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Supersized prep players may struggle after football

300-pound linemen becoming the norm, but beefing up could lead to health risks.

Carroll High School's massive offensive line of (from left) Mitch Cron, Graeme Rieman, Kyle Abel, Raymond Marlow, Joe Londergan and Neal Cates averages 285 pounds. Staff photo by Teesha McClam

Teesha McClam/Dayton Daily News Staff Photogra Carroll High School's massive offensive line of (from left) Mitch Cron, Graeme Rieman, Kyle Abel, Raymond Marlow, Joe Londergan and Neal Cates averages 285 pounds. Staff photo by Teesha McClam

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By Marc F. Pendleton, Staff Writer 12:21 AM Friday, September 3, 2010

RIVERSIDE — Flattening a defender is how Mitch Cron measures himself on Friday nights.

But for this massive offensive lineman and many more like him, there’s nothing like the satisfaction of a classroom full of round tables.

“I pray for classes that have tables like that and chairs that you can pull out,” said Cron, a 6-foot-2, 320-pound senior offensive lineman at Carroll High School.

“Those are my favorite.”

Bigger and better has always been the calling card for high school football players. But this football-loving nation has never seen anything quite this big at such a young age.

Cron is part of a six-man Carroll offensive line rotation that averages 285 pounds. At left tackle is 6-6, 323-pound junior Ray Marlow. At the other is Neal Cates, a 6-2, 300-pound senior.

Kyle Abel, at 6-2, 260, is a junior center. Joe Londergan is a 6-0, 225 guard and Graemen Rieman, 6-3, 220, is the other guard. Carroll coach Steve Bartlett affectionately calls Rieman “the runt of the bunch,” and he’s not wrong.

None are older than 18. Marlow, the gargantuan among giants, just turned 16.

They proudly call themselves the Hawgs, and they have plenty of company. At least 31 players throughout Miami Valley football programs weigh 300 pounds or more, including 10 in the Greater Western Ohio Conference.

The Patriots’ nickname is a spin off the original Washington Redskins offensive line that was tagged the Hogs for their girth and three Super Bowl wins. In comparison, their average weight in the early 1980’s was 273 pounds, or 12 less than the current Patriots.

Excessive weight-room workouts and lots of meals high in carbohydrates are the staples of any large lineman at any level. That’s the quickest — and most legal way — to beef up.

That heavy football load has evolved so relatively quick that it has spawned another concern: What to do with all that weight after a career has ended?

“My parents are crazy about this,” Cron said, “and I agree with them. Sometimes it’s like it doesn’t feel right.”

In medical terms

That’s a neat way of summarizing the dilemma of playing high school football — with the hopes of landing a college scholarship — vs. what every clinical dietician in the country champions.

No medical person would advise a teen to weigh 300 pounds. But that much bulk, combined with height and athletic mobility, is exactly what college football recruiters crave. It’s estimated that only three percent of high school players further their football careers in college. That leaves a big load behind.

“Right now what’s keeping them OK is that they’re so athletic and they’re working their heart and they’re burning calories,” explained Michelle Kitze, a clinical dietician at Good Samaritan Hospital for 19 years.

“But when they stop doing that ... when they quit playing football, they’ve got all this buildup of plaque inside their arteries from eating too much saturated fat over the years. They’re at risk for heart attacks at a much earlier age compared to if they didn’t do this to themselves.”

The food of growth

Coaches, most of whom also played football, all seem to agree that teens are no more hungry now than back in the day. So what accounts for the massive difference in body size from just a generation ago?

According to Kitze, start with a combination of processed food that’s loaded with saturated fat and generous super-sized portions. Meats and dairy products are often full of antibiotics and hormones that are fed to cattle. That fuels growth and bulk, both of which pay off by the slaughtered pound.

A youth who eats those kinds of products since birth can also expect to grow larger and quicker than his parents and grandparents.

“There’s plenty of documentation about how that’s causing kids to mature earlier and bulk up more,” Kitze said.

Obesity is determined by a formula consisting of a person’s height, weight and age. According to that medical definition, most high school players would be labeled as such. It’s when the playing and working out stops that the concern about heart disease and diabetes heightens.

“I see it all the time,” Kitze said.

“Really good athletes in high school and college, and then they’ve gotten busy with life and they’ve stopped doing everything that they used to do and they really, so to speak, go to pot.”

When lights go out

That’s what alarmed Andy Harmon into adjusting his lifestyle following a seven-year and All-Pro career with the Philadelphia Eagles. Harmon graduated from Centerville, where he was 205 pounds as a senior defensive lineman. By the time he left Akron and joined the Eagles, he was 6-4, 280.

A quick and agile defensive tackle, Harmon was the NFL’s early 1990’s answer to offensive linemen who were 300 pounds and more, but not as mobile. He made an NFL living not being that big.

“It’s not necessary,” he said.

“You don’t have to be that big. But if you don’t have speed the only other thing you could have is size. At least (opponents) can’t move you.”

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