Wooten can tell the other judges about when Lower Richland once faced a fourth-and-goal situation late in a lopsided game and Player instructed his punter to boot the ball out of the stadium. Or, how about the time the legendary coach ordered one of his team managers to call the nearby Air Force base and demand that they cease flying jets over his practice field? Or, the occasional times when Player’s teams practiced in full pads on Friday afternoon for a future opponent, then changed into their game uniforms to play a different opponent that night.
Beyond the zaniness, Player developed a community spirit through his football team that was infectious, both at Saluda and at Lower Richland. He says he made a living off 155-pound linemen who “could think, move their feet and be held accountable.” He got the most out of his players by getting, as he says, “6s to play like 8s, and 8s to play like 10s.”
Player’s Saluda High teams won two state championships. He collected three more titles at Lower Richland. His teams won 152 games over 17 years, losing only 36.
The records and the championships only begin to tell the strange but true tale of a coach who often walked that fine line that separates oddball from genius. It is why Mooney Player always is mentioned when talk centers on the best South Carolina coach ever. It also is why there might be only one name in the discussion about who was the most eccentric coach to walk a South Carolina high school sideline.
The makings of a legend
Martin Mooneyhan Player was reared in rural Barnwell County, where life growing up meant building a fire first thing in the morning, milking the cows and delivering newspapers before heading for school. His father was a longtime principal and coach of all sports at Williston-Elko High. His mother ran the farm and the general store.
Player claims he had an IQ of 98 as a junior in high school that inched up to 101 by his senior year. “It dawned on me, if I was going to excel, it wasn’t going to be because I was gifted,” he says. “I figured I’d be different.”
And how.
Player dabbled in football and basketball through high school, and believed his fastball would take him to the major leagues in baseball. Scouts thought otherwise and Player headed off to Clemson, where he played in a few football games before dropping out and transferring to South Carolina, where he earned a degree in 1954.
He wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps and coached under the great Cally Gault for two seasons at North Augusta High. Then came his first head coaching assignment, a one-year stint at Newberry High, where he sensed from the outset that the athletic department was committed to baseball and not football, the sport he coached.
When the Saluda job opened, Player was ready, although not fully prepared. He inherited a senior-laden team and took it to an 8-1 record. Only during the second season, when Saluda slumped to 3-7-1, did Player believe he learned how to coach. After back-to-back state championships in 1961 and 1962, Player was ready to move on.
By then, he was married with three daughters and living on an annual salary of $3,600. “Was she always going to buy the oldest girl clothes at Kmart and pass them down?” Player says of his wife, Ann.
He accepted a salary of $7,000 to coach at Lower Richland beginning with the 1963-64 school year. Athletics at Lower Richland and the region would never be the same.
Creating a culture
Lower Richland did not win a game the season before Mooney Player arrived as its coach. Player set out to create the same “perfect culture” for football at Lower Richland that he enjoyed at Saluda.
From the outset, the Lower Richland community knew things were going to be different with Player. First, he called for a change in the school’s nickname, from Hornets to Diamonds, which he said was the strongest and most beautiful of all rocks. After much uproar, school officials settled on Diamond Hornets, which makes little sense, but remains the school’s moniker today.
Then Player established that opponents better beware of Lower Richland because you “Can’t Beat the Creek.” Never mind that no creek exists near Lower Richland High. The slogan was the confluence of the country and suburban elements with an intentional “country hick” image thrown in, according to Player.
Even today, proud Lower Richland alums greet one another with “Can’t Beat the Creek.”
Opponents could not “Beat the Creek” on the football field, because Player had a coaching plan that he modified and perfected during his seven seasons at Saluda High, then executed with precision in nine seasons at Lower Richland. His teams played near-flawless football, understanding that turnovers and penalties were not tolerated. That discipline made up for any lack of size or talent Lower Richland teams possessed.
For the players, there were rules on top of rules to be followed. The consequences of breaking those rules were dire. Plain and simple, Player was liberal in his expulsion of players from a team. A 7-4 record in 1968 was primarily the result of booting eight starters off the team for violating team rules (they were caught drinking alcohol). Some years, as many as 400 players tried out for football at Lower Richland. He limited his varsity roster every season to 30 players.
