For all we know about George O'Leary at this point, It might have been the longest-lasting pickup line in history.

George O'Leary is gone after a very short stay at Notre Dame.(AP)

"You know," O'Leary could have told any co-ed 33 years ago, "I played football at New Hampshire."

Whatever the origin of the three-decade-old lie, we've got one of the sloppiest messes in Notre Dame history. Worse than Joe Moore, worse than Gerry Faust, much worse than Bob Davie who, there is no doubt, was at least a stand-up guy.

During his rise and rapid fall at Notre Dame, O'Leary definitely wasn't.

The 55-year-old Irish-Catholic poster boy for Notre Dame football resigned Friday, basically for falsifying his résumé. In his short five days on the job, O'Leary made approximately $28,800 of his $2 million annual salary while making Notre Dame look silly. All because he enhanced his football and academic background.

For more than three decades, O'Leary allowed the falsehood that he played football for New Hampshire to be part of his résumé. For almost 30 years, his employers believed he had a master's degree from New York University.

Notre Dame compounded the problem by discovering the false claims after they had agreed to pay O'Leary the $2 million a year for the next six years.

On Sunday, T-shirts worn around Notre Dame's campus happily stated, By George, it's O'Leary. By Friday, it could have been: Bye, George, we should have been leery.

"I would think if you're going to apply to Notre Dame you would go through your credentials pretty thoroughly," Nebraska coach Frank Solich said after hearing the news.

Three professions were profoundly shaken up Friday by O'Leary's misdeeds. Football coaches -- already perceived as a win-at-all-costs group -- now have to live down trying to get hired at all costs.

Athletic directors, those six-figured figureheads -- you have to wonder what they do all day? Solich unwittingly might have indicted both coaches and ADs when he said, "Any position that I've looked at, my credentials weren't asked for on that end of it."

Solich has been coaching for 35 years.

The lowest of college football's caste system, sports information directors, even had their humble standard in life thrown in question.

"This is a whole new ball of wax for our profession," said Pete Moore, president of College Sports Information Directors of America (CoSIDA), "because it's common practice at schools for (new) coaches to fill out questionnaires that are specific to SIDS needs.

"This afternoon we are talking now about a disclaimer that says, 'Is the above information correct?'"

O'Leary had three decades to correct the falsehoods he admits he made as "... a young married father," seeking to, "pursue my dream as a football coach."

But as he kept climbing the ladder, obviously it became increasingly embarrassing for O'Leary to correct his personal record. It had gotten him to Notre Dame, hadn't it?

In the culture of football, it almost made sense that O'Leary stated he'd played football at New Hampshire in the 1960s. The mentality is that to get into coaching, you have to have played the game.

It might have gotten O'Leary that first job at Central Islip (N.Y.) High School in 1968. Considering he was a young go-getter, it was almost forgivable.

"Sometimes you do things at 22," Solich said Friday, "that you don't at 55."

But once O'Leary's foot was in the door as a successful coach, who was going to ask questions? Syracuse didn't. O'Leary was hired there in 1980. Moore, who also works at Syracuse, was fielding numerous calls Friday.

"In this specific case when he was hired at SU, his football letters were not a part of the hiring process," Moore said.

Now that lying is not cool in Division I-A football, you have to wonder if there were a bunch of O'Leary don't-wanna-bes scrambling to Kinko's on Friday to "update" their resumes.

"I tell you what," one former I-A recruiting coordinator said, "there's about 50 coaches cleaning up their résumés right now."

Maybe that's an unfair indictment of the coaching profession. Then again, maybe the profession should be up for indictment. Bear Bryant didn't give water breaks. Woody Hayes threw a forearm shiver as his final goodbye. While at Georgia Tech, a player accused O'Leary of staging a practice drill that would result in the player's injury.

Still, there's a fine line between fudging and fabrication. Fudging on a résumé is an American art form. Fabrication will lose you the presidency -- or something even bigger: the Notre Dame football job.

O'Leary and Notre Dame both should have learned from these unfortunate episodes:

• Former Kansas City Chiefs coach Frank Gansz allowed his bio to include exploits as a fighter pilot. Gansz never got closer than a cargo plane and certainly never saw combat.
• Former Toronto Blue Jays manager Tim Johnson lied about seeing combat in Vietnam before being canned.
• Bronx little leaguer Danny Almonte insisted he was 12 years old and eligible to play in the Little League World Series. He was 14.
• Seattle Mariners outfielder Al Martin told reporters this past season he played defensive back at Southern California. It never happened.

By lying, they've all tried to enhance their character. Make themselves better people.

In reality, their character, and those around them, was eroded by the falsifications.

Georgia Tech lived O'Leary's 100-yard lie for most of the past 14 years, even passing along the information to the San Diego Chargers for his brief stay there.

The buck finally stopped at the desk of Notre Dame athletic director Kevin White, who had to be mortified that his proud hire had joined the rogue's gallery of false reputations.

What was the rush, anyway, in hiring O'Leary?

The whirlwind courtship lasted five days from the time Notre Dame made contact Dec. 5 to Sunday's hiring. It's more than hindsight to suggest White should have taken a couple of more days to look into O'Leary's background.

Things began to collapse quickly for O'Leary. The question of his past came up Thursday during his first formal press conference in South Bend. O'Leary quickly cut things short. After 30 years, it took only two days and a couple of phone calls to New Hampshire and NYU to confirm things.

Now Notre Dame is at one of its lowest points in history. And we're not just talking about football. A school that preaches honesty and ethics didn't to properly check O'Leary's while rushing him in the door of the Joyce Center.

So what does Notre Dame do now? By rejecting Stanford's Tyrone Willingham in favor of O'Leary, Notre Dame already lost a superior coach once.

Willingham is more accomplished, a better coach and -- note to White -- his background check would take about 10 minutes. If Willingham considers who beat him out, not even $2 million a year might get him to South Bend.

If the Irish are still into Irish as a job qualification, then there are two fine candidates. Harvard's Tim Murphy would be on campus tomorrow if White called. White hired Murphy at Division I-AA Maine in 1987. Murphy is coming off the Crimson's first undefeated since 1913.

Now that Boston College's Tom O'Brien is out of the mix at Georgia Tech, he is conveniently available. For $2 million a year, Frank Beamer might be persuaded to come. But if you compare the two programs -- swallow hard Domers -- Virginia Tech's is a much better.

With a much better person running it.