Some day I'll be sorry. Some day this column will wake me up at night and break my heart, because it'll no longer be about Bobby Bowden or Joe Paterno. It'll be about me. And when I'm in my 70s or 80s and trying to hang onto something I have no business hanging onto, I'll be crushed to remember what I wrote on Sept. 25, 2008.
In the meantime I'll sleep just fine, because this is a column that could be written whenever I damn well please. Last week, next week, whenever. As long as Paterno and Bowden continue their duel to the death for major college football's all-time victories record, this column is cocked and loaded. All it needs is someone to pull the trigger.
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| No one outside FSU and Penn State really knows what these guys do. (Getty Images) |
Munson is the longtime radio voice of the Georgia Bulldogs, possibly the most beloved person in that state. Like Bowden and Paterno, Munson parlayed his popularity into a job-for-life. Unlike Bowden and Paterno, he knew when enough was enough. He retired earlier this week at age 85, unable to travel since last season and now unwilling to put himself through the stress of home games. No. 8 Alabama visits No. 3 Georgia on Saturday, one of the Dawgs' biggest games since Herschel Walker was on the field and Munson was in the booth yelling, "Run, Lindsay!" And Munson won't be there. By his own choice. Well done, Larry Munson.
As for Bowden and Paterno, they get no kudos. Not yet. Not even for the undeniable brilliance of their careers, brilliance they have compromised by staying far, far too long.
They are in two different positions in one sense, because Paterno has Penn State winning games while Bowden's program is unraveling right before his eyes. Assuming he's even looking. No one is quite sure what Bowden sees, just like no one outside the program has any idea what he does. I'm guessing there are players inside his own locker room that don't know what he does on a day-to-day basis. Coaching? He's not doing that.
Mickey Andrews has been the head coach in charge of defense for two decades. Jimbo Fisher is the head coach in charge of offense, a point Bowden underscores every time he admits he has no idea who will start at quarterback. Chuck Amato has handled recruiting and day-to-day operations for almost 20 years, not counting his time at N.C. State.
So what is Bowden doing?
Getting paid.
He's making $2.2 million to (not) coach this year's team. Florida State has stopped giving him five-year deals -- Bowden, who turns 79 in November, is working on a one-year contract -- but his attorney has been quoted as saying "Bobby Bowden certainly controls when he is going to exit." All FSU can do is bribe him with the $1 million "lifetime achievement" bonus written into his contract, payable when he finally gets the hell out.
But when that day comes, what kind of mess will he leave behind? Bowden, who in 1976 took over an FSU program accustomed to mediocrity -- its average record from 1963-72 was 7-4 -- has the Seminoles just about where he found them. Florida State's average record the last three seasons: 7-6. Expected record this season: About the same.
Bowden has lost it, and it's not coming back. The only thing he's good for these days is a joke, but give him that much. His sense of humor is as sharp as ever. Earlier this week when he was told that health issues had forced Paterno, 81, to coach against Temple from the press box, Bowden pounded the table and looked around the room in fanatical glee. He wasn't serious. I think.
Then again, this whole thing is a joke. Paterno's team is winning, but Paterno is so disconnected that he often telecommutes from his house, unable or unwilling to go to the office. Every few months he has a medical scare, whether it's a broken left leg suffered on the field or a hospitalization in the offseason or the injured right leg that sent him to the press box Saturday and has him, I kid you not, telling reporters, "I haven't been able to do a lot of walking."
That's just great. He attends practice in a golf cart, when he bothers to show up at all, and he has done such a poor job putting together his staff that only a few of his assistants are carrying their weight on the recruiting trail. The talent in the program is starting to dry up, and assuming Paterno does leave some day, his replacement will have to deal with it.
But I'm pretty sure Paterno doesn't plan to leave. Unlike Bowden, who has given his blessing to Fisher as his eventual replacement, Paterno refuses to reward loyal assistant Tom Bradley, or anoint anyone else, as his replacement-in-waiting. Paterno probably thinks he'll outlive everyone -- the media who is sick of him, the school president who is getting there himself, his assistants, everyone.
Paterno seems to think he's immortal. He does wear black quite a bit, come to think of it. Maybe he's a goth. Maybe he thinks he's a vampire, although the only thing he's sucking dry is his legacy.
