THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, July 31, 1995 TAG: 9507310113
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY JIM DUCIBELLA, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: FROSTBURG, MD. LENGTH: Long : 140 lines
There are so many times at practice that Bob Karmelowicz has to bite his tongue to keep from saying what's really on his mind that the Washington Redskins ought to issue him a mouthpiece.
What's really on Karmelowicz's mind is the defensive line, which he coaches. A unit opponents sprinted through for nearly 2,000 yards rushing last season. A unit that didn't have a tackler among the team's top five. A unit that, combined, fell 1 1/2 sacks short of linebacker Ken Harvey's individual total in 1994. The only unit on defense that didn't get a talent overhaul in the offseason.
``I know people think we could grab anyone off the waiver wire and improve our defensive line,'' coach Norv Turner said. ``But we think we have the young linemen here to compete.''
And it's the 46-year-old Karmelowicz's job to make Turner a prophet. One thing Turner is right about: Karm'z Kidz are young.
Take away Tim Johnson and Tony Woods, both 30, take away Bobby Wilson, 27, already seriously injured and probably out for the year, and the average age of the line is 23.
Most of them are as anonymous as a chauffeur: Anthony Abrams, Marc Boutte, Hampton native Damon Burrest, Elic Mahone, Ken Talanoa, Dexter Nottage, Lamar Mills, Rich Owens, Sterling Palmer.
So Karmelowicz, who weaned a couple of headline-grabbers at the University of Miami in Russell Maryland and Cortez Kennedy, is into nurturing.
``You can't say, `You low-rent, fiddledy-jeez, blah, blah, blah,' '' Karmelowicz said. ``You've got to say, `You got knocked off the ball, you got run over, you got cleat marks all over you, but, boy, your stance is looking much better.'
``You've got to give them a carrot to keep because it's the hardest place to play. There's a violent, full-blown collision every snap. You don't want to kick the other guy's ass, you want to kick his ass so hard his children limp.''
Karmelowicz says his Kidz have the tools to be effective pro players. Two, Nottage and Owens, have the skills to be special, but they're infants in a man's game.
There is a foundation all pro defensive linemen have in varying degrees, Karmelowicz says. Even here in Frostburg:
Quick feet that let you change directions in a flash, to stay standing even when someone weighing 330 pounds tries to chop you down. If you have slow feet, Karmelowicz promises that offensive linemen will dance on your chest.
Next comes an understanding of leverage, knowing that if you get your body to Point A and stay strong, the opponent can't move you to Point B. Or the knowledge that if he's moved you to Point B, Maneuver C should allow you to regain leverage and get back where you should be. All in one or two seconds.
The third item is instinct. It used to be called a nose for the football; today it's ``football IQ.''
``Those are things God gives you,'' Karmelowicz says. ``There might be five guys in the world who have everything.''
None of them play for the Redskins.
At 311 pounds, Boutte, 26, is big and strong enough, but his technique is raw, and he gets knocked off the line more than he should.
Nottage, 25, a college dropout, spent the offseason sculpting his body in the weight room. At 290, 20 pounds heavier than a year ago, he's able to stand his ground. But he's so inexperienced that he's still paint-by-the-numbers, not free-flowing. Work is the only answer.
The Redskins say Palmer, 24, weighs 277. He looks no more than about 260, which today makes you a linebacker. He relies on speed and quickness but is vulnerable against sheer strength. Another guy who needs to be less mechanical.
Mills, 24, can be a man-eater for three or four plays, combining raw power with the exuberance of youth. But consistency is a problem.
Owens, 23, is a rookie from Lehigh drafted exclusively on the basis of a workout he had with Karmelowicz. Owens weighs just 255 and has so much quickness Karmelowicz says, ``I'd like to know what his father and mother had the night of conception. I'd package that.'' But he has miles to go before learning the rest of the game and, at best, will be a pass-rushing specialist this season.
Abrams, Mahone, Burrest and Talanoa are behind the others and are aiming for practice-squad positions.
``Karm does an excellent job with young guys,'' Tim Johnson said. ``He's unique. When you make a mistake, he can walk you through it, talk you through it, make you see how it could have worked out. I've had a lot of good coaches, but none who could do that.''
``You deal with the other things,'' Karmelowicz says when asked about not having a superstar to coach. ``The other things that make players better.''
Those other things deal with pain - how to absorb it and keep going or, better yet, how to inflict it. Even at the best schools, college defensive linemen take only two or three hits a game that rival those that happen on every snap in the NFL.
``I told them that after the first (practice) day, they're never going to feel good, so don't think you have to be 100 percent to play 100 percent,'' Karmelowicz said. ``You're going to hurt, and if you play long enough, you will be hurt the rest of your life. You are not going to be able to get out of bed.''
Pain isn't something you just talk about. It's something you program into practice day after day, twice on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.
Karmelowicz has his Kidz charging into blocking sleds, driving them down the field 2 and 3 yards at a time. They bound toward bouncing, human-shaped, air-inflated dummies, punching them with their fists or the backs of their hands as they flash by. They go one-on-one against offensive linemen, twisting, turning, grunting, groaning to reach a 3-foot bag hanging from a pole in the backfield.
``The young guys, more than anything, have to learn that if you get a nick, you have to pull yourself through it, not hang it up,'' Johnson said. ``And it's not just playing, it's improving your play in spite of it, or practicing better in spite of it. 'Cause, if you can't handle the pain of Frostburg in July, you can't handle the pain of Philadelphia in November.''
That could be the main reason for something called the middle drill - 12 snaps of hand-to-hand combat, defensive line and linebackers vs. offensive line and backfield. The object is simple: for the offense, run between the tackles; for the defense, especially the line, drop them in their tracks.
``It's the only time of the day that's ours,'' Karmelowicz says. ``That's football. They give us 12 snaps. I tell my guys they own that f---ing period, and no one's going to take it away from us. If you don't own it, I'm going to kick your ass. It is a real emotional time for us as people.''
If a fight breaks out at practice, it's usually during middle drill. Mills suffered a compound dislocated finger in middle drill. Boutte strained his shoulder. Palmer pulled his groin. Talanoa pulled a hamstring. In 12 plays.
``You must know their pain limits,'' Karmelowicz says. ``They must know that, although this doesn't feel good, they can play with this. It's not like, `Hey, I caught this beautiful TD pass,' it's `Hey, I slammed my face in the middle of that guy's chest. It was awful, but I made a good play and I'm a good guy.'
``And no one knows how long it takes, how many snaps, before a player accepts that destiny. Maybe none of these guys get there. Maybe all of them do. If one or two get there, and that's possible, it'll be one hell of an experience from where we started.'' ILLUSTRATION: Color photos by Bill Abourjilie, Staff
Defensive line coach Bob Karmelowicz, a former coach at Miami
University, gives a lesson to one of his pupils, defensive end
Dexter Nottage, during practice at Frostburg, Md.
Defensive tackle Anthony Abrams readies himself to attack the dummy
during one of the rigorous defensive line drills.
by CNB