The Big Enchilada

"We were oh for 3, we'd lost to Rutgers, I was sick of people saying what a dumb——I was," says Mandarich. "I weighed 327, my guns [biceps] were 22 inches. I was——ing wired. I came out for the coin toss, and even before the ref could flip the coin, I told Dave Haight, their noseguard, 'You're going to freaking die today!' I didn't shake hands or anything. The ref just turned his head and walked away."

In that game Mandarich made the highlight films for sticking his hand inside the face mask of linebacker Jim Reilly and then nearly breaking him in half. "I was going for blood," Mandarich says. "I drove him back four yards, then bent him over backwards and buried him." Mandarich overwhelmed his opponents the rest of the season.

In the Gator Bowl he beat up on Georgia defensive end Wycliffe Lovelace because Lovelace had been quoted in the papers as saying Mandarich was overrated. "I called him 'Linda,' " says Mandarich. "I ripped his helmet off twice in the game. I abused him. I punished him." Mandarich finished sixth in the Heisman Trophy voting, but he became a victim of his own outlaw image and lost the Outland Trophy to Auburn's Tracy Rocker.

In a workout for NFL scouts at Michigan State in February—he had participated in only the physical exam and the drug test at the combine in Indy—Mandarich was dynamite. He weighed 304, ran the 40 in 4.65 seconds, did a standing long jump of 10'3", leaped vertically 30" and bench-pressed 225 pounds an unheard-of 39 times. "It may have been the finest workout the scouts have ever seen," says Perles. "Marty Schottenheimer [the Kansas City Chiefs' coach] asked me why Tony didn't play defense here. It's a good question. Mostly, we just needed him more on offense."

It is a couple of weeks before the draft and Mandarich and Rory Leidelmeyer hoist iron at the Uptown Gym in suburban Whittier, where Mandarich has lived in a rented condominium since moving to California. The Uptown is a bare-bones pit for serious metal junkies. There is nothing here but bars, plates and primitive machines. Fly strips hang like stalactites from the dirty ceiling. Over the PA. system Axl Rose sings: "I used to love her/But I had to kill her," and Mandarich grunts as he does stiff-legged deadlifts with 465 pounds.

Mandarich's girlfriend, Amber Ligon, who came west with him, does tricep curls across the room. A former violinist and Michigan State student, she is now an aspiring bodybuilder, who says, "I'm never leaving California."

"She used to go out with Todd Krumm, our free safety from a year ago," says Mandarich with bemusement. "He's with the Bears now—not real big, slow, a normal guy, kind of an all-American type. And she trades that for me, a sicko."

Leidelmeyer and Mandarich talk about how they are going to get matching 1,200-cc Harley-Davidsons and cruise through the streets of L.A., with their long hair flying, in ripped Guns n' Roses T-shirts, faded jeans and black leather chaps.

"Biceps exploding." says Leidelmeyer. "Two crossed guns on the gas tanks," says Mandarich. They smile at the vision.

That afternoon as Mandarich relaxes with Amber at the condominium, a telegram arrives from the Green Bay Packers. It reads: "Tony, please call Charlie Davis or Tom Braatz concerning travel to Green Bay for predraft physical before end of week."