by Gary Pinkel
The Tangerine Bowl would later be known as the Florida Citrus Bowl, the Capital One Bowl and then, again, the Citrus Bowl. Coincidentally, this bowl was my first as a player and last as a coach in 2014.
But in 1972, Orlando was hardly the metropolis it is now. Walt Disney World had just opened in the fall of 1971. On Christmas Day a bunch of us went to Disney World, but we had to hitchhike from the team hotel. We had to pass about 25 miles of nothing but palm trees to get to the Magic Kingdom. Otherwise, there wasn’t much to see.
As for the game itself, I got hurt in the first half after catching a few passes. It was the first time I didn’t finish a game. We fell behind 21–0 and rallied to get within a field goal but came up short 21–18. For all of us it was a great experience, especially after all the struggles Kent had gone through for so many years. Tampa had two outstanding players who went on to have success in the NFL: Freddie Solomon, a wide receiver, and John Matuszak, the great Oakland Raiders defensive lineman, a guy who actually began his career at Mizzou before he got kicked off the team. Matuszak was a wild man, and we knew it going into the game. He’d go on to star in a bunch of movies after his NFL career.
Our offensive guard, Rick Gembar, was going against Matuszak the entire game. Rick thought Matuszak was playing dirty and got really upset because he thought he went for his groin on one play. Rick tried to retaliate and hit Matuszak as hard as he could. That didn’t go very well. Matuszak literally chased him off the field.
We came back the next year with a lot of talent. Jack Lambert, Eddie Woodard, and I served as captains and we started the year 7–1. (Jack became a pro football star, but Eddie Woodard made his own mark as a minister.) We dominated all of our MAC opponents—except one. Miami beat us 20–10 and cost us the conference championship. We were ranked No. 19 and Miami was No. 17. It was the first time two nationally ranked MAC teams met in the regular season—and two MAC teams wouldn’t be ranked in the same week again for 30 years. I made the All-MAC team and earned honorable mention All-American honors.
My senior year was bittersweet. I had great personal success on the field and our team won nine games, the most in school history. But we fell short of a championship and a bowl game. That didn’t erase all that we accomplished the previous season.
• • •
The summer before my senior year I married my college girlfriend, Vicki. Back home in Akron, my family was reliving a nightmare.
My brother Greg was six years younger than me. He absolutely loved sports and got to be a pretty good basketball player. When I was at Kent State, I’d go home and catch his games when I could. Around junior high he started to struggle with his coordination. He just seemed gangly and awkward. I tried to teach him some agility drills I had learned in football. My parents became concerned, but I tried to tell them there was nothing to worry about.
Later on during my senior year, my mom called with devastating news: doctors had diagnosed Greg with the same disease that afflicted my sister. I put my head on the table and cried for 20 minutes. Just sobbed. I was crushed for my brother. Deep down, I was afraid he would have more trouble with the disease than my sister—and he did. Kathy was different. She was so stubborn, so independent, almost to a fault. She learned to cope with the disease because she absolutely refused to let it hold her back. Don’t tell Kathy she can’t do something, because it’s going to be a really short conversation. She never complained about anything, ever. Not once did I hear her say, “Why did this happen to me?”
I wasn’t sure if my brother had the same resolve.
Meanwhile, here I am, the middle child, the college football player. I was perfectly healthy. Was I the chosen one? Why was I spared? I felt a tremendous amount of guilt. Mentally, I beat myself up. I had a lot of anger and issues that I had to work out internally over time.
My brother’s diagnosis triggered my sister to learn more about her condition. At this point, Kathy had been living with her symptoms for almost 10 years. She had gotten married to her boyfriend Greg, and they started to think about having children. But clearly her condition was hereditary if our brother suffered the same symptoms. She visited the Cleveland Clinic to meet with doctors and undergo genetic testing. My brother would visit there, too. That’s when doctors came up with a new diagnosis: hereditary spastic paraplegia, a rare genetic disorder that’s defined by progressive weakness and stiffness of the leg muscles.
Their strain of HSP was caused by a recessive gene, meaning Kathy and my brother Greg both inherited the abnormal gene for that trait from both of my parents. Somehow, I didn’t inherit the same gene from my mom and dad. If Kathy’s husband Greg carried the same recessive gene, they would be at risk of passing it along to their children. On the other hand, the doctors told me and Vicki there was only a miniscule probability that we both carried the same gene. The doctors believed we were okay to have children.
It turned out so were Kathy and her husband. They would have two healthy boys, Andrew and Alex.
After his diagnosis, my brother Greg became involved with wheelchair basketball. I got a chance to see him play a few times. His team was good enough to win a championship. I was so proud of him.
I’d visit him all the time in Akron. He never lost his love for sports. One day he called me and said he’d discovered a basketball player better than Michael Jordan. Of course, I rolled my eyes. “Sure, