One of the proudest moments of my journalism career came in Bobby Bowden’s final news conference as the iconic coach at Florida State University.
It was after he had awkwardly been forced into retirement by former president T.K. Wetherell but was allowed to coach in a career-ending 33-21 victory over West Virginia in the 2010 Gator Bowl.
In the news conference after that Gator Bowl, Bobby was thanking the media for all of their coverage of him and his program over the years — even columnists like me who sometimes criticized him when he lost a big game or when one of his players got arrested or when he hung on too long as FSU’s head coach.
“I feel like I have had very fair treatment (from the media),’’ Bowden said that day.
Then, with dozens and dozens of media members in the room that day, Bobby picked me out of a standing-room-only crowd and deadpanned: “Bianchi, even from you I’ve had fair treatment. ... Bianchi wrote some of the toughest ones about me and I guarantee he’s written some of the best ones about me.”
And today, dadgummit, I write the last one about Bobby Bowden.
On the day he died at age 91.
On the day Chief Osceola wept, the flaming spear went out and the Seminole War Chant went silent.
On the day college football didn’t just lose one of its greatest coaches; it lost its greatest ambassador and its best friend. You see, Bobby Bowden could beat your brains out and charm your socks off all at the same time.
Yes, I’ll admit, I’m biased. I’ve written it before and I’ll reiterate once again: I believe Bobby Bowden is the greatest major college football coach of all time. No, he didn’t have nearly as many national championships as Nick Saban or Bear Bryant or quite as many victories as Joe Paterno, but he did something none of the other giants in the profession have ever done. He made something from nothing.
He didn’t just put FSU on the map; he drew the dadgum map. Greatness isn’t just defined by how many games or championships you win; it’s defined by what you believe, conceive and then create.
Before Saban and before the Bear, Alabama had won national titles and gone to Rose Bowls under coaches such as Wallace Wade and Frank Thomas. Before Paterno got to Penn State, there was another great coach there named Rip Engle, who is now in the College Football Hall of Fame. Engle is the man responsible for putting Penn State on the map by going 104-48-4 in 16 seasons and never having a losing record.
Before Bowden, FSU was a tire fire — a dilapidated, downtrodden, dysfunctional mess of Cigar Bowl bids, chicken wire scandals and losing seasons. There was even discussion of shutting down the football program.
In his autobiography, “Called to Coach: Reflections on Life, Faith, and Football,” Bowden, an avid history buff, said the only worse jobs than coaching FSU when he took over in 1976 were being the mayor of Atlanta after Gen. Sherman destroyed the city or being Gen. Custer at the Battle of Little Big Horn.
But when Saint Bobby arrived in Tallahassee, he built a dynamic, dynastic program that won 12 ACC championships, finished in the top four in the nation for 14 straight seasons and won two national titles. If there had been a four-team playoff when Bowden was coaching, who knows, he might have more national championships than Saban.
But what separated Bobby was his ability to not only dazzle you with his on-field trickery but also disarm you with his off-field humor. He won a bunch of games, but he did it with that down-home, country boy charm and fan-friendly, fish-and-grits demeanor that made him arguably the most beloved coach in the history of college football.
Who will ever forget his quips and quotes through the years?
Like the time he was asked about the toughness of one of his players, and he replied, “That boy don’t know the meaning of the word fear. In fact, I just saw his grades, and that boy don’t know the meaning of a lot of words.”
Or the time when he was asked about why he wanted to keep coaching, and he said, “After you retire, there’s only one big event left — and I ain’t ready for that.”
Or the time he was asked about the fine line between winning and losing and the fickleness of college football fans: “There’s only about 6 inches that turns that halo into a noose.”
Or the time when he was asked why he didn’t always recruit choir boys to play for the Seminoles: “If short hair and good manners won football games, Army and Navy would play for the national championship every year.”
Or what about the pregame brawl before the 1998 Florida-FSU game when Gators quarterback Doug Johnson threw a football at Bowden but missed and was not disciplined by UF coach Steve Spurrier. When Bowden was asked what would have happened if his QB had thrown at Spurrier, Bowden cracked, “He would have hit him!”
Bobby was so beloved, not even Florida Gators fans could muster up a good, healthy dislike for him. In fact, one of my Gator buddies, Gig Sineni, a history buff like Bowden, compared Bobby to Civil War general Robert E. Lee after Bowden spoke at the Orlando Touchdown Club two years ago.
“Even though Lee was a Confederate general and leader, many people in the North wanted him to be their leader,” Sineni said. “Likewise, as a Gator fan, I would have loved for Bobby to be our coach.”
When other coaches were shutting down access to the media, Bowden would still have his “Breakfast with Bobby” powwows with writers and broadcasters every Sunday morning after FSU games. While eating his eggs and bacon, he’d actually diagram famous plays like the legendary “puntrooskie” for the media by using salt and pepper shakers, forks and spoons, coffee cups and ketchup bottles.
Bowden’s retirement came amid coach Urban Meyer’s heyday at the University of Florida. As I wrote then: “Can you imagine ‘Breakfast with Urban?’ It would start at 4 a.m. and everybody in the media would be served one cornflake.”
Bowden even had his phone number and address listed, making it simple for his army of fans to find out where they could send memorabilia for Bowden to sign. He would spend hours weekly, reading his fan mail, autographing books, magazine covers, T-shirts, helmets, footballs and everything anybody sent him.
I still remember after the final practice before his final game, that 2010 Gator Bowl, when he was asked why he lasted so long in the profession and still wanted to keep coaching even though he was 80 years old at the time.
“I’ve been around coaches where their job means everything to them,” he said. “I’ve always thought those coaches better be careful or ulcers or nervous breakdowns are going to get them. You see so many coaches who resign because they get burned out. Well, you can’t burn ol’ Bobby out. I’ve tried to keep coaching in perspective. I’ve never made football my God.”
Two days later, after Bobby won that final Gator Bowl, Ann, his childhood sweetheart and wife of 72 years, walked up to the microphone, gave her husband a big kiss and said, “It’s time to go home, baby.”
Yes, it is.
Bobby Bowden has finally gone home.
Heaven just got a lot warmer, friendlier and funnier.
You’re dadgum right!
