Junior Seau Page 2

  Typically, one of their mother’s first questions upon arriving home from work was, “Where’s Pepe? Where’s Pepe?” followed by, “Did he eat? Did he eat?” Junior knew if he told his mom he hadn’t eaten—and often he hadn’t, because he was busy playing—Mary would get into trouble. So he would lie and then blackmail Mary to get his way later.

  The two had a strong bond, not only because she spent so much time babysitting him, but also because she was a good athlete. Mary excelled in basketball and sometimes beat Junior in games of H-O-R-S-E and 1-on-1. This was before he hit a growth spurt, and each time he lost to his sister he’d make some sort of excuse. The two were so competitive that when she was named “Outstanding Female Athlete” at Jefferson Middle School, Junior didn’t congratulate her. Instead, he told her he was going to win the male equivalent when he attended the school, which he did.

  When Junior began competing in organized athletics as a sixth grader at the Oceanside Boys & Girls Club, it was apparent that he was superior to others in his age group. Mary was among the first to see it because she spent so much time with him. She had a problem, though: the club basketball team often competed on courts at the beach, where the Seau girls were not allowed to go without adult supervision. She circumvented the rule by telling her folks she was going to communion at St. Mary’s, a church that happened to be along the path to the beach. “Each time my friends and I got to St. Mary’s, I’d cross my chest and keep walking,” she said, laughing.

  Junior usually would put on a show. He had the size and strength to go up for rebounds and the speed and crude ball-handling skills to dribble from one end of the court to the other. Even before he was out of middle school his athletic feats were becoming the stuff of legend. “There was one story that he hit a softball so high he was rounding third and on his way home before it started to come down,” said Pulu Poumele, a standout athlete who was three years younger.

  Because he hated to lose more than he loved to win, Junior developed a reputation for being a bad sport. When defeats occurred, which was infrequently, he tended to handle them poorly. He was known to knock over Connect Four games at the Boys & Girls Club when it was apparent he was going to lose, and after one of his youth basketball teams lost in the championship game of a tournament, spoiling an undefeated season, he ran to the center of the court, sprawled on his stomach, and pounded the floor while crying.

  Fights were not uncommon either. In high school he was ejected from a basketball game for slamming an opponent to the ground. Another time, following a loss on the hardwoods, he threw a guy over the counter at McDonald’s when he saw the boy flirting with his girlfriend. He later explained his propensity for fisticuffs by saying his older brothers used to take him down the street and have him fight sixth graders when he was in second grade.

  “To challenge older boys and win was a big accomplishment,” he told the San Diego Evening Tribune. Added Bill Christopher, Oceanside’s varsity basketball coach through Seau’s junior season, “Junior is a fun guy to be around, but he’s very intense in games. It’s in his blood. Samoan warriors fight to the death.”

  Mary was present during one fit of anger. Junior was playing in a basketball game as a fourth grader. When things did not go as he wanted, he began throwing a tantrum.

  “One of my friends was saying he needed to control his temper,” Mary recalled. “At times I’d watch him and be embarrassed, but at the same time I knew he was beating himself. I asked him, ‘Why do you get so mad?’ He’d say, ‘You just don’t understand.’ I’d tell him, ‘I do understand. I play sports.’ But he’d say, ‘I have to beat myself. I have to be better than me.’”

  “He was competing against himself, not the other team,” Mary said. “And if his team didn’t win, he felt like he hadn’t done enough.”

  Still, for every few stories about him losing his cool, there’s another about an act of kindness or compassion. For instance, he’d go door-to-door on his block to get the kids to come out and play, even if they weren’t athletic. Sometimes the neighbors declined, but Junior wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d charm and hound them until they changed their minds, then do what he could to ensure they had a good time, so they’d come back.

  In one instance, there were two overweight kids who didn’t want to come outside. Relentless, Junior finally got them to agree to participate in a relay race. Not only that, he put them on his team even though he knew his side would lose. In situations like that, the outcome wasn’t as important as his neighbors’ feelings, and he knew they would feel good about themselves because he had demanded that they be on his team.

