I can’t remember the first time I met Tom Osborne, but I do remember thinking he was more boring than an instruction manual. He was droid-like, thoroughly unflappable, as composed as a chief justice. You wanted to tickle him, noogie him, fluff him up like a big pillow . . . anything to see if you could get a rise out of that Mt. Rushmore face of his.
Ed McMahon and his Publishers Clearinghouse camera crew could knock on the Osborne door at 4 a.m., aim a couple of mini-cam lights in his face, present him with a check for a million bucks, breathlessly ask for his reaction and all Tommy Tranquil would say is, “Uh huh.” That’s how Osborne usually answered questions, with a pause, an “Uh huh” and then a close approximation of the truth.
Osborne had three expressions: quiet determination, bored indifference and a Deputy Dawg look that bordered on pathetic. I’m going to miss all three, and though I can’t believe I’m saying this, I’m going to miss Osborne too.
In three months’ time, North Carolina’s Dean Smith and Nebraska’s Osborne have called it quits. That’s the winningest college basketball coach of all time and the sixth-winningest college football coach of all time. Smith is 66. Osborne is 60. Both resigned on their own terms, which these days is as unprecedented as their respective records.
“I think it’s wise to back off before you leave feet first or somebody tells me it’s time to go,” Osborne said Wednesday.
Osborne was more consistent than a recipe for oatmeal. I didn’t know that at first, mostly because I didn’t know Osborne. I still don’t, but at least now I have an appreciation and a respect for that consistency.
At one point in my career, I’m fairly certain I led the nation in cheap-shot Nebraska jokes. It was easy. It was completely unfair. It was fun.
More Top Picks Best Money Clips For Men
To us smug sportswriters from the big city, Nebraska was the land of “Honk If You Love Lard” bumper stickers, of Overalls-R-Us stores, of silos and Big Red yahoos. Trips to Lincoln were treated like a death in the family. It wasn’t unusual for another sportswriter to actually call and offer condolences.
“Heard you were going to see the Children of the Corn next week,” they would say.
“Flying to Omaha on Monday, driving to Lincoln that night, seeing the Children on Tuesday,” you would say.
“Got your immunization shots?”
“All set.”
“Talking to the sphinx?”
“They’re working on it.”
Nebraska was the evil empire–or so we thought. Even Bill McCartney, in his pre-Promise Keepers years, used to think so. McCartney coached Colorado and regarded Osborne’s Cornhuskers with fanatical disdain, so much so that he wouldn’t allow beat reporters to use red pens in his presence.
McCartney’s 13-year record against Osborne? A dismal 3-9-1. No wonder he didn’t like red.
Nebraska was a time warp. Still is, but in a good way. Osborne fit perfectly, which might explain why his career will include two national championships, 254 victories in 25 seasons and 25 consecutive bowl appearances.
Even Osborne’s most questionable moments–specifically his 1995 decision to reinstate troubled star I-back Lawrence Phillips despite Phillips’ no-contest plea on charges of assaulting his former girlfriend–weren’t without good intentions. You can–and should–question the decision, but you can’t question Osborne’s motivation. Sure, he wanted to win games, but I’ll always believe Osborne was more interested in Phillips than victories.
Osborne might have been too naive, too trusting for his own good. Maybe he forgot that just because he was Tom Osborne, Nebraska icon, he couldn’t turn every player into Gil Thorp. As character flaws go, I can live with that one.
I’m being selfish here, but I hope Osborne didn’t fracture the NCAA rules during his long and distinguished tenure, didn’t use Phillips and others like him for convenient purposes, didn’t con us with humility. He had an ego, he made mistakes, he wasn’t above the occasional power play, but all in all, Osborne did himself and his profession proud.
When his career is complete, when he coaches his final game at the Jan. 2 Orange Bowl, I would like to remember him not only for the many victories, but also for (excuse the pun) cornier things. He won with dignity and, at times, seemed embarrassed by it all. Osborne was the only coach who, minutes after winning a national championship, would take two questions and then say, “That about do it?”
In one of the dumber observations ever offered by Osborne, he said Wednesday that Nebraska’s program hardly would suffer in his absence. The Cornhuskers might continue to win games, but without Ol’ Stoic, it will never be same.