The 30 who proudly wore the black and gold of Lower Richland were survivors. They did not miss practices and followed all the rules — from hair length to not being allowed to court girls during the season — from the ninth grade all the way to 12th grade. They survived summer camp in the mountains of North Carolina each year as well as sometimes grueling daily practices.
Every player was considered a “starter,” and saw significant playing time. Player says it was important that a “Mama never hug a kid in a clean uniform,” after a game. Of course, some “starters” would participate at left tackle only on running plays designed to go around right end.
There was great reward for making the team as a senior. Player promised every senior he would score a touchdown that season, even linemen. Late in games, Player instructed his running back to step out of bounds at the opponent’s 1-yard line when he could easily have scored. Then Player inserted a senior tackle at fullback, handed him the ball and let him charge into the end zone for the highlight of his season. Oh, and of course, there was a photographer stationed in the back of the end zone to capture the moment.
One player every season earned a starting position under the Bo Busby Rule. Busby was the first of many players responsible for making certain Lower Richland had 11 players on the field during special-teams plays. “He was our ‘starting anti-delay-of-game-penalty guy,’ ” according to Bill Simpson, an assistant coach under Player.
Practices were conducted with IBM precision. Most lasted 2½ hours and were broken down into 5-minute periods. They rarely were physical practices, but based instead on repetition. If practice was scheduled for 3 p.m., players and coaches knew it actually began at 2:30. It was called MPT (Mooney Player Time).
August practices were conducted in the afternoon heat with few water breaks, and starters were required to wear black jerseys. Garry Wooten, a quarterback on the 1970 team and brother of the aforementioned Terry, recalls practicing that Labor Day from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. If after-school practice did not go well, Player was known to keep his troops on the field into the evening. He had lights installed on the practice field for that purpose.
“I always wanted to get home to see the end of ‘Rowan & Martin’s Laugh-in’ TV show,” Garry Wooten says. “It ended at 9.”
Practices were closed, and Player did not tolerate distractions. One afternoon, jets from nearby McEntire Air National Guard Station zoomed over the practice field, making it difficult to hear coaches’ orders. Player instructed a team manager to find a telephone in the coach’s office, call the base and demand that the flights discontinue.
Another time, a young man created a disturbance by riding a loud motorcycle past the practice field. Player shouted for a team manager to get in a car and chase down the cyclist to deliver orders to “Never ride by our field again.”
An eye for details
Player scheduled practices any place, any time. In 1968, Lower Richland played Clinton the Friday night before star running back Ernie Jackson was set to make a Saturday recruiting visit to Clemson. Player had scheduled a practice for Saturday afternoon in preparation for a conference showdown the following week.
Many players wanted to accompany Jackson on the recruiting trip, so the team captains approached their coach about a practice change. Player agreed to a change and after defeating Clinton, the team headed to the practice field for a three-hour, late night workout.
Upon leaving the locker room and looking in disbelief at the Lower Richland team on the practice field, the Clinton quarterback said to his teammates, “No wonder they’re so good.”
Every season, Player perused the schedule and figured his strategy for the season. “I never played one game at a time,” Player says. “I always thought we had three or four games where we were going to put it on the line.”
For those challenging games, Lower Richland wore black jerseys. Games that Lower Richland should win, but might run into trouble, it wore gold jerseys. For the rest, white jerseys were in order.
Player also coached two, three and sometimes four games ahead. He called contests in which the opposition would provide little resistance “strategic rest” games. If he believed a Friday night opponent to be a pushover, Player’s team would scurry directly from a Friday pep rally to the practice field. The first teams lined up and scrimmaged against each other, then headed to the showers. That night’s game followed at the stadium, almost always a victory.
Player also believed in seeing the bigger picture for every game. In his first game as Lower Richland coach, Player did not want to show anything against Olympia, a non-conference opponent, and lost 28-0. Then he unveiled his offense and defense the following week in conference play against Manning and won 27-13.
Later that season, Lower Richland had clinched a playoff spot. It was scheduled to complete the regular season against the same Lexington team it would face in the first round of the playoffs. Player fielded his junior varsity in a 41-6 loss to close the regular season. But the strategy failed when Lexington won the rematch, 21-12.
Player was a tireless worker. His game preparation was beyond reproach.
Simpson, the assistant coach, lived at the corner of Universal and Nightingale roads and could see light flickering through the woods — often after midnight — from a film project at Player’s home on Benson Road.