  Finding someone who disliked Junior was difficult. He had charisma and loved to laugh and joke and sing. He favored old-school R&B and would hit the Repeat button so many times that people would get sick of a song long before he did. Slow jams were his favorites.

  He seemingly had nicknames for everyone, and when he flashed his broad smile at coeds, they were his. When he put his arm around a teammate’s shoulder or patted that person on the back, there was nothing the guy wouldn’t do for him. His ability to win over people was neither forced nor contrived. He was one of those unique individuals who had a special knack for relating to people.

  The only thing Junior loved more than his music, friends, and family was his high school. Oceanside had a struggling football program when he arrived in 1983, consistently taking a backseat to local powerhouses (and newer schools) El Camino and Vista. That used to gall Seau because some of those schools’ best athletes lived within Oceanside’s boundaries but circumvented the residency rules to attend the newer schools, including cousin Sal Aunese, a standout quarterback at Vista. Junior had no interest in following in their footsteps, although he could have, because his father worked as a custodian and athletics equipment manager at El Camino. Instead, he wanted to create his own path, damn the challenge.

  When he joined the varsity football program as a sophomore, the Pirates had gone eight straight years without a playoff appearance. He missed the first seven games that year because of a broken collarbone, but immediately upon returning he flashed his playmaking ability by returning an interception for a touchdown in the final moments of a 14–7 victory over Carlsbad. The next week, in Oceanside’s homecoming against Torrey Pines, he took over after the Pirates’ starting quarterback was injured and scored all three touchdowns in an 18–13 win.

  Individual success and team success proved to be mutually exclusive, however. The Pirates finished 5–5 his sophomore season and 3–7 the next year. Their struggles went deeper than neighborhood talent choosing to play elsewhere—academics were also a problem. It was common for the Pirates to lose a good swath of the roster when grades came out during the year. That was one reason why Roy Scaffidi, in his first year as coach, in 1986, had many of his trusted core players start on both offense and defense, to lessen the severity of the impact if players were lost to grades. For the plan to work, though, some team members would have to switch positions—including Junior.

  Junior heard about the plan while he was out of the country that summer, and he wasn’t pleased. He, Niu, and Okland Salavea—three starters on the football and basketball teams—had flown to American Samoa the day after their junior year ended to participate in the Pan American Junior Championships in basketball. Oceanside was without a football coach at the time, so the players figured it would be a fun way to spend the beginning of the summer. Plus, it was a badge of honor for their parents, who took great pride in their sons’ athletic accomplishments.

  It wasn’t long, though, before Junior began longing for home. Growing up on the East Side of Oceanside was like being in Beverly Hills compared to the spartan conditions of island life. There was almost no water pressure for taking showers, and working stoves and refrigerators were a luxury. The beds were so uncomfortable that the guys sometimes put sheets over their suitcases and slept on the floor. But what really bothered Junior was hearing that Scaffidi was thinking about moving him fro
m quarterback to wide receiver.

  Confused and angry, he called his girlfriend, Melissa Waldrop, collect every day, running up an $800 phone bill she paid by working at a local movie theater. He was upset because the change not only might hurt his chance for a scholarship but would also take the ball out of his hands on some plays. Junior loved having the ball in his hands because it meant he was in the middle of the action on every play. He was so disturbed about the possible position change that he cut short his trip by three or four weeks and returned to Oceanside without Niu or Salavea. He didn’t tell anyone, but he was seriously considering transferring to Vista High, where his cousin Sal Aunese was on the football team.

  Playing quarterback held special significance for Junior because it was the position Aunese played. Junior idolized his cousin. He respected him as an athlete and loved him like a brother. If quarterback was good enough for Aunese, then Junior felt it was good enough for him. But leaving Oceanside was not a legitimate option. The sense of loyalty to his neighborhood school was too strong. It was the school all of his siblings had attended, plus he wanted to finish what he started. He also knew he was good enough athletically to dominate at any position.

