10/14/2004 - Football
Bobby McClarin: Navy's Old School Linebacker

When you watch Bobby McClarin take the position he was born to play, in a game he was bred to love, you almost picture him in a certain context.

Rather than in living color - roaming the green fields of his youth in his blue and gold uniform - you see him in the grainy, black-and-white frames from an old projector.

His movements punctuated by the sounds of NFL Films. The late John Facenda narrating in the rich voice of a higher authority, every syllable dramatized by a background symphony of brass and bass.

Honestly, how else can you imagine someone who dares to wear the number made famous by the most fearsome defender of his time as a linebacker who owns a lifetime appreciation for Dick Butkus?

Is there any other way to think of this clean-cut kid who used to hang a photo of Chuck Bednarik in his locker, paying tribute to a fellow son of Bethlehem, Pa. and the last of his kind in pro football?

Well, actually, there was.

And it was none other than McClarin who saw himself if not in a different light, than in a different sport.

"My first love, believe it or not, was basketball," he says, qualifying as if to concede how much of a stretch it seems envisioning this broad-shouldered Naval Academy senior dribbling up the court for his hometown Liberty Hurricanes. "My freshman year I was a point guard. I actually had some skills."

But then reality set in.

"My weight went from 140 to 200 pounds between freshman and junior years," he remembers. "I said to myself, 'What kind of kid who's 5-10 and from Pennsylvania is going to do anything in college basketball?' So I just dedicated myself to football."

And, specifically, to being a linebacker.

"I'm a guy who likes contact, likes to hit," McClarin explains. "That's just me as a football player. Growing up I never wanted to be a safety, even though I was a strong safety in high school, I always wanted to be an inside linebacker."

As such, none was better to emulate than Butkus, the Hall of Famer who once declared, "When I hit a guy I wanted him to know who hit him without ever having to look around and check a number." Or Bednarik, the World War II veteran who completed a 14-year career as the NFL's last "Sixty-Minute Man", playing on both sides of the ball.

Also, there were more contemporary types to admire within the college game.

"I liked Notre Dame when I was younger," says Robert Quinn McClarin, naturally a fan of the Fighting Irish. "I liked watching Michael Stonebreaker. He was just a rough, tough guy."

McClarin was all of 10 years old when Stonebreaker earned unanimous All-America selection in 1990. Six years later, he happened upon another rough, tough sort.

One who had a similar influence. And, it turns out, a far more profound impact on the Midshipman to be.

"I turned on an Army-Navy game back in the day and there was this guy making all kinds of tackles," McClarin recalls of Clint Bruce, the Mids' co-captain. "I don't remember what year in high school I was but I thought, 'This guy's a pretty good player.' They were hyping him up big-time on TV.

"Watching highlights of (Bruce), there was always that thought in the back of my mind, 'You want to play like him.' If you want to be a Navy linebacker, you look up to Clint and guys like him."

In time, McClarin decided that's exactly what he wanted to be - a Navy linebacker.

And on the night of Aug. 31, 2002, as the Mids visited SMU, roles were reversed.

Having recently returned to his native Texas from a tour of duty, Bruce was on hand to see his alma mater debut under Paul Johnson in Dallas.

Amidst the action were two forced fumbles by McClarin - a sophomore in his first varsity appearance, identified by the same No. 51 worn by both Bruce and, of course, Butkus.

Soon after that 38-7 rout of the Mustangs, McClarin got to know the player he'd watched so closely as a teenager.

"Over the past two years, ever since sophomore year, we've talked," McClarin says. "Whenever (Clint) comes to town, we talk about football."

Like Bruce, who led the Mids to a 9-3 record and an Aloha Bowl victory over Cal his final year, McClarin came to Annapolis determined to help resurrect a proud program on hard times.

He's done just that, starting for a team that entered last week's encounter with Notre Dame having won 18 of the previous 23 games, following a 2-20 start to his career.

McClarin's brightest moments have been in Navy's biggest wins, most notably during last year's Commander-In-Chief's sweep of Air Force and Army.

One play, in particular, resulted in plenty of national exposure and - as you probably know by now - his very own item on the menu of a local campus eatery.

The "Bobby Mac Club" sandwich was created after a critical pass deflection in the end zone during the victory over the Falcons - the Mids' first since Bruce was a senior in 1996.

McClarin made his denial despite playing with a broken left hand - its protection being a boxing glove encased in heavy wrapping. Otherwise known as "The Club."

"I ordered (the Mac Club) a couple of times. I got the first one free, but after that..." he says, words giving way to a chuckle.

Though McClarin insists that his inspiration at the Academy's Dahlgren Hall "is a good sandwich," there was a time when life's offerings were difficult to digest, let alone laugh at.

In March 2000, while performing a conditioning drill at the Naval Academy Prep School (NAPS), McClarin's left knee gave way and he tore his anterior cruciate ligament.

