As the clock melted to zeros Saturday at Michigan State, Pat Fitzgerald removed his headset and threw his arms around a man wearing a Northwestern baseball cap.
They held each other tight, as if huddling for warmth.
“One time,” the man said, “he almost broke my neck.”
It has become tradition after victories for Fitzgerald to bear-hug the man whose identity is a mystery to many NU players. Some know only that he’s in charge of the wireless headsets that hook up coaches on the field with those in the press box.
The savvier ones call him “Mr. Fitz.”
Real name: Pat Fitzgerald Sr.
He will be on the sideline again Saturday against Illinois at Ryan Field as his son vies for his 49th victory, which would tie him with Lynn “Pappy” Waldorf for the school record.
“I’m the most fortunate coach in the country,” Fitzgerald said. “My dad is a blue-collar Chicago guy. A St. Rita grad. From the minute he got out of high school, he found a way to make a living.
“I’m very thankful for that kind of upbringing. That’s definitely deep inside the fabric of who I am — to see how hard my parents worked.”
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And as for the hugs?
“I can’t say that we’ve ever talked about it,” he replied.
They don’t even know when the tradition began.
“One day he grabbed and me,” Mr. Fitz recalled, “and said, ‘Love you, Pops.’ “
As the fates allow
We see him on the sideline and think: Where else could Pat Fitzgerald be? It’s destiny.
He is more associated with Northwestern football than Otto Graham, Gary Barnett and Willie the Wildcat combined. He’s the best defensive player in school history. He is the symbol of the 1995 Rose Bowl team, even though a broken leg prevented him from playing in Pasadena. His press conferences end with “Go Cats!”
Maybe destiny is the best way to explain something that almost never happened.
Fitzgerald almost never played football after fracturing his skull on the playground as a 3-year-old. He almost picked Georgia Tech instead of Northwestern. And he at least considered taking the Michigan job two years ago.
Asked if his son is a Northwestern lifer, Mr. Fitz replied: “I believe so, if they treat him right. Could they possibly lose him? Oh, yeah. He’s his own man.”
And then he asked: “What do you think?”
Barnett, his former coach, once said Fitzgerald would leave only if NU officials refused to increase the salary pool for assistant coaches — or failed to upgrade the facilities.
“That’s a pretty good assessment,” Mr. Fitz said. “Or if they let him languish salary-wise as opposed to offers that come in.”
Mr. Fitz and wife Florence were concerned that their son might leave for Michigan, as Wolverines officials were prepared to go as high as $3.5 million per year to hire him.
Northwestern counteroffered and kept Fitzgerald, who insists he was never close to leaving.
The school announced plans in September to build a $220 million lakefront facility that is designed to benefit the entire student body, starting with the football team.
Because of financial assurances the school built into his contract, Fitzgerald actually would become richer if the facility never is built.
“He doesn’t care about that,” Mr. Fitz said. “He wants to be able to sit in that office with a recruit, look out the window and see downtown (Chicago).”
No phoning it in
It all started in 2002, when coach Randy Walker decided to switch the game-day communication from corded phones to wireless headphones.
“Randy said: ‘Now we have to travel with a phone guy, and I don’t have any money in the budget for it,’ ” said Fitzgerald, then NU’s defensive backs coach. “I need to find a phone guy who will do this free.
“I said, ‘Walk, my old man’s a retired phone guy.’ “
Mr. Fitz had been the operations manager for the southern district of Illinois for AT&T.; He didn’t actually know the details of wireless communication, so he took a three-day class in Atlanta.
Now he arrives at the stadium at least three hours before kickoff, assembles belts for the on-field coaches and makes sure the entire operation goes smoothly.
His pay: Zero. It’s a volunteer gig.
When Fitzgerald became head coach, he told his father: “I can set you up in a box (at Ryan Field), and you can enjoy the game out of the elements. Are you sure you still want to do this?”
Mr. Fitz replied: “Only if you want to keep me, Coach.”
“I told him he has a week-to-week contract,” Fitzgerald joked.
Head-on approach
Mr. Fitz and his brother were installing plumbing in the family house in Orland Park when Fitzgerald, his dad recalled, “played Superman” at a nearby playground.
“He did a swan dive off the top of the slide,” Mr. Fitz said. “He fractured his skull. It cracked like an egg.”
One doctor recommended drilling bowling-ball holes in his 3-year-old skull to relieve the pressure. The Fitzgeralds resisted. Mr. Fitz did not leave the hospital for four days, and his son recovered on Sept. 28, 1978, the day Pope John Paul I died.
“My mother was sitting with him,” Mr. Fitz recalled. “He had been out for 48 hours. The TV was on because you keep noise going when someone is in that condition. All of a sudden she heard him say,’The dope is dead!’ She let out a wail.”
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Fitzgerald wore a hockey helmet for about two years.
“I’m glad I don’t remember that,” he said. “I’m sure I was relentlessly made fun of.”
Florence did not want him to play contact sports. But she relented when Fitzgerald was 7.
“He had too much energy; he had to burn some of it off,” Mr. Fitz said. “We wanted him doing boy things. The reason he did it is his older sister (Jackie) was a cheerleader. He said, ‘I think that would be fun, Ma.’ “
Fitzgerald developed into a two-time first-team All-America linebacker at Northwestern. He signed a free-agent contract with the Cowboys but lasted just three exhibitions.
“She didn’t like him playing football,” Mr. Fitz said of his wife. “She threw a party when he didn’t get drafted and another one when he came home from Dallas.”
Family man
The Wildcats will practice Thursday morning. Players who live within three hours of campus can go home, and the others will spend Thanksgiving with teammates.
Fitzgerald plans to kick out his staff members at 1 p.m. and then head to his Northfield home at 4. Waiting for him will be wife Stacy, a fellow Sandburg High School alum, and sons Jack, Ryan and Brendan.
And that’s just for starters.
“Stacy is one of six,” Fitzgerald said. “I’m one of three. We have grandma, grandpa, nana and papa. Over 50 people. It will be really special.”
And then Saturday, Fitzgerald will try to earn his landmark victory.
“I didn’t even know that,” he said. “It would be neat to get a win for our seniors. That’s my sole focus right now.”
Get that victory, and Mr. Fitz knows what’s coming. Be careful with that neck.
Twitter @TeddyGreenstein