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The TV screen beams photos of the petite motorized scooter that once carried the 6-foot-6 Newton between classes. Leno hints at a possible vehicle upgrade by asking whether Cam intends to declare himself eligible for the NFL draft, bypassing his senior season. Newton promises to let him know.
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few nights after the Leno appearance, Auburn issues a media alert stating the inevitable: Cam Newton will forego his senior season and turn pro. It is believed that he did not alert Jay Leno of his plans. The following day, Nick Fairley follows suit. The 300-pound tackle, one of nine siblings, shares the decision from his favorite venue for issuing life-changing announcements—his old stomping grounds, Williamson High School in Mobile, which presumably will be the site for news of his retirement from the NFL. A third early exit provides a final surprise in a season full of them. Wide receiver Darvin Adams, a junior from Canton, Miss., is projected as a late-round draft pick. Like a traditional family wrestling with a mix of pride and sadness as one of its own leaves for college, the Auburn family experiences similar emotions when an accomplished athlete quits school in favor of going pro. The farewells of Newton, Fairley and Adams from a team top-heavy with seniors compromise the chances of a sequel this year. Among those whose eligibility expired were four starting offensive linemen (including all-stars Lee Ziemba and Ryan Pugh), three reliable defensive linemen, a linebacker and a safety. Reinforcements are on the way from a recruiting class that the geeks who evaluate such things rate among the nation’s best. Jacobs, still bent on keeping his coaching staff intact, grants across-the-board raises, none more generous than the one given to Gus Malzahn, winner of the 2010 Broyles Award for the nation’s best assistant coach. Targeted by two colleges with head coaching vacancies, Malzahn is persuaded to stay with a deal reported to be worth as much as $1.3 million annually, perhaps the most of any assistant in the country.
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he Raine Reception Center makes room for its newest item—the American Football Coaches Association National Championship Trophy, made of Waterford crystal, weighing 45 pounds and worth $30,000. Its value to Auburn? Priceless. Paul E. White, the frustrated alumnus from Stone Mountain, Ga., whose cable company failed him in his time of need, is undecided about whether to keep his premium TV package into the upcoming football season, though he leans toward switching to another provider. And J. Stephen Stellman, the superstitious alum, tentatively plans to keep not watching. “The team seems to win when I don’t know what’s going on,” he says. “Why break up a good thing?”
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Auburn Magazine a u a l u m . o r g
Sated and elated The concession stands, having been de-winterized for Auburn University’s official national championship celebration at Jordan-Hare Stadium in January, were down to funnel cakes and popcorn kernels before the players had even been introduced. The hot dogs and nachos had already been gobbled up by the 78,000 Tigers fans in attendance. The number of people who showed up amounted to 8,000 more than the university planned for and 30,000 more than city officials expected. The Auburn family was hungry. There were old men there, bundled against the cold in officially licensed sweatshirts. Some of them had been waiting for this moment since they were students at Alabama Polytechnic Institute. Some of them thought they might not live to see another one. There were boomers there, just babies when it happened the first time, who’d thought they might not live to see another one. And there were young fans there who said to themselves: “So this is what a championship looks like.” It had been 53 years. “We’ve got a big God,” Chizik told the crowd, “and he said ‘yes’ to Auburn football.” Beside Chizik, sunlight glinted off the trophies that proved it. Behind Chizik were the players—including the “blessed individual” who won the Heisman Trophy and the merry “tweeter” who garnered the Lombardi Award—who proved it. Nearby was the giant mass of Auburn students who showed up hours early to stand on the field, ensuring their small part in this moment, along with children who, chasing wind-blown commemorative posters, sneaked across the end-zone wall when security wasn’t looking, and sometimes even when they were. That proved it, too. “There’s a lot of love in front of me and a lot of love all around this place,” Chizik said, head bowed with emotion. “You are the best fans in the United States of America, and you have helped us and been a huge part in being the best football team in the United States of America. “War Damn Eagle.” Alumni cried. Fans cheered. We were, finally, full. —Jeremy Henderson ’04