By Paul Wachter
This Week
August 1, 2011
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Happy Campers Clarkson: Mason Levinson/Bloomberg; Leinart: Alberto E. Rodriguez/Getty Images; Brees: Steve Clarkson—NFL washout and youth football eminence—was standing among 100 or so prepubescent boys as they ran between cones, avoided fake blitzes, and threw post and curl routes. Watching on the sidelines was a horde of eager parents, many of whom had plunked down $600 for Clarkson’s four-day Air 7 program. “It’s a big commitment,” says Jay Tuttle, who drove his 11-year-old two hours to the Los Angeles high school field. “But Steve really pushes my son’s skill set.”
For others, it’s a bargain. In the past two decades, Clarkson has become the country’s premier youth quarterback guru. His list of former pupils includes Super Bowl champion Ben Roethlisberger. Joe Montana hired him to tutor his sons. Last year, University of Southern California head coach Lane Kiffin offered a scholarship to David Sills, a Clarkson pupil who has yet to start high school. Youth quarterback coaching also happens to be an avocation Clarkson more or less created and then transformed into a miniature fiefdom. In addition to his Sunday Air 7 camps, he charges up to $10,000 per month for private lessons. “What you’re seeing at the quarterback position, at earlier ages, is specialization,” says Josh Heupel, the co-offensive coordinator at the University of Oklahoma. And there are plenty of takers. “This has been good for Miller,” says Eric Moss, watching his 9-year-old from the sidelines, “whether he plays football in the future—or invades China.”
Clarkson has given rise to one of football’s most profitable gimmicks, and one of its few economic gushers during the National Football League’s lockout that ended on July 25. There are now hundreds of camps run by an array of entrepreneurs ranging from NFL royalty to lesser quarterbacking profiteers. The Mannings—Peyton, Eli, and paterfamilias Archie—host the Manning Passing Academy every summer in Louisiana. The less famous Johnsons—Rob (who played for the Buffalo Bills and Tampa Bay Buccaneers), Bret (a brief stint with the Atlanta Falcons), and their dad, Bob—operate Camp Quarterback in California. And then there’s former high school offensive coordinator Terry Copacia. His brainchild, Terry Copacia’s All-State Quarterback School, holds two-day clinics throughout the country for $189 per student, grades seven and up. Darin Slack, who played for the Division-II University of Central Florida, charges $545 for his three-day Quarterback Academy, more than the four-day Manning affair.
The prices are justified, aspiring youth football moguls insist, by the fact that the position can be taught in a way a 7-foot frame or 95-mile-per-hour fastball cannot. And even if the NFL is out of reach for most kids, private coaches can help them earn a college scholarship—or at least make their high school’s first string. Quarterbacks also happen to be a good commodity to trade in since, private coaches note, they’re more likely to come from comfortable backgrounds. “It’s not a race thing,” says Clarkson, an African American. “It’s the demands of position. You have to be a stable person, and you’ll find most quarterbacks come from stable, two-parent homes.” Coincidentally, two-parent homes are more likely to be able to afford expensive quarterback coaches.
Clarkson discovered these truths with his first client, Perry Klein. After a season backing up John Elway in Denver—followed by two more seasons in Canada—Clarkson believed his career was over by 1986. That year, however, his great-aunt forwarded him an advertisement from a father looking for someone to help his 15-year-old son switch to football from gymnastics. “We threw the ball around on the lawn, and I remember thinking, the kid is O.K. but a little slender,” recalls Clarkson. “Then walking to the car, I turned around, and Perry was doing back flips. You could tell he was a great athlete. A light bulb went off in my head: If I could teach this kid to be a quarterback, he might be something special.” Clarkson took the job and devised a program targeting footwork, an efficient throwing motion, and reading defenses. Klein eventually won a Los Angeles high school title and spent two seasons with the Falcons. Soon other parents came calling, including Montana. “Just because you’re a Hall of Famer doesn’t mean you’re going to be a great coach,” Clarkson says.
