally designed for power. On most teams the fullback is a burly, bludgeoning line-plunger. Crisler's fullbacks must be slick ball-handlers; they start most of his plays.

A Crisler player has to have savvy: a brainless muscleman couldn't remember all Crisler's complex plays. Michigan's current squad is scholastically above the general student average at Ann Arbor. Crisler's system is built around nine basic delayed hits and the same number of "quick hits." But all 18 can be run from seven different formations: a single-wing (balanced), a single-wing (unbalanced), the five-one, the short punt, the "T," man-in-motion, and something he calls the "300." These, plus nine basic passing plays and some "Specials," bring the total to over 170. No iron man in the days of wooden stands ever had so much to learn.

"The Lord." Coach Crisler is known at Michigan as "The Lord." The boys say that it never rains in Ann Arbor before 6 p.m., when football practice is over; Crisler won't let it. He seldom bawls anybody out, but when he does, it takes. Sample: "Confound it, if you want to be sensational, bounce the ball, turn a somersault, then pick it up and run."

Scratch a football coach, and you generally find a man who fancies himself an amateur psychologist. Among Crisler's homemade convictions is the belief that a coach's approach to his players should vary with their national origins. Italian boys, he says, need encouragement because they are lethargic in action. Scandinavians are the hardest to stir up ("I begin needling them on Tuesday"). He plasters the locker-room wall with cautionary signs. This season the warnings are directed against overconfidence. Says one: "There are no savings deposits in football. It's what you do in each game that counts."

When his boys go to the dressing room at halftime, Crisler lets them rest for six minutes. For the next five, he explains with chalk and blackboard what changes have to be made in their tactics. He does it without dramatics. If Michigan has a big lead at halftime, Crisler always asks, as his players set off toward the field: "What's the score?" The proper answer, delivered in unison: "Nuthin' to nuthin'."