Steve Spurrier is 10 of the most interesting people I've ever covered -- not just because he wins games, but because he yanks chains and rocks boats, because he absolutely, positively believes that he's right and you're wrong, because his neurons fire just a little quicker than any other coach's in the business.

A little more than a year ago I sat in his office at Florida Field. It was a Sunday morning, I think, and you could hear the laughter of an assistant coach's little daughter as she ran up and down the hallway. Spurrier didn't mind a bit. He has a soft spot for kids, maybe because that's what he is: a 56-year-old kid who loves nothing better than drawing plays in the dirt.

The interview didn't last long. They never do. As soon as he starts fiddling with the mail on his desk, that's when you close your notebook and thank him for his time. Spurrier isn't being impolite, it's just that his mind has moved on to something else. That's the thing about Spurrier: You're singing the first verse and he's already humming the chorus.

I admire Spurrier because he doesn't give a damn if I admire him. Or disagree with him. Or think he's one of the few coaches who are truly irreplaceable. The guy became a legend and made a fortune going against the grain. If life were a game of blackjack, he'd hit on 20.

Back in November or so, I called Florida athletic director Jeremy Foley about the rumors of another run at Spurrier by Washington Redskins owner Daniel Snyder. Foley had heard the same rumors, but said he was confident that Spurrier would stay put because "he's a college coach ... he belongs in the college game."

So Foley wasn't kidding when he said last week that Spurrier's decision to leave Florida left him speechless for several seconds. Spurrier had become a rarity in college football: a living, breathing institution, a coach with his very own era and a legacy that meant something. Now he was pooch-punting all that for the dreaded "next level?"

But Foley, of all people, should have known that Spurrier wasn't going to be a Gator lifer. This was Spurrier fiddling with his mail again. He had done the Florida thing. Time to see if his gig would work in the NFL.

The college game will miss him, for all sorts of reasons. The victories. The innovations. The honesty.

Spurrier did everything to excess. He won big. He talked big. He left big.

I'm going to miss the lug. I used to count how many times he was pictured in the Florida media guide. I kept track of his sideline visor heaves. I marveled at every grimace, fist pump, scream and facial gesture. More times than not, Spurrier was more entertaining than the game itself.

There is a story about Spurrier that has made the rounds for years. During a Florida media day gathering, a rather large and overweight sportswriter supposedly approached Spurrier at session's end and introduced himself to the coach.

"Coach Spurrier," nervously said the sportswriter, "I don't know if you remember or not, but my mom says you and her had a few dates in high school."

Spurrier looked the writer over and, in that clipped voice of his, said, "Your mama? No way!"

Who knows if it really happened, but it sounds like quintessential Spurrier. He talks like he coaches. He's fearless, occasionally reckless and almost always exasperating.

And yet, there's a part of him that you'd like to be. Not the Bobby-Bowden-coaches-his-players-to-injure-my-players part of Spurrier -- that was a silly mistake, even if he won't admit it -- but the what-if-we-tried-to-turn-it-upside-down-and-do-it-this-way? part of the guy.

Florida football will never be the same. Spurrier says the Gators will be fine -- after all, Butch Davis left Miami and the Hurricanes still won a national championship with Larry Coker at the helm. But that's chamber of commerce talk. Miami was Miami long before Davis arrived in Coral Gables.

But Florida? Think Gators and you think Coach Steve.

Sure, Florida might one day win another national title. But it won't ever replace Spurrier, or his smirk, or the way he drew in the dirt.

All I know for sure is that college football and my notebook will miss him.

Gene Wojciechowski is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at gene.wojciechowski@espnmag.com.