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 Thursday, November 1, 2001
Beware of what you ask for
By Ed Cunningham
Special to ABC Sports Online
Dear Jon Gruden,
I had the pleasure of meeting you a few summers ago when you attended an Orlando Predators game. Your brother Jay, the head coach of the Arena Football team, was getting his team in position to win the league championship, and you took some time to fly out and support him.
You couldn't have been more of a regular guy. Worried about when the free beer at the hospitality tent was going to stop pouring, and wondering aloud if the head coach of the home team had his team ready to play.
|  | | Jon Gruden has posted a 34-22 record as the head coach of the Raiders. |
It was so refreshing to meet someone who was becoming more famous by the second, and still had time to just hang out and shoot the breeze.
That's why I'm writing this letter. We have enough politicians in the game of football to not answer direct questions and talk in clichés. We need more regular guys. Guys who admit they're not perfect, but try to be. Guys who don't mind yelling at their players, and don't mind them yelling back. Guys who'll get whipped and look like they want to fight the other head coach at midfield rather than shake his hand. Guys who care more about how his team's playing than how he looks on TV.
So, I'm begging you not to do it. Don't become a college head coach. Don't become the head coach at Notre Dame.
Now, from the outside, the sweetest job in the coaching land appears to be Notre Dame. A TV deal to call your own. The best facilities alumni (and non-alumni) money can buy. Recruits beating down your door. A statue of your likeness if you can win a few championships.
Sure, nice benefits all, but look at how your life will change.
As an NFL coach, you routinely get to the office at 5 a.m. The day includes talking about personnel, zone blitzes, injuries, how to cover a fast tight end in a 2-deep and how your team matches up Monday against the Broncos with some radio "personality".
That's fine with you. You're a football guy. Love football. Can't get enough football. 24/7 football. Heck, when I met you, you were on a vacation … at a football game.
Now, let's map out a day for you if you leave the Raiders for the Irish. To be fair, it really starts the night before. At 11 p.m., you're on the phone with the hottest QB recruit on the West Coast. ("How're the girls treatin' you?" "Good." "How's the SAT studying coming along?" "Good." "How'd you end up passed out on a dance floor?" Oops, that last one's your current team.)
After that, you might want to jot a note or two to the RBs you've been courting from Florida to Oregon. Need to let them know you've been thinking about them. (Remember eighth grade and the notes you would send to girls you wanted to "go with"? The "circle yes or no" part of the note comes on national signing day.)
You'll finally hit the hay about 1 a.m., but the day is just starting. At 3 a.m. the phone will ring. It'll be the campus police. Your All-American offensive tackle just beat up his dormitory.
Now, I know you have some experience with this sort of thing, but now you'll be playing by a new set of rules.
The sports information department will have an 8 a.m. press conference set up to discuss how you'll deal with Anthony's problems. Actually, you'll be telling the press how the university told you to deal with it. No longer your call. (Your quarterback's blind side will be protected by some true freshman from Illinois for at least the next two games.)
Finally, you'll get together with your coaches at your 9 a.m. staff meeting. First on the agenda will be, of course, the morning's legal goings on. Then you'll move on to your team's class attendance, making sure everyone is still academically eligible. You'll run through each position's afternoon practice attendance report. The wide receivers will have two of the top five in lab during the first hour of practice. That's OK, because you won't have a full compliment of DBs to cover them anyway. Three of them have a seminar they need to attend for extra credit.
The meeting will break at 10:30 because you have a breakfast to go to across campus. Shaking hands, eating powdered eggs, meeting Deans.
At 11:30, you're back in the office, ready to start breaking down film. You're getting ready to play Navy and their new staff. The film you have is from some I-AA team from the previous year. Navy has yet to play a game, and the new coach was at Rhode Island last season. In bad, student video, you can't believe your eyes. What the heck is this? The wishbone? Who in the world still runs the wishbone?
It's noon before you can even start to draw up plays for your scout team to run. The team will be here in four hours for practice, and you haven't even made your practice plan. Well, it'll have to wait.
At 1 p.m., you've got a staff lunch with the other head coaches and the Athletic Director. When it's your turn, you get to share with the group your new idea on how to improve the overall GPA.
Then, it's back to the office, and another meeting with …
OK, I think you're getting the picture. What happened to the football, you ask? Well, I've got some bad news, you're no longer a football coach, you're an administrator.
Coaching football in the NFL is easy. You have a say in who lines up on Sundays. You spend every hour of the week getting a game plan ready, drilling your players on that plan for hours upon hours. (I would imagine you're used to more than the 20-hour limit you'll be getting yourself into.) Let it fly on game day, and come back Monday and repeat.
Admittedly, you've got one of the tougher (crazier?) bosses in the league, but it's one guy. You'll now have thousands of "superiors". Anyone who gives a few bucks to the cause now has a voice in your future. (You may want to pick Bob Davie's brain about that headache. Might as well have a talk with Lou while you're at it.) If you take this job, make sure you're ready to pucker up on demand.
Now, I know the upside of being a successful head coach at Notre Dame: Immortality. The problem with that is, it doesn't kick in until you kick it. Wouldn't you rather enjoy the grind while you're still around?
Sincerely,
Ed Cunningham
P.S. Is it true your brother is thinking about coaching and quarterbacking the Predators next season? Guess I'd better write him a letter too.
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