Dear Coach Spurrier: What the heck was that about?
So there I was, packing up at the ballyard after Braves-Dodgers, when I saw an email from John Clay, sports columnist for the Lexington Herald-Leader. āWhy are you always making Spurrier mad?ā he wrote, and I thought ⦠huh?
Spurrier? Steve Spurrier? Iād heard nothing from him since he answered ā politely and thoughtfully and at length ā a question Iād posed in Hoover, Ala., last Tuesday. (For the record, the question was about his possible retirement.) But that was, I note for emphasis, last Tuesday. A column I wrote about Spurrier ran in last Wednesdayās AJC. Iād had plenty of time since to make lots of other folks mad.
I got in the car and headed home. You know how people say, āMy phone was blowing up?ā Well, my phone has never blown up, literally or figuratively, because ā to be frank ā Iām not very interesting. But what happened in the time it took to get from the media lot at Turner Field to Cobb County was as close as this iPhone 5 will get to full-blown Blowing Up.
I got texts, calls, requests from radio stations. I was thinking, āWhat in the wide world of sports is going on?ā (I was also driving in 5 p.m. traffic, which meant I couldnāt do a Google search to find out.) Finally esteemed colleague Chip Towers phoned to say, āHave you heard about this press conference Spurrier had to talk about you?ā
And I thought: Steve Spurrier, whoās no worse than the third-best coach in SEC history, had a press conference to talk about ⦠me? Am I hearing this right?
Apparently I was. Apparently ā Iāve since done some catch-up Googling ā the Olā Ball Coach had a bee in in his olā bonnet over something Iād said to Josh Kendall, the intrepid journalist who covers South Carolina for The State. Last week Josh asked, āWhat do you think of South Carolina?ā and held out his tape recorder. I answered thusly (and boy do I cringe at the thought of quoting myself):
I think they are a program on the descent, and I think itās going to be interesting to see how long the coach stays. There are some guys you think, āYeah, heās going to be coaching when heās 70.ā Steve Spurrier was never one of those guys for me, and itās hard for me to envision him coaching much beyond this if he doesnāt think he has a chance to win, and Iām not sure heās going to have a chance to win the next few years the way heās had it the last few years.
That ran in The State two days ago. I freely admit those are my words, right down to the last run-on sentence. Those sentiments were raised at greater length (and, I can only hope, with more palatable sentence structure) in the AJC of July 15. The headline on that column: ā
The Great Spurrier Is Surely Nearing An End.ā
So thatās what I said/wrote, and I stand by it. What I donāt get is why Spurrier would call a press conference ā on a Wednesday afternoon in the dog days of July ā to rant (and, having seen the video, I believe that word fits) about it. But thatās the thing with Spurrier: Even at 70 ā even after working in Florida, a state overflowing with fine newspapers, and in Washington D.C., for Peteās sake ā he hasnāt grasped that the media isnāt his to control.
I donāt mind that he seemed to refer to me as āthe enemy.ā (I donāt consider myself as such, but Iāve been called worse ā including a barnyard epithet in a postcard written by, er, Steve Spurrier.) I have no recollection of writing that he would āflame outā at Florida. (I never for a minute thought heād fail there; he was a splendid coach in a bountiful setting, and he did a fabulous job.) I did write that he was cocky and arrogant, but sometimes the shoe fits.
Iām not exactly a disinterested bystander, but ā I say again ā I donāt get it. How can a man of such accomplishment not know that a certain amount of criticism comes with his high-profile (and high-salaried) job? How can he not have learned that such criticism is best ignored? How can a guy who has spent his adult life tweaking others, from Ray Goff to Canāt-Spell-Citrus-Without-U-T to Free Shoes U. to Dabo Swinney, feel heās above the fray?
But enough. This is the enemy, signing out.