  After returning from American Samoa, he played wideout in a summer-league passing game and scored four touchdowns. Any thought of leaving Oceanside evaporated at that point. He told Scaffidi he was good with Rocky Aukuso taking over at quarterback, a move that paid immediate dividends. Through the first three games of the season Junior had 16 receptions for 242 yards and two scores. He also was excelling on defense, where he had been moved from safety to outside linebacker.

  “We think that’s where his future is, where colleges would want him to play,” Scaffidi correctly told the North County Blade-Citizen early in the season. “I expect him to be an All-America in college. If he’s not an All-America in high school, then I’ve been coaching in a cave somewhere. I’ve seen some great football players and they don’t come any better than him. He’s the type of player that makes you a great coach. He’s one of those incredible athletes that happens once every 10 years.”

  “I don’t think we knew how good he was until we got out of school,” said Niu. “He was a monster on the field, hated to lose, and would fight anyone. The way he acted, we had to pick up our level to play with him too. We’d do hitting drills, and it didn’t matter if you were a little guy. He’d try to rip your head off. He made us better like that.”

  Junior just wanted to win. Losing ate at him for days at a time. “I dreaded when they lost. It was almost like I didn’t want to be around him,” said Melissa Waldrop, who began dating Junior when he was a junior and she was a sophomore. “He would take it so personal. He couldn’t just brush it off his shoulders. It would affect his mood. Not just for that night, but sometimes for days or until he got back out on the court or field to redeem himself.”

  Scaffidi’s bold moves resulted in the Pirates’ first winning season in nine years and first playoff appearance in 11. And though they were routed 41–7 in the section final by a loaded squad from Lincoln Prep, former home to NFL greats Marcus Allen and Terrell Davis, the significance of the season could be appreciated only over time. It proved to be the launching point for 28 consecutive playoff trips—and counting.

  Junior ensured that success by advocating for local kids to stay home and play for the Pirates. When Poumele was an eighth grader, there was speculation about which high school he would attend. He was a talented athlete who lived within Oceanside’s boundaries, but his father was a minister at a church in Vista. Getting around the residency rules would not have been difficult.

  Junior did everything he could to persuade Poumele to wear the green and white of the Pirates. “He said, ‘Vista and El Camino, they’ve got everybody set. You’ve got to make sure you come to Oceanside. We’re going to build something here. It’s going to happen,’” recalled Poumele, who attended Oceanside before playing collegiately at Arizona. “I probably would’ve gone to Oceanside anyway, but his words meant a lot.”

  Junior was so loyal to the Pirates that he skipped the California State Track and Field Meet as a senior—he was favored to medal—because it conflicted with a school luau to raise money for the athletics department. Junior had committed to doing a native Samoan dance at the event and didn’t want to go back on his word. It was another example of the increased maturity people noticed in him that year. Part of it could be traced to an incident on the basketball court the previous winter, when he body-slammed an El Camino player. Junior’s father, who always preached the importance of honoring the family name, was embarrassed and angry. As a deacon in the family church, he felt that Junior’s actions undercut his credibility among parishioners. So he made Junior apologize to the Wildcats’ players and coaches.

  “I learned a lot from that El Camino game,” Junior told the Blade-Citizen. “It’s better to learn it now than to learn it later. They’re not going to cope with it [at college]. They’ll just send you home. Knowing that this is my last year, I want to leave [on] a good note and at the same time show examples for the younger kids under me. They look up and I feel that I’m a role model. They elected me captain of the team, and I’ve got to live up to it. I didn’t ask for it; they picked it for me.”

  “I was told that one of the things that I need to be concerned about was that he sometimes plays out of control,” Scaffidi said of Junior. “Well, it may be just a maturing process, but—and I would not take credit for it—I think somehow between last year and this year he decided to keep his emotions under control. And so far he’s done everything I could possibly expect.”

  Junior was starting to see the big picture, to understand that sports were not just about fun and games. For someone like him, sports could be the key that opened the door to a prosperous future.

