The Merciless Jester – Ohio State Buckeyes
11/5/1998 12:00:00 AM | Football
November 5, 1998
COLUMBUS, Ohio – By Dan Jones OSU Athletic Communications
There are two sides to John Lumpkin. One that everybody loves, and one that a whole lot of people hate.
We’ll call the first side ‘Lump’ – his given nickname, for obvious reasons, that everyone from his teammates to reporters calls him. Lump is the guy that’s tapping you on your right shoulder when he’s behind you on the left. A week and half ago, Lump, who usually sports a grin as wide as his 6-8 frame, sat in back mocking episodes of Judge Judy in the OSU locker room as the rest of the Buckeyes doubled over with laughter. When you think you’ve got something clever to say, Lump’s always armed with something a little bit sharper. Lump always has the punchline, even if he’s not telling the joke.
Want proof? Talk to the people that know him best.
“He’s quick on his feet,” fellow fifth-year senior Kevin Griffin said of Lumpkin. “He’s got a great sense of humor and he always keeps things really light and relaxed. He’s loves to joke around.”
Lumpkin’s father, John Sr., is even more to the point.
“He’s a clown,” he says bluntly. “He’s always messing around. John likes to tease his little brother Aaron. They wrestle around and Aaron gets mad and turns serious, but John’s just laughing and smiling and telling his brother to give him a hug.”
His girlfriend-recently-turned-fiance, DeWanna Crockett, isn’t exempt from the ‘Lump’ side of John Lumpkin, either.
“Even when I try to be serious, he still is always joking around. I’m trying to sit down with him and plan our wedding, and he’s trying to make me laugh.”
On around a dozen nippy Saturdays in the fall, however, Lump hibernates for a while. Enter side number two – John Lumpkin, No. 85, the starting tight end for the best team in the country and a person who looks at losing as only a step above death.
Although they each said it on different occasions, the same three people that described Lump as the heir apparent to Santa Claus off the field may as well have formed a choir to describe him on the field. “He absolutely hates to lose,” Griffin said.
“One thing about John, he hates to lose,” John Sr. said.
“I see his fierce side on the field. He hates to lose.” Crockett said.
What does the source of all these accusations have to say for himself? You don’t even have to ask. Just take a look at him on the field after he hauls in a big-gainer over the middle, as the emotion seems to burst through whatever swarm of players surrounds him. Watch him trot off the field when the offense is forced to punt, looking like he just lost his best friend. See if you can spot him on the sidelines talking to every member of the team, lobbying like an energetic politician for them to buy into his philosophy – loathe losing.
“I’m going to scratch, bite, claw, kick – whatever it takes to keep you from beating me,” Lumpkin said. “I hate to lose. I don’t care if we’re playing tic-tac-toe. I don’t want anyone out there to be able to say they beat me – at anything.”
So you think every athlete says that? When Lumpkin talks of losing, his fists clinch. His eyes focus on yours. He suddenly becomes more attentive. With a guy that jokes around so much from Sunday to Friday, it’s one of the few times where you know you have his attention.
“I don’t care if other coaches get mad or if players get discouraged – I will score 100 points on you every game if I can. I have absolutely no mercy for the opponent. I feel like if you bring a team out there and we score 100 points, that’s your fault for bringing a team that bad in here to play us. No mercy.”
Does every athlete say that?
Lumpkin explains his allergic reaction to losing by talking about his days on the Trotwood-Madison high school football team. Friday night battles in Dayton, Ohio didn’t often end in celebrations for Lumpkin’s team. “We got beat all the time in high school – so much that now I want to crush everybody.”
His father, on the other hand, attributes the trait to Intellivision – a caveman video game system from the early ’80’s that came out just after Pong.
“When John was a little kid,” John Sr. says, trying to hold back the laughter, “he would always play Intellivision video games with one of the neighbors. John would always beat him. The other boy would even go home and practice, and John would still kill him. He’d dance around in the living room when he would win. Then his uncle in Nashville came up and played him and beat him. John didn’t know that his uncle had been practicing at his own house with his two daughters. To say that he got mad would be a huge understatement. John was crying and saying he would never play again. He’s always been so competitive.”
Some things never change. John and DeWanna can often be found in front of the television with video game controllers in hand, and the result seldom varies.
“He wins every single time,” she said. “He’ll bet me that if I score one point, he’ll do something for me, and then he won’t even let me do that.”
Lumpkin’s fervor for competition peaked two weeks ago against Northwestern. After making a highlight-reel catch in the endzone for a 35-yard touchdown, the towering Lumpkin stared deeply at the fallen Wildcat defender on the ground, drawing a celebration penalty. It was an emotional moment during a day of frustration.
“They were doing a lot of talking to me the entire day. The kind of guy that I am, I won’t take that. I didn’t say anything to him, I just stared at him. I got flagged for it, but if it happened again in the heat of the moment, I’d probably do the same exact thing.
“I cannot afford to back down to anyone.”
Now that’s John Lumpkin. At least on Saturdays.