This Week
August 1, 2011
Why the Debt Crisis Is Even Worse Than You Think
Previous
Next
Related Items
NFL's Silent Stakeholders
BA-Iberia Tap U.S. Pickup to Outdo Air France-KLM, Lufthansa
Electronic Arts Must Face Ex-Athletes’ Antitrust Claims
The Rapture Profiteers
Air France, Lufthansa Drop on Results; Singapore Also Misses
Happy Campers Clarkson: Mason Levinson/Bloomberg; Leinart: Alberto E. Rodriguez/Getty Images; Brees: Steve Clarkson—NFL washout and youth football eminence—was standing among 100 or so prepubescent boys as they ran between cones, avoided fake blitzes, and threw post and curl routes. Watching on the sidelines was a horde of eager parents, many of whom had plunked down $600 for Clarkson’s four-day Air 7 program. “It’s a big commitment,” says Jay Tuttle, who drove his 11-year-old two hours to the Los Angeles high school field. “But Steve really pushes my son’s skill set.”
For others, it’s a bargain. In the past two decades, Clarkson has become the country’s premier youth quarterback guru. His list of former pupils includes Super Bowl champion Ben Roethlisberger. Joe Montana hired him to tutor his sons. Last year, University of Southern California head coach Lane Kiffin offered a scholarship to David Sills, a Clarkson pupil who has yet to start high school. Youth quarterback coaching also happens to be an avocation Clarkson more or less created and then transformed into a miniature fiefdom. In addition to his Sunday Air 7 camps, he charges up to $10,000 per month for private lessons. “What you’re seeing at the quarterback position, at earlier ages, is specialization,” says Josh Heupel, the co-offensive coordinator at the University of Oklahoma. And there are plenty of takers. “This has been good for Miller,” says Eric Moss, watching his 9-year-old from the sidelines, “whether he plays football in the future—or invades China.”
Clarkson has given rise to one of football’s most profitable gimmicks, and one of its few economic gushers during the National Football League’s lockout that ended on July 25. There are now hundreds of camps run by an array of entrepreneurs ranging from NFL royalty to lesser quarterbacking profiteers. The Mannings—Peyton, Eli, and paterfamilias Archie—host the Manning Passing Academy every summer in Louisiana. The less famous Johnsons—Rob (who played for the Buffalo Bills and Tampa Bay Buccaneers), Bret (a brief stint with the Atlanta Falcons), and their dad, Bob—operate Camp Quarterback in California. And then there’s former high school offensive coordinator Terry Copacia. His brainchild, Terry Copacia’s All-State Quarterback School, holds two-day clinics throughout the country for $189 per student, grades seven and up. Darin Slack, who played for the Division-II University of Central Florida, charges $545 for his three-day Quarterback Academy, more than the four-day Manning affair.
The prices are justified, aspiring youth football moguls insist, by the fact that the position can be taught in a way a 7-foot frame or 95-mile-per-hour fastball cannot. And even if the NFL is out of reach for most kids, private coaches can help them earn a college scholarship—or at least make their high school’s first string. Quarterbacks also happen to be a good commodity to trade in since, private coaches note, they’re more likely to come from comfortable backgrounds. “It’s not a race thing,” says Clarkson, an African American. “It’s the demands of position. You have to be a stable person, and you’ll find most quarterbacks come from stable, two-parent homes.” Coincidentally, two-parent homes are more likely to be able to afford expensive quarterback coaches.
Clarkson discovered these truths with his first client, Perry Klein. After a season backing up John Elway in Denver—followed by two more seasons in Canada—Clarkson believed his career was over by 1986. That year, however, his great-aunt forwarded him an advertisement from a father looking for someone to help his 15-year-old son switch to football from gymnastics. “We threw the ball around on the lawn, and I remember thinking, the kid is O.K. but a little slender,” recalls Clarkson. “Then walking to the car, I turned around, and Perry was doing back flips. You could tell he was a great athlete. A light bulb went off in my head: If I could teach this kid to be a quarterback, he might be something special.” Clarkson took the job and devised a program targeting footwork, an efficient throwing motion, and reading defenses. Klein eventually won a Los Angeles high school title and spent two seasons with the Falcons. Soon other parents came calling, including Montana. “Just because you’re a Hall of Famer doesn’t mean you’re going to be a great coach,” Clarkson says.
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