Kings of College Football

You would think after some 20 years covering college sports I'd have run across Joe Paterno or Bobby Bowden in person a time or two. But far as I can remember, I've never shared a handshake or the same room with either man. Or even sat in their stadiums watching a game. Like most, I've witnessed their Hall of Fame careers from afar, sometimes from the comfort of my living room couch, other times through the incisive writings of a couple of old pals from Sports Illustrated, Austin Murphy and Ivan Maisel.

As close as I got to Coach Paterno (for the life of me I can't bring myself to the Jo Pa affectation) was on the phone one day while researching a biography of Mike Ditka. He'd recruited Ditka out of Aliquippa, Pennsylvania, back in the late fifties for Rip Engel, the man who hired Joe at Penn State. Back before, it seems, the Johnstown Flood.

By the time I talked to Coach Paterno I'd learned full well the lessons of Western Pennsylvania football, the cold hard truths of men from the mills. Ditka's dad, the original Iron Mike, was one of those men, playing sandlot football on rock-strewn lots. He was a tough-talking, hard-drinking union leader who about broke my hand the first time he shook it outside the family home. The same home Paterno had visited while recruiting young Mike to Happy Valley.

Besides Ditka we talked about Engel and the enormous influence the master had on the pupil, teaching the right way and wrong ways to run a program. I was no virgin when it came to college corruption, far from it, but in my eye Paterno and Penn State seemed as clean as their game day uniforms, unstained by recruiting or drug scandals that tarred virtually every other big-time team.

Joe Paterno and Bobby Bowden took different paths to the HOF, but shared decades of victory.
As a galaxy of Penn State stars brightened the college football sky during the years, I saw them as a reflection of their old-school coach. Better yet they saw themselves the same way – as model citizens of Paterno Nation, Nittany Lions to the core, afraid of disappointing the Old Man long after they'd graduated. And graduate they did.

Bobby Bowden is another story. He's another certified legend worthy of enshrinement, a terrific football mind, but never in my mine a real stickler for NCAA rules and regulations or even graduation. Unlike Joe, Bobby has a rather long leash when it comes to codes of conduct. He personifies Head Coach as C.E.O., a hands off, above-the-fray kind of guy, letting his assistants handle the dos and don'ts, pleading plausible deniability during the Foot Locker and Free Shoes U scandals. For the life of me, I could never understand how any head coach – most of whom know the hair color their players' girlfriends by heart – could honestly get away with saying he was unaware starters were strolling around campus or strutting around the locker room in brand new gear.

But, God Bless 'em, that's part of Coach Bowden's appeal. He'd start laying on that southern drawl, cranking up some good 'ol dad gums, and before you know it, you were talking Florida-Florida State, national title hopes, hell with all those silly "distractions."

Today, at 79, Paterno is recovering from a broken leg and promising a return to the sidelines, while Bowden, at 77, says he's still full of fight after one of the worst seasons in five decades of FSU football, spoiling for another run at a national championship.

And you know what I say? Good for the both of them. So many coaching giants have either left the college game or been laid to rest. I shudder at the thought of the passing of two more. Joe Paterno and Bobby Bowden have ruled college football with style and grace for more than 50 years and served their loyal subjects well. They deserve to step down from their thrones when they decide it's time.

Until then:
Long live these Kings of College Football.