  From the time Junior first exhibited superior potential as an athlete, exceptions were made for him that were not made for his siblings. His brothers and sister had to get summer jobs to help with family finances—it’s a tradition in Polynesian families for teens to contribute toward the household finances—but Junior did not. His siblings had multiple household chores, but Junior did not. He was permitted to focus solely on school and athletics, with the hope and expectation that he would be the one to lift the family out of poverty if he made it. There was no resentment on the siblings’ part. They were proud of his success—and they knew what was at stake.

  “My wife said, ‘He should go look for a job,’” said Papa Seau, “and I told her, ‘Let him go play.’ Sometimes people asked, ‘Why doesn’t Junior work, contribute to the family?’ I said, ‘That’s okay.’ His mind, his thought, was sports, and I didn’t want to stop it.”

  Money was never abundant in their home. While his father worked as a custodian and equipment manager at El Camino High School, his mother worked in the commissary at Camp Pendleton and at a laundromat. Consciously or not, Papa Seau pushed his son hard. He greeted victories with smiles and a few dollars for spending change, but losses were met with a sort of dismissive silence. The tough love hurt the sensitive youngster, who, like any kid, wanted validation from his father.

  “You know what they say about silence: it’s deafening to the ears and to the soul,” said Waldrop, who would remain Junior’s girlfriend through college. “When they lost, he didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to face the silence or disappointment. I was never there when he went home to experience that; I only know what he told me, and that was that the silence was more painful than if his dad was to yell at him. I don’t know if that was self-perceived. His dad is a very quiet man and reserved, to the point that when he does speak, it’s going to be heard. People are going to listen. So for him to be quiet wasn’t out of the ordinary, but I know Junior felt pain from it. Whether it was put upon him or his own preconceived feelings, June felt that he had to be the best. When they would fail to win a game, he’d feel like he hadn’t done enough to help his teammates. To him it was never a team sport u
nless they were celebrating.”

  Because his job as equipment manager required him to attend the Wildcats’ games, Papa Seau typically could see his son play only once a year in football and twice a year in basketball—when Oceanside faced El Camino. Mama Seau was at every game. Even when Junior told her not to drive long distances to away games, she was there. He could hear her deep voice or her piercing blow horn through the din. The combination of her voice and his father’s silence helped push him to become the greatest prep athlete in San Diego County history.

  As a senior in football, he had 62 receptions (which tied for fourth-most in county history) for 891 yards and 11 touchdowns and was the “San Diego Section Defensive Player of the Year” at linebacker. Parade magazine named him an All-America at “athlete,” a designation it created especially for him. In basketball he averaged 22.3 points and nine rebounds a game and was named “Section Player of the Year.” In track and field he won the Avocado League championship with a shot put of 53 feet, 5.5 inches, and broke an uncle’s school record with a mark of 56 feet, 10 inches. His true love was basketball, but he knew there weren’t many six-foot-three-inch power forwards in the NBA, so football was where he planned to make his mark.

  “I’m going to be a professional football player one day. Just you wait. You’ll see,” Junior told Waldrop as an eleventh grader, stopping between the auto shop and the gymnasium to look her in the eyes and make his point. She smiled and was supportive, but in the back of her mind she was thinking: What talented young athlete doesn’t think that? But she also saw a purpose in his eyes, something that said this wasn’t wishful thinking.

  “He knew what he aspired to be,” she said. “He wanted to take care of his parents and family.”

  Junior was keenly aware that they had made sacrifices for him—not just his parents but also his siblings. He felt he owed his sister Mary, who paid the registration fee the first time he played football and often provided him with money to purchase cleats and other items. She also helped him purchase the promise ring that he gave to Waldrop. His parents had spent money on him that took away from contributions they might have made to their community church and extended family. Sharing responsibility by pooling resources is highly valued in Polynesian culture, but while it is a beautiful idea in theory, it can become burdensome in practice. Junior would soon learn this.