Garry Wooten, a senior on Lower Richland’s 1970 state championship team, occasionally received telephone calls from Player as early as 4 a.m. “Come on up on the road,” Player told his quarterback. Wooten met his coach on the road in front of his house, jumped into Player’s 1962 Ford Fairlane and learned of a new play the coach had designed that night.
Film studies for the coaching staff were conducted Sundays at Player’s home. In-season Friday afternoons were reserved for the staff to participate in “What If?” sessions. The coaches sat in a dark room and visualized what might happen in that night’s game, and were encouraged to stretch their minds to come up with something never done before.
Film sessions for the team were held Monday mornings at 5:30 with players who drove cars required to cart all others to the gym. Those sessions occasionally got interesting. Once, during the 1970 season, Player caught a missed assignment on film that particularly irked him. He stopped the film.
“Ronnie Wade,” Player said, addressing his linebacker. “Don’t do that again.”
“Yes, sir,” Wade responded.
Player rewound the film and showed the play again.
“Ronnie Wade, if you do that again, I’m going to cut off your hair right here and now.”
Player rewound the film and showed the play again.
Player then summoned Wade to the front of the room, where the coach pulled out a pair of scissors and clipped the player’s bangs.
Grabbing the attention
High school football during the 1960s and early part of the 1970s was pretty vanilla. The option had taken hold as the offense of choice, and some teams ran variations of that attack. The passing game was an afterthought, generally used only as a desperation ploy.
Mooney Player was ahead of his time. He was drawing up new formations, passing the ball when needed to set up the running game and exploiting opponents’ weaknesses through extensive film study long before it became common practice.
More than anything, Player was an innovator, and that occasionally meant bending the rules just short of the point of breaking them. He often was more versed in the rules than the officials, who occasionally would consult him on the sideline about a decision.
Early in his coaching days, in an effort to confuse the opposition, Player played games with jersey numbers. He would put a No. 71 jersey on his quarterback. That same player might return from halftime wearing No. 21. One game against Summerville, all of Lower Richland’s players switched jerseys at halftime.
Knowing that a team could use its football of choice, Lower Richland teams always used a rubber ball instead of the traditional leather. The rubber variety was easier to throw and catch, and provided a distinct advantage on rainy nights. Every fall, an assistant coach would carry a bag of J35 balls to the South Carolina High School League office and get them stamped for approval.
Player was one of the first to film his games both from the press box and from the sideline. For big games, he used color film long before it became standard practice.
He also produced an annual media guide with player biographies. It was Player’s way of giving exposure to his offensive linemen and defensive backs. One year, the mug shots of many players were taken while wearing their helmets — it seems the photos were snapped in the spring and the lengthy hair of those players was not fit for the media guide.
To prevent unnecessary clipping penalties or blocks in the back, Player instructed his players to throw both arms in the air any time a ball carrier was in front of them. Opponents occasionally did not take kindly to the action, believing the Lower Richland players were signaling a touchdown before the runner had reached the end zone.
Rules once stipulated that the receiving team took possession of the ball at the point it was kicked out of bounds. Player figured a way to take advantage of the rule. Simpson, his 6-foot-5 assistant coach, stood at the 25-yard line and formed the uprights of a goal post with his arms. The kicker aimed for the “field goal,” and opponents rarely took possession outside the 25.
Player believed his players should represent themselves well in the community, so he required public service for all. They frequently visited Epworth Children’s Home. Garry Wooten recalls missing the state track meet one year because Player required him to attend a Special Olympics event.
Player had an extensive system to grade each player’s performance. His grading was done on a four-point scale and the top grades each week were rewarded with various gifts Player solicited from the community.
There were no rules against the benefits, and Player knew that. The senior player of the game might receive a steak dinner and dancing for two at the Coronet Motel. Others received a shrimp dinner from Captain Charlie’s, or three monster burgers from Jimmy Burnside’s, or a free haircut from Dale’s Barbershop.
Of course, Player had his detractors along the way. After winning state Class A championships in 1965 and 1967, it became an annual tradition for fans from other schools to accuse the coach of illegally recruiting players. More likely, a few players each season desired to play for a winner and enrolled at Lower Richland.
