Sound and the Fury

Both players also worried Hottle might make some common uninformed assumptions about the deaf -- that they were somehow capable of less.

Hottle had been taking extensive one-on-one sign language classes for two weeks. At night, he'd sit with a workbook on his lap, practicing signs, teaching his wife the alphabet, figuring out football terms. Still, when he walked into the gym where the team was gathered for that first meeting, he'd arranged for an interpreter to meet him there.

There were 21 guys in the room. He had been expecting around 40.

Some players had skipped the first day of practice, wanting to hear what Hottle was like before they joined the team. Tingley and Coleman held their own meeting right before Hottle's. Coleman had been a star quarterback at Maryland School for the Deaf in Frederick, which won the national deaf prep championship his senior year. He was known for his long-range arm, but Gallaudet had won few games since he'd arrived on campus. The team was more often the laughingstock of the school, and both players were tired of it. "Let's give the coach a chance," Coleman signed.

"All that matters is that we win," Tingley signed back.

After that first practice, Hottle gathered the guys before dismissing them. "We have a lot of work to do to accomplish great things this season," he told them through an interpreter. "Nothing will be easy."

After a few days, the players stopped talking about Hottle's communication challenges. They talked more about how seriously he was taking them. They ran through formations over and over. Exhausted players cringed when they saw Hottle hold his left hand out and sweep his right fingertips over his left palm -- the sign for "again." As the players saw it, Hottle didn't seem to care that they were deaf or that they had only six defensive linemen for the season. He was determined to work with those players until they were the best six defensive linemen the team had ever known.

Hottle was struck by how hard the guys hit in practice. When he mentioned this to an athletic department official, the explanation was simple: The team was proud. The Bison might lose every game, but they wanted everyone to know that deaf football players were tough. After that, Hottle cut out the full-contact tackling in practice.

Another change: Hottle began using a hand-held BlackBerry-like device that no Gallaudet student is without. It's the deaf person's cellphone, allowing instant communication through text messaging. Before long, Hottle's wife had to beg him to put it away. At all hours of the night, his players would text him notes or tidbits about their lives -- one explained why he was sluggish in practice; another shared good news about his grades -- and Hottle always responded. He knew it was an important way to get to know the players and gain their trust.

A few weeks into the season, the size of the team had doubled to 42.

HOTTLE'S SIGNING WAS STILL RUDIMENTARY, but he was finding ways to communicate what he needed to -- before, during and after practice.

Calvin Doudt, a 5-foot-10, 195-pound sophomore linebacker with long golden surfer's locks, and his older brother, Joshua, a 5-foot-11, 240-pound junior linebacker, were lined up with their teammates in the hallway one afternoon.