The last time Charles Woodson went home to see his mom in Ohio, he noticed that her walls and shelves were bulging with his many plaques, certificates and awards.
“But we’ve always got room for another trophy,” Woodson says with a grin.
How about two?
Georgia Woodson will have to clear a space for the Tribune’s 1997 Silver Football, honoring Michigan’s junior cornerback as the Big Ten Conference’s Most Valuable Player. While she’s at it, Mrs. Woodson might want to make sure there’s a spot for the Heisman Trophy, just in case.
Tennessee quarterback Peyton Manning remains the favorite going into Saturday night’s award ceremony in New York, but national polls indicate that Woodson is making a serious bid to become the first defensive player to win the most prestigious individual award in sports. In one poll of about a sixth of the voters nationwide, Woodson was the top choice on two-thirds of the ballots.
The 21-year-old Woodson made his most compelling arguments on the field this autumn. But he would like someone to explain why defensive players rarely receive serious consideration.
“It says the best player, so that’s what you’d think it would be for, but in reality, it isn’t,” he says.
Actually, the word “outstanding” is etched on the trophy’s base, but Woodson fits that description too. He is a strong Heisman contender–and the runaway Silver Football winner–because he is the most complete player in the campus game, a force who saves his best performances for the biggest games.
Need someone to strap down the opposition’s best receiver? Woodson turned Penn State’s Joe Jurevicius into a spectator. A few weeks later, Woodson dominated David Boston, Ohio State’s ace wideout.
Need a wide receiver? Woodson caught 11 passes this season, two for touchdowns. How about a punt returner? Woodson’s 78-yard touchdown return against OSU helped Michigan cap its first perfect season since 1971.
Looking for a quarterback? Against Wisconsin, Woodson completed a razzle-dazzle pass to Brian Griese, Michigan’s actual QB. If Griese had any wheels, it would have gone for a touchdown.
“Every time Charles comes into the game, he brings an electricity to the stadium,” teammate Clarence Williams says. “It’s like fireworks are about to happen.”
Until the recent surveys began surfacing, it was assumed that the only thing Woodson can’t do is win the Heisman. The little bronze trophy has stiff-armed defenders for years; only a handful of defensive players, including Pitt’s Hugh Green, have even contended.
The Silver Football has been only slightly less discriminating; it goes to a defensive player about once a decade. Illinois linebacker/center Dick Butkus won in 1964; Michigan State defensive tackle Larry Bethea in 1977; and Illinois defensive tackle Don Thorp in 1983.
But even if Woodson doesn’t win the Heisman, he has at least sparked a national debate over who ought to.
Last week, a minor furor erupted when the Heisman’s executive director, Rudy Riska, told The Detroit News that he favored Woodson. Heisman types aren’t supposed to take sides.
“Speaking for myself, I’d like to see a player like Woodson win it,” Riska said. “I think it would be good, not only for the Heisman Trophy, but for college football.”
As the Heisman debate has focused the spotlight on Woodson, two seemingly conflicting sides of his personality have emerged.
There’s the brash kid who stood in front of a brace of microphones a few weeks ago and said, “I think I’m the best college football player in America.” That’s the same kid who bragged about “highlighting” Boston after the Buckeye receiver made the mistake of publicly wondering whether Woodson was as good as advertised.
“I’ve got that aggressive, winning attitude,” Woodson says.
But there’s a softer Woodson away from the cameras.
“If you were to see him here at home, you wouldn’t believe it’s the same kid,” Georgia Woodson said in a telephone interview from Fremont, Ohio. “He’s very quiet.”
The youngest of Georgia’s three children didn’t grow up with a lot of possessions, but he had something more important–people who cared about him.
Georgia and her husband, Solomon, divorced when Charles was about 5. Georgia struggled to support the family by working 12-hour shifts at a bottling plant, a job she still holds.
Because she often had to be at work by dawn, Georgia would leave instructions for Charles’ brother, Terry, and Shannon, the boys’ older sister, to dress Charles and get him to the baby-sitter before they went to school.
Their father wasn’t around much, but Charles found a male role model in his older brother.
“I don’t think I consciously got to a point where I said, `This kid needs a father figure,’ ” said Terry. “But I did know that he watched everything I did under a microscope. That made me not want to mess up.”
Georgia, meanwhile, was keeping a watchful eye on all three kids. She has managed to keep her family close even as its members have spread out. Georgia hasn’t missed a Michigan game in three years, and she and her children will be in the ballroom of New York’s Downtown Athletic Club Saturday night for the Heisman announcement.
Woodson says he won’t decide until after the Rose Bowl whether to turn pro next year, but it’s obvious his mother’s interests will be his main consideration.
“She’s the person who’s had the most influence in my life,” Woodson says. “She was always there for me. We had a lot of problems when I was growing up. But she would never let anybody know it.”
Georgia’s efforts did not go unremarked at Fremont’s Ebenezer Church of God in Christ, where Charles and his siblings were fixtures.
“When Momma works, usually what happens is, the mouse is away and the cats will play,” says Emma Jean Burel, the minister’s wife. “But those kids were wonderful kids. You don’t see that a lot these days.”
Burel, whom Woodson calls “Gran,” remembers Charles as an intensely inquisitive youngster in Sunday school. “He always wanted to know the answer behind things,” she says.
That would explain how Woodson came to be a whiz at “Jeopardy,” the television quiz show. When he and roommate Marcus Ray, a Wolverine free safety, square off in Jeopardy matches in their off-campus apartment, Woodson’s favorite categories are biblical subjects and food.
After walloping Ray the other night, Woodson called him “the David Boston of Jeopardy.”
As Woodson’s closest friend on the team, Ray is a constant target of Woodson’s good-natured trash talk. But he knows Woodson can provide supportive words when they’re needed.
After Ray had been victimized on a scoring pass by Northwestern two years ago, he spent the next couple of weeks moping. One night, Woodson turned to his road roomie and said, “Listen here, if you’re going to act like that and feel sorry for yourself, we can’t be friends.”
Ray shook off the malaise and developed into one of the leaders on the nation’s top-rated defense. Ray plans to repay Woodson by making the trip to New York to show support.
Even if Woodson doesn’t take home the Heisman, he’s already bagged Ray’s MVP vote–as in Most Valuable Person.
“He’s a great player,” Ray says. “But he’d rather be known as a great person.”
