Into the Fire

Sam Jankovich, who'd hired Erickson in 1989 from Washington State University (where Erickson's last team had a collective 1.94 grade point average), said: "At times, he let some players intimidate him. You could say he could have been firmer."

"With rare exception, players weren't suspended when they were arrested. Even convictions — for battery on a police officer, for carrying a concealed weapon, and for drunk driving — brought little or no punishment. Players, campus police, and female students reported sexual assaults by team members, but again, no suspensions. As to discipline by the coaches, one player said: 'At Miami, the coaches got into more trouble than the players.'"

Sports Illustrated followed up on the Herald report a month later with its infamous cover urging Miami to drop its football program. In an open letter to University of Miami president Edward T. Foote, SI writer Alexander Wolff took note of Erickson's inability to control his players at the 1991 Cotton Bowl, where Miami committed 10 personal fouls:

"Surely, as a former Marine, you must have been appalled at an environment in which players could openly defy coach Dennis Erickson's efforts to restrain them during that game and then have one of them say, as center Darren Handy did, that their behavior 'might be embarrassing to the university and the coaches, but it's not to the players. We enjoy it.'"

Among the most outrageous behavior Erickson failed to stop involved a "pay-for-play" scheme in which players received cash bonuses for making big plays during games.

The Herald reported in a May 20, 1994, story that rap star Luther Campbell gave players cash for stellar performances, including big hits, during games. Though Campbell denied the assertions, the newspaper said he paid as much as $500 for a touchdown. Money also came from former Hurricanes making millions in the NFL. The Herald reported that "many players were aware of the deals, which occurred while the Hurricanes won national championships in 1987, 1989, and 1991." The newspaper quoted Erickson as saying: "I wasn't aware of these things. Why would anyone in a program as good as this one know about this and let it go?"

The NCAA's investigators later determined that Erickson did know about the pay-for-play scheme and failed to take significant action to stop it.

In an interview with New Times last month, SI's Wolff says Miami's success on the field resulted, in part, from Erickson's willingness to ignore transgressions by players in order to field the strongest team.

"When you have that kind of a track record, it also includes all the things that go along with winning, which includes looking the other way," Wolff said. There's plenty of incentive to look the other way in bigtime college football. There are millions of dollars at stake — for players hoping to make it to the NFL, for coaches wanting to land million-dollar jobs, and for universities seeking fat bowl-game and television payouts.

Just as Erickson turned a blind eye to the issues rocking Miami, ASU is now engaging in the same look-the-other-way behavior in its public statements about his Miami legacy. It's no surprise, because ASU has plenty of practice at turning a blind eye to problems on its own football team.

In the months leading up to the March 26, 2005, murder of Brandon Falkner, then-coach Dirk Koetter did everything possible to get his star running back, Loren Wade, back on the team.

Wade had been suspended from the team in fall 2004 after accepting payments from an athletic department friend with whom he'd had a sexual affair. Wade missed the rest of the 2004 season, but by early 2005, Koetter had decided to reinstate the running back. Koetter made that decision even though he'd received extremely troubling information concerning Wade's behavior.

Koetter was aware that Wade had threatened to kill a female gymnast. Koetter also had received a report from ASU's women's soccer coach that players were terrified because Wade possessed a gun. He also knew that Wade's girlfriend had called police, fearing Wade was going to destroy her apartment after he threatened her life.

Rather than report Wade's increasingly dangerous behavior to campus police or to student-affairs authorities, Koetter elected to counsel Wade personally.

Koetter's decision allowed Wade to careen out of control in early 2005. If campus police and university authorities had known he was carrying a gun and making death threats, he almost certainly would've been expelled from ASU.

Wade's criminal defense attorney, Ulises Ferragut, says that although Wade accepts full responsibility for the shooting, ASU should have provided better guidance to him in fall 2004 and early 2005, when it was clear that he was struggling with a volatile relationship and with the fallout caused by his suspension from the team.

"When things went awry, instead of the coaching staff saying 'Time out!' they sort of just let it go on," Ferragut says. ASU, he says, sent "the wrong message to Wade" by allowing his aberrant behavior to go unchecked.