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The words never were written or rehearsed. They just bounced around all week in the supposedly limited mind of Jay Rudd as he rode the light-rail train from his home in Sandy to the University of Utah, studied opposing offenses on his laptop computer, shadowed coach Kyle Whittingham and watched the Utes practice.

And then, on Thursday afternoons when the team's preparation was winding down, those words would flow passionately and forcefully.

Here he is, in advance of a 2009 game with San Diego State, telling the Utes, "This team needs to go full speed. Find a way to shut them down. Dominate the first quarter. Dominate!"

And earlier that season, before the Utes would play UNLV, he's exhorting them, "We have got to have heart and adrenaline going. It all needs to be 100 percent. The quarterback needs to be protected. I don't want to see your quarterback sacked. If I see your quarterback on his backside, offensive line, you're going to answer to me."

That voice, and the love of the Utes that Rudd embodied, is absent from the team's spring practices. At age 37, Rudd died March 26 after a lengthy hospital stay.

The incurably upbeat man who was born with Down syndrome influenced the football program more than he knew, thanks to a caring coach who may have benefited more than anyone.

It is a story of how much a developmentally disabled person could contribute, all because a coach treated him as capable and dependable.

The post-practice talks were "well thought out," Whittingham said, smiling at the memory. "He didn't just wing it. I mean, he'd been thinking about it all week, and each week, it was different. He had something unique to say."

Rudd's parents, Jack and Kay, are full-time Christian missionaries who worked in the South Pacific for many years, among other stops. They prayed that, amid his limitations, their son would have speaking ability and a grasp of language. Being around football coaches added to his vocabulary — mostly in a good way.

Rudd's involvement with the Utes stemmed from former player Josh Savage, a family friend who arranged a meeting with ex-coach Urban Meyer. In turn, Meyer assigned Rudd to Whittingham, then the team's defensive coordinator. The original plan in the spring of 2004 was to have Rudd work in the equipment room, but he wanted more responsibility. He was born to coach.

So he attached himself to Whittingham, who would give him films to watch and have him address the defense weekly. When Whittingham became Utah's head coach in 2005, Rudd was promoted with him.

In recent seasons, Rudd's duties included patrolling the sidelines during home games, keeping the players where they belonged.

Rudd stayed close to secondary coach Morgan Scalley, constantly telling him to order a blitz.

When that call came, Scalley would point to Rudd, confirming the suggestion. Rudd also frequently asked Scalley what time it was, wondering when he could eat his snack.

"He's an unbelievable human being, and all he wants to do is be part of Utah football," Scalley said, speaking in the present tense, while summarizing Rudd's legacy.

Whittingham believes Rudd's presence made his players appreciate their own abilities and humbled them to a healthy degree. Yet there clearly was more to this relationship. Kay Rudd traces the friendship to the day Jay invited Whittingham and his family to lunch at their home and "something clicked" with the coach, she said.

During Rudd's six-week hospital stay, his parents lost track of how often Whittingham visited. The coach spoke at Rudd's memorial service last week at The Fellowship church in Sandy, telling stories of his involvement.

"He had a positive influence on everybody," Whittingham said.

That will not end in Rudd's absence. Former defensive end Alex Puccinelli is among the Utes promising to remember his instructions.

Responding to Rudd's online obituary, Puccinelli wrote, "I will forever stay behind the white line."