Player also gained quite a reputation as a “cheater,” someone who would try and do anything to win a game. Those claims probably had more to do with opposing teams’ fans attempting to find any explanation for how Player consistently produced championship teams.
“He has a reputation from people who didn’t like him that he would cheat,” says Allen McNeil, another quarterback at Lower Richland and now in business development in Atlanta. “But you won’t find people who played for him who put up with any of that.”
Bill Mitchell, who covered many of Lower Richland’s games as a reporter for The State, probably put it best when he said: “A lot of people admired his success, but deplored his methods.”
A side seldom seen
Player struck an imposing figure on the sideline. With his trademark fedora atop his head, he stood 6-foot-3 and carried a few pounds past 200. He stalked the sideline, wearing white socks that showed because his pants were worn tight to calf length. Occasionally, Player got down on all fours and clawed at the grass and dirt. At least once, he ripped his hat from his head and crumpled it in his hands.
In practice, Player was known for loud outbursts intended for players whose lack of concentration or focus resulted in unnecessary errors. But Player almost never cursed and would not tolerate the same from his players.
Once, a player was overheard using the Lord’s name in vain in the locker room, prompting Player to send the entire team back to the practice field for another workout.
One time — and players swear it was the only time — Player slipped and a curse word somehow crossed his lips. Player became infuriated that his team heard the unthinkable, turned to the players and yelled, “You made me curse! You will practice even longer!”
There was a kind and gentle side to Player as well.
Simpson, the Columbia attorney who was an assistant coach at Lower Richland, says Player displayed great loyalty and affection to his staff and their families. That the affection ran both ways is best shown by Simpson’s naming his second son Martin, Player’s actual first name. Marty Simpson later was a kicker at USC.
One year, Garry Wooten, also a Columbia attorney, was without a date to the Junior-Senior Prom. Player found out about it and called Becky Pitts out of class to inform her she was attending the Prom with Wooten. When Wooten said he did not have a car for the dance, Player left his car keys in his desk at the gym. Wooten escorted Pitts in Player’s ’62 Ford Fairlane.
Lessons kept for life
The apex of Player’s coaching career came in 1970, when Lower Richland defeated Sumter and the great Freddie Solomon in the semifinals, then took down Eau Claire in the championship in front of more than 25,000 fans at Carolina Stadium.
Not one for pep talks and histrionics, Player nonetheless pulled a classic psychological ploy at halftime of the semifinal game. Prior to the game, Player lounged in the nearly empty stands in an attempt to calm his nerves. He came across John Wooten, the grandfather of quarterback Garry Wooten.
The elder Wooten was smoking a cigar and offered another to Player, who tucked it into his pocket. By halftime, Solomon proved too elusive for Lower Richland and Sumter bolted to a 28-16 lead. Expecting the wrath of Player, the Lower Richland players braced themselves.
Instead, Player entered the locker room with a lit cigar in his mouth. He proceeded to sit in a chair and appeared perfectly relaxed, billows of cigar smoke filling the room.
“We’ve got nothing to worry about,” Player told his team. “We’ve got this one, boys.”
A relaxed Lower Richland team rallied for a 31-30 win and, a week later, the Class 4A championship.
Two years later, Lower Richland lost the state championship game to Easley and spoiled what otherwise would have been a perfect season. Not long afterward, Player announced his resignation to pursue the head coaching position at South Carolina.
To get that job, Player believed he needed experience as a college assistant, so he joined Lou Holtz’s staff for the 1973 season at North Carolina State. Three months in Raleigh was enough for Player, and he returned to Columbia to begin campaigning statewide for the vacant USC position.
Jim Carlen eventually was hired to replace Paul Dietzel at USC, and the decision broke Player’s heart. He never again coached football, leaving behind a trail of players he had molded from young men into solid citizens as adults.
Player employed many of those former players in his next successful profession as a motivational speaker from 1976 until his retirement in 2000. The 78-year-old Player owns an 800-acre farm in Sumter where he raises quail. He and his wife reside in Columbia.
Every couple of years graduates of the Lower Richland football program under Player gather and reminisce about those glory days. Player attends and can still recount the down, distance and call of crucial plays during the 1964 through 1972 seasons.
The gathering then dines with linemen passing first through the buffet line and quarterbacks trailing at the end. It always serves as a lasting tribute to their revered coach, who instructed all his teams to eat in that order.
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