More than a million teenagers play high school football across the United States, and one of those kids, the star running back for the Libertyville High School Wildcats, just took the handoff on a double dive. So hungry to reach the NFL that he’s already being counseled by a personal trainer, a “speed specialist,” and a California-based dietician, the kid gets to the corner and explodes–one furious stride splitting two defenders.
In 1998 the quarterback for Chicago’s Mount Carmel High School, alma mater of the Philadelphia Eagles’ Donovan McNabb, sued his head coach. He alleged that the coach had discouraged big-time college programs from recruiting him. Lemming was served a subpoena to be deposed as an expert witness. Two Decembers ago the University of Nebraska fired its head coach after a season in which the team won nine, lost three. It was widely believed that one of the sacked coach’s fatal failings was an inability to recruit players regarded highly enough by the likes of Tom Lemming.
But what makes Lemming the most influential analyst is his presence on the masthead of ESPN.com, the Internet’s largest sports site, and his annual U.S. Army All-American Bowl, a prep all-star contest that the army sponsors for its own recruiting reasons. Lemming earns no money from the game, but he alone selects the East and the West teams, some 70 players in all, who face off in January inside San Antonio’s Alamodome. (This year’s game is on Saturday.) In addition, he has a hand in choosing the 50 Gatorade players of the year, one per state, and the Reebok and USA Today all-America teams. “Every big team that’s picked, I pick it,” Lemming says. Many all-stars announce their college decisions on the sidelines during the army game, a bit of dramaturgy arranged by their host.
“I feel bad for the kids he’s advising. They shouldn’t be listening to someone with a business interest in what he’s advising.”
The kickoff falls into the hands of the Libertyville star, the senior with the number 9 jersey and mellifluous name, Santino Panico. Twenty times a game the stadium’s tinny PA system blares “San-tee-no! Pa-nee-co!”
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The fathers of promising players surround Lemming at Chicago’s suburban football fields and say things like “With Tom Lemming, this is about the kids.” He has dark curly hair, a fleshy face, and drowsy blue eyes. After so many years spent summarizing boys, he speaks in sound bites. No matter the weather, he prefers tight black T-shirts of a stretch fabric that conforms to his gym-built physique. During football season, the slowest time of his year, he structures his day around two-hour weight-lifting sessions at the Bally’s health club in Schaumburg.
By the time of the Antioch game he’d known the Panicos for almost a year. He considered them among his friends, a common enough relationship when it comes to the families of area recruits. During the Antioch game, he said proudly, if inaccurately, “Panico is Libertyville’s big-play guy. Without him they’re nothing.”
