Notre Dame, Brian Kelly, my Dad, & me

This is a complicated story; I hope I make it worth your trouble to follow!

The simple part is Notre Dame football. As an Irish Catholic lad growing up about 3 miles (as the crow flies) from the Golden Dome, I was predestined to be a fan of the Fighting Irish. Going to the local parochial school, still staffed by nuns who led us in prayers of thanksgiving every Monday for the past Saturday’s victory, didn’t hurt. And my adolescence coincided with a run of greatness that included national championships, miraculous comebacks, and legendary players/coaches. Unfortunately, it also came with the childish expectation that such things would continue: “as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.” Amen.

Except of course it wasn’t. While Notre Dame football went through extended periods of mediocrity, I remained a staunch fan. While excellence was a key component of their reputation, so was winning the right way, graduating student-athletes, and enforcing a degree of discipline and decorum. It’s not that the Irish players were better people than the players anywhere else. It’s that the institution held them to a higher standard, and disciplined them when they failed to meet it. And the same went for its coaches.

And then came Brian Kelly, a coaching success at small programs who brought Cincinnati near the top of the college football ledger for a season, right at the end of four failed Irish coaches in a row. He was straight out of central casting: Boston Irish, Catholic, blue collar, with a solid family life and a straight-forward demeanor. My first impression: no, he wasn’t a high-profile choice, but he had all the ingredients for success.

So I was shocked when I first asked my Dad what he thought of Kelly: “I don’t like him, he’s a phony. He’s not the right man to be coach at Notre Dame.” Now Dad couldn’t cite any statistics or even link to any salacious gossip to reinforce his gut instinct, but he stuck with it. What gave me momentary pause was the fact Dad was career policeman–a detective–and was very good at reading people. But he was also old-school, and a blossoming curmudgeon, so I chalked his opinion up to the latter and left it at that.

The fact that Kelly left his undefeated Cincinnati team practically on the field, facing Urban Meyer’s Florida Gators in a major bowl game (they were blown out), was a clue to the man’s character. There were many more to follow. Some were football related, like the time he had his quarterback throw a low-percentage fade route into the end-zone (intercepted) as the team was driving for a winning field goal, resulting in a loss to Tulsa. Yes, Tulsa. Questioned after the game, Kelly responded that was how he called his offense, and “get used to it.” There was the emergence of the screaming, purple-faced Kelly monster, literally losing his religion on the sidelines during a pathetic opening game loss to South Florida. Yes, South Florida.

Always taking the ball to start the game, often having a false-start out of time out, the star quarterbacks mentored into indecisive wrecks (before transferring), the posse of assistant coaching buddies who failed on the big stage, the offensive play-calling scheme (and I use the term loosely) that was indeed offensive. Not to mention the unending string of humiliating losses in big games.

I’m a Catholic, and a football optimist, so all these past sins could be forgiven. But then there were the off-field issues, too. When a student who helped with filming practices died in a fall from a camera tower, toppled in high winds, Kelly admitted no responsibility. His Athletic Director boss, Jack Swarbrick, called the 50 mph wind gusts “unremarkable.” Kelly’s players got caught cheating. His reaction when asked whether he had ANY responsibility: “Zero. Zilch. None.” He secretly met with representatives of the Philadelphia Eagles professional team (for a job interview) just before a championship match-up against the Alabama Crimson Tide (this in his third year at Notre Dame)!

To be sure, Kelly brought Notre Dame out of the doldrums where they languished when he was hired. Some younger fans admire his record number of victories, ten-win seasons, “appearances” in play-offs, or just his keeping Notre Dame “in the conversation” (a favorite quip of AD Swarbrick). And all those things are true, but counterfeit. His victory total includes wins forfeit due to NCAA violations. He has more ten win seasons than past ND coaching legends because his teams play twelve or thirteen games a season. His appearances in the play-offs and championship games have all the luster of the time when Grandpa showed up at Thanksgiving without his pants. And “the conversation” is highly overrated in today’s social-media saturated world.

And all this happened on top of a constant need to have everything his way. They tore up the grass and put in fake turf because Kelly wanted it. They added a jumbo-tron with nonstop jock-rock because Kelly said the players wanted it. He abandoned the tradition of pregame Mass because, well, there was no reason given. He got more, bigger, and better facilities which serve to separate the players from the other students, previously a hallmark of the Notre Dame experience. He complained about having to meet with so many alumni/booster clubs, perhaps misunderstanding the price of coaching a legendary program.

Did Kelly grow into the job, or embrace the traditions and the challenges they represent. Not really. He did eventually fire coaches, did admit he didn’t need to score a lot of points to generate excitement about the program, did get more involved with his players. These were all do-or-die changes. The closest he ever came to introspection was when he was smart enough to admit (around all the hoopla of “passing” Knute Rockne in total wins) he still didn’t have a championship. Kelly left his players with a tweet (this time), surprising even his chief proponent, AD Swarbrick. One of his assistants found out as he left a recruit’s house! In some respects, Kelly never really believed Notre Dame was different, and he proved his point by first denying any interest in other jobs, then taking one suddenly for a ridiculous payday.

In the end, Brian Kelly was a conniving, grasping, small-time coach. Yes, he was above-average on the sideline, but well below-average as a person of integrity. Despite my harsh words, I hold no grudge against Kelly. He was offered the opportunity, and he took it. He failed in the goal of winning a championship, but got paid admirably along the way. I wish him well, and I hope he performs just as well for Louisiana State. I do hope some future AD and leadership at Notre Dame correctly records Kelly’s tenure–officially–as having only 92 wins. After all, winning isn’t everything, . . . or is it?

So my Dad was right, again. I know he’s been waiting to hear that from me!