"I had a decision to make, whether I wanted to stay at NAPS another year or bag it, and not go to the Academy," says McClarin, whose surgery in June prevented him from being admitted for the following fall. "(But) I wanted to play football for Navy."

Deciding to stay another year in Newport, R.I., McClarin took a class at the University of Rhode Island, worked in the NAPS athletic department and pushed himself with a singular purpose.

"Watching them play at NAPS, obviously it was killing me not to able to play football," he said. "I just concentrated on rehabbing, rehabbing like a mad man."

By no means was it a lost year. In fact, much was gained - namely the friendships he'll share forever.

"Looking back, it was a gift from God," says McClarin, who bonded with other linebackers T.J. Costello, Dustin Elliott and Lane Jackson. "They all took me under their wings. We were all going to be Navy linebackers. We just gelled."

Of the four, Elliott and Jackson emerged the earliest, the former as a freshman at Notre Dame, the latter as a sophomore against the Irish in Baltimore.

Meanwhile, McClarin possessed all the ferocity of the linebacking models of his youth, if not the focus necessary to play the position consistently. A bundle of energy bound to unravel in the wrong place at the wrong time, he represented a unique dilemma.

"I've been coaching college football for twenty years," says Kevin Kelly, who directs the Mids' inside linebackers. "He's probably the first player I had to slow down, as opposed to trying to speed him up. He was trying to do things so fast, he'd get himself out of control and out of position."

"I always tried to play my hardest," McClarin says, looking back to his sophomore season, his first under a new staff. "(But) I was playing a little out of the defensive scheme. I was running around, almost playing with a lack of focus.

"I would get all wound up and instead of hitting the ball carrier, I'd try to hit a lot of people all over the field."

One of his greatest assets - a passion for the game - was leading to McClarin's undoing.

"As far as a person is concerned (Bobby's) a perfectionist. From day one he really took to coaching," Kelly says. "Basically I gave him an ultimatum, 'Either you slow down or you're going to be standing next to me on the sideline.'

"And I think he understood after the first spring and fall. The second spring he really focused in on that."

"Spring ball before my junior year, Coach Kelly just said, 'Bob, you have to relax out there,'" said McClarin, whose vast improvement earned him the Vice Admiral William P. Mack Award for the spring of 2003. "Coach Kelly really helped me with all the fundamentals. I knew I had talent, I just had to know how to use it."

Addressing the basics began with preparation before each play.

"We toned him down, basically, in his stance," says Kelly. "(Bobby) did what I call priming himself. He'd jump and down, fidget in his stance. He still does that to a certain extent, but he's calmed himself down. That's where you can see his Type A personality come out. But he's learned to control that. He's become an excellent linebacker."

One who remains an excitable sort, according to the player and friend closest to him on the field.

"We both get pretty excited for the games. Sometimes Bobby gets a little too excited," jokes Jackson. "Sometimes I have to tell him where to go. It's funny, you'll see us on film and we'll be arguing (just before snap). But by the time the ball is snapped, we're on the same page."

Kelly detects an uncanny chemistry between the two inside linebackers.

"I always tell them, two heads are better than one and I think they've taken to that," he says. "They study the game both on and off the field. In the meeting room they ask a lot of questions. They watch a lot film on their own and with me. That carries over to the field."

"I feel best when I'm playing next to Bobby," says Jackson. "We complement each other. It's great to play with one of my best friends right next to me. I know he's a warrior. There's a lot of trust between us."

Trust not easily developed, yet earned over time. For McClarin, by staying true to his core as person and player.

"I think coming from Bethlehem and Pennsylvania in general, we just pride ourselves on the team aspect of football," he says of his roots. "Hopefully (my Navy teammates) will see me as a player who gave a hundred percent all the time and did his best for the team."

Other, more demanding commitments are in wait.

Following graduation next spring, McClarin is scheduled to marry his girlfriend of nine years, Kate Sobrinski, who teaches seventh-grade math at nearby MacArthur Middle School.

A mechanical engineering major likely headed to Surface Warfare school in Rhode Island, he'd also like to return to NAPS for yet another year. Only next time as a coach.

If so, he can impart Navy's football future with much of what he's learned from his current coaches.

"They demand a lot but they know how to win," McClarin says of Kelly and defensive coordinator Buddy Green. "Their football knowledge is unparalleled. It's just a pleasure playing for coaches who care about you as a football player and a person."

Mostly, though, he can try to explain what it's like being a Navy football player.

Like Clint Bruce. And just like Bobby McClarin.

"I'll tell them, 'Navy football is something special, because we're just a bunch of guys out there playing for each other,'" he says. "'There's a brotherhood. You have to play it in order to feel it.

"'Just stick to your dreams. There will be obstacles in your way. Hard work and dedication will get you everything. (And) never quit on your brothers.'"