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alizing his mistake, Parlavecchio asked to return, and in an all-player vote that Paterno conducted, Butya, an admitted borderline player but one who always gave his best effort, was the only one to vote no. "Every time [Jeff] carried the ball, I would hit him, whether it was late, early or just near the ball," Parlavecchio re- called with a laugh in an interview I did with him a few years ago. "Sometimes it was so obviously late or dirty or whatev- er. I did that for two years." Butya turned the crusty Parlavecchio into an admirer and friend by taking the cruel punishment with a smile and joking about it. "I drove him nuts," Butya said. Parlavecchio led the team in tackles in his junior and senior years and was good enough to become a second-team All- American in 1981 when he was one of three co-captains. Parlavecchio's legendary Penn State moment came before and during the historic 48-14 upset of No. 1 Pitt in 1981. A couple of days before the game, he had publicly mocked Pitt's schedule saying, "Who do they play, Thiel?" and boasted that the Lions would win 48-0. As the teams warmed up in Pitt Stadium, Parlavecchio strolled past the Pitt side- line taunting coach Jackie Sherrill. Then, early in the second quarter with the Panthers ahead, 14-7, Parlavecchio intentionally hit wide receiver Dwight Collins out of bounds in front of the Pitt bench. Sherrill rushed over, and he and Parlavecchio traded vitriolic words, an exchange that almost led to a fistfight. "We needed something to get our butts going," Parlavecchio recalled, "and when the opportunity arose, I took it." Bauer, a linebacker, was another northern New Jersey tough guy who won the hearts of fans with his aggressive take-no-prisoners style of play from 1984-87. He was not as outwardly bel- ligerent as Parlavecchio but almost matched Millen for the time he spent in Paterno's doghouse. Bauer's on-field persona was rowdy and reckless and very different from that of Penn State's most celebrated line- backer, two-time All-American Shane Conlan. Conlan would never have been seen on national TV with Paterno grab- bing him by the neck and jersey and shaking him angrily. That's what hap- pened to Bauer on the sideline after be- ing pulled for one on-field indiscretion. Ask fans of those years what they re- member most about Bauer, and it's that scene nose-to-nose with Paterno on the sideline on national TV. "That happened on more than one oc- casion but not always in front of the TV cameras," Bauer told me with a laugh a few years ago. "Everyone said Matt Millen was crazy and a rebel, and they said the same thing about me." Like Conlan, Bauer was a starter on the teams that played in the 1985 national championship game and won it all in '86 with a 14-10 upset over Miami when Bauer was a junior. It was before the '86 title game that Bauer had his personal favorite moment. Fed up with the cocky trash-talking by Miami in the days leading up to the game, he'd had enough when the Hurri- cane players ran through the Penn State players during warm-ups. Minutes later, he picked up an overthrown football and zipped it past the helmet of the Miami receiver who had been running a pass pattern, then glared at his opponent to make sure the entire Hurricanes team knew who had thrown the ball. "It's like hitting a hornet's nest with a stick," Bauer wrote in "What it Means To Be a Nittany Lion." "At some point, you're going to have to pay the piper, and they did." Wisniewski's meanness rarely surfaced publicly, which is typical of the anonymity of offensive linemen. His meanness was in how he played, intimi- dating and bruising, never backing down and eager to mix it up even when double- or triple-teamed. Wisniewski was a born-again Chris- tian and he treated opposing defenders with respect even as he sometimes beat the crap out of them with his intense blocking. He utilized every legal trick in the book and sometimes crossed the line, but he hardly spent a day in Pater- no's doghouse. By the time he left for the NFL, he was a two-time All-Ameri- ca guard and a starter as a sophomore on the 1986 national championship team. Wisniewski is now on the ballots for both the College Football Hall of Fame and, after a 13-year All-Pro career with the Oakland Raiders, the Pro Football Hall of Fame. Meanness can pay off. Of course, my four favorites were not the only Penn State players known for their meanness. Ask any letterman about their teammates and I am sure many names will pop up. Here are some of them: Mike Hartenstine (defensive tackle, 1972-74, and first team All- American, 1974); Dave Paffenroth (of- fensive tackle, 1980-82); Mark D'Onofrio (defensive line and line- backer, 1988-91); Lou Benfatti (defen- sive tackle and end, 1990-93, and first team All-American, 1993); Brian Gelzheiser (1991-94); and Larry Johnson (tailback, 1999-02, and first-team All- American, 2002). Johnson may have been the meanest Penn State running back of the modern era. His clashes with Paterno might have been worse if his father, Larry Johnson Sr., had not been the well-liked defen- sive line coach. "Larry Johnson always played with a chip on his shoulder," said one football insider. Johnson bristled for three years as a backup running back be- hind what he believed were less-talented upperclassmen. When he finally got his chance as a senior, he not only broke sev- eral school records but won the Maxwell, Walter Camp and Doak Walker awards and finished third in the Heisman. If old-timers from Penn State's an- cient past were included in my mean- ness rundown, there would be plenty more names here. Back at the dawn of college football and into the first half of the 20th centu- ry, meanness on the gridiron, including fistfights that resembled street brawls, was common. So were serious injuries. Football was so brutal in the early 1900s that President Teddy Roosevelt inter- ceded after several deaths and forced rule changes that also led eventually to the formation of the NCAA to oversee all sports. Keep in mind, this was a time when few players wore any pads includ- ing helmets.

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