We all know the story of the kindly, wise, patient, controlled, soothing, fatherly, leader of young men, Coach. I know a lady that lived to be 103, smoked and drank every day. What?
There are the Tom Osbornes of the world, that genial and beloved figure in all of the football world. Very few indeed, the late great Bear Bryant used to conduct himself similarly, that’s my short list. But most of us can all recall that outlier in our own sporting experience. The one that beat the odds and made it through the Long Haul, retained all the Right and Good stuff that keeps their names in our memories today. Utmost Character.
To quote Mr. Wolf in Pulp Fiction, “Just because you are a character doesn’t mean you have character.”
My point is that for every (necessary and never in abundance) icon of the Clean, Pure and Righteous Way there are hundreds, nay thousands, of others that fail that exclusive muster. That care just as much. Whose personal price is steeper, paid in the fires of unabated and oft times uncontrolled passion.
And sometimes these incendiary cats build winners. Even though they swear, they holler, they sometimes embarrass themselves or others. They can build winners. They call things as they see them, they shoot from the hip, and they piss people (genteel) off. And build winners.
Hard for me to not draw parallels to my personal fiery experiences. To reflect on the once lofty national prominence, my haughty pride that powered that red and white engine, delighting in the rubbing of noses in it.
No, I was never a Tom Osborne. Many won’t remember me with fond admiration and undying respect (though some will).
What they will remember is that I built a team into a national powerhouse. That I built a winner. I hope that the prestige that came with my flames, the excellence that I demanded and received, even though now sadly faded, will never be forgotten.
And oh by the way, we’re coming to get you.
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