Ladouceur took care to establish and preserve his own credibility. "I never tried to pattern myself after a coach or any one person," he says. "You have to be yourself. If you're not who you say you are, the people you're with, in my case the kids, will find out quickly." When it comes to making decisions, his authority is based on authenticity, not on rhetoric, threats, or charisma.
During practice, Ladouceur teaches techniques, getting down in the stance, talking about first steps. It's also about the complementary thinking that goes into game situations. After a few repetitions, he steps back. "I expect the kids to lead themselves." Indeed, in the weight room, players supervise one another and think nothing of stopping a teammate's exercise if his form is wrong. "They self-correct," he says.
A De La Salle practice is precise but unregimented, with plenty of laughter, water breaks, and mistakes. Ladouceur loves the mistakes his players make; they give him an opening to do what he does best. "It's all about teachable moments," he says, "and being aware of teachable moments when they occur." He has no shortage of raw material. "The fortunate thing about having 50 kids: There's a teachable moment every day."
These teachable moments aren't restricted to football either; far from it. "The kids have to see that you're about more than just football," he says. "I don't think they respect you otherwise." This is what elevates the teaching moments above the mundane. "It's not just about getting better physically, it's about how we're getting better as people: in terms of courtesy, respect, how they treat their bodies, how they treat their teammates, and how they respect themselves."
Doesn't sound like the stereotypical football coach so far? Then hang on, because we've come to the heart of the matter. The De La Salle team culture is one of commitment and responsibility. Over the years, he has institutionalized the process of building bonds and intimacy among his players -- the X factor that makes each year's team a worthy successor to the previous un-beaten squads.
"If a team has no soul, you're just wasting your time," he says. When the Spartans show up in the weight room in January, after just four weeks off from the previous season, it's not just to get strong physically but to strengthen the bonds of community. During the off- season, players go camping, raft rivers, or volunteer for community service. During the season, the team regularly attends chapel, for readings and songs. And each player fills out a commitment card that lists specific expectations for the next game.
After every practice, there's a dinner at a player's home, followed by another, more intense chapel visit. Amid growing tension, players speak their hearts, confess their shortcomings, and reveal the promises on their commitment cards. Their obstacle is the same each week: to speak the most difficult word of all, particularly for American teenagers. To say the L word.
This is his ultimate goal every season. His winning streak is a national obsession, but keeping it going seems to mean less to him than getting 45 boys to say the L word out loud to one another. That's why, on Thursday nights before Friday games, you'll never hear a typical locker room speech. What does he talk about?
"Love," Coach Lad repeats. "Why is that word so hard to say?" He stares out over the bowed, shaved heads. "What is it with us that we find it so hard to say it to each other?"
Ladouceur will stop and listen. He will wait for as long as it takes. And each week, enough players will overcome their embarrassment to say the word that begins with an L. And then, each week, as they have for every season in the past 11 years, the Spartans will come home winners.
Don Wallace's book One Great Game: Two Teams, Two Dreams, in the First-Ever National Championship High School Football Game, was published last month by Atria Books.
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