National Champion Quitter — Brian Kelly
Some things are worth remembering. Some things should not be forgotten.
Things like commitment, giving your word, and loyalty. Those are characteristics that matter.
They should especially matter in education and athletics, which serve as society’s de facto training ground for molding what we become and who we are.
Brian Kelly, the current head coach at the University of Notre Dame, has demonstrated he possesses none of these characteristics. In fact, he’s just about the most repulsive figure in college coaching today — and that’s really saying something now that Bobby Petrino is back on the sidelines.
The facts are irrefutable. When things mattered the most — when his team and those who trusted in him counted on him to lead, Brian Kelly did something that’s unforgivable.
He quit.
That’s right, he quit.
He didn’t quit after the fight. He didn’t quit during the fight. He quit before the fight even started. Like a gutless self-centered coward instantly forgetting all those who lifted him upon one of the vaulted pedestals of his profession, Kelly rose to the top and then hacked away the helping hands of those who had largely created and shaped the Kelly mantel. He completely abandoned his former team, his players, his fans, and all those who once trusted in his leadership and character.
For those with short memories, before Kelly took his current position at Notre Dame three seasons ago, he was the head coach at the University of Cincinnati. During his tenure there, Kelly recruited college football players from all over the nation. Out of nothing, he created something. He took a football program with no previous national stature whatsoever and made it into a powerhouse. In 2010, he led the Bearcats to a perfect 12-0 win-loss record and a number three ranking in the polls. Cincinnati was invited to its first Sugar Bowl ever.
Imagine the thrill of playing for the Bearcats during that memorable season. These were players who could have played for other colleges, certainly more well-known football programs, but decided instead to take a chance on a relatively unknown newcomer head coach at Cincinnati. They were sold by none other than Kelly himself, who assured those he recruited that he’d lead them to success.
To his credit, Kelly did exactly that. A dormant program that had never tasted prominence before was suddenly the Cinderella story of the 2010 college football season. Just a few weeks before they were scheduled to travel to the biggest game in their history, Kelly was awarded “Coach of the Year” honors. And that’s when the phone rang.
Kelly had every right to take that phone call. He knew who was on the other end. Notre Dame, arguably college football’s most coveted coaching job was calling, and Kelly was there to listen.
In fact, Kelly probably should have taken the Notre Dame job — as he did.
But how he accepted the job and the disgraceful course of events he set into motion bears remembering and deserves the outrage of everyone who loves sports — regardless of allegiances. Kelly’s behavior during a critical time which should have been the most thrilling month in the lives of his young players and dedicated fans, reveals volumes about his character — or lack thereof. In short, Brian Kelly is a skunk who essentially represents everything that’s gone wrong with big-time college football.
I suppose this is how college football really works and to expect anything different would be terribly naive. Screw the unpaid athletes. When they commit to a college football program, they’re usually stuck. Once locked in to the program, the coaches, school administrators, bowl pimps, and television networks get obscenely wealthy on the broken backs of kids who often can’t afford a pair of sneakers. And when there’s a chance the fat cats to make even more money, and go to a place with even more fame, then totally abandon the helpless kids who got you there and you made promises to. Take the money and run.
That’s what Kelly did.
Three weeks before the Cincinnati Bearcats were to travel to New Orleans for the biggest moment of their lives, their head coach said “bye, I’m outta’ here.”
The quitter didn’t have the decency to simply wait a few weeks. Before calling the moving company, how about playing in the championship bowl game as any person with a sense of commitment would do? You know — do the job HE WAS PAID TO DO AS THE COACH OF CINCINNATI. Then when the season’s over, tender his official resignation in order to accept the Notre Dame job. That would have been perfectly acceptable. That’s how it should have been done.
No. Kelly left all those who trusted in him hanging by their balls and as he hit the door, he kicked everyone in the ass. Without their head coach helping to prepare and the unanticipated distraction of Kelly’s abandonment on their minds, the Cincinnati Bearcats were blown out in it’s first and only BCS bowl game. They lost 51-24. They never had a chance. What should have been a week of unbridled success and historic celebration ultimately turned into embarrassment and defeat. While Cincinnati players — who had committed themselves to that football program, only to be abandoned by a fraud who made false promises — Kelly was already drawing his first fat paycheck under the golden dome.
Please explain something to me. What was so obscenely urgent that required Kelly to take that job as early as December? Could he have waited until the season was over on January 2nd? How many football practices would have been missed that December had he simply chosen to do the right thing and honor his commitment to his players and team, instead of running for the money tree? Zero.
Zero — as in number scale of when it comes to the character of Brian Kelly.
This Monday night, Kelly will lead his team in what’s billed as college football’s national championship game. He might even end up winning the coveted title. If so, I have a suggestion. Perhaps he can hoist that trophy next to all the others in his cabinet — right next to the one that should read “National Champion Quitter.”
“Paging Brian Kelly — phone call on Line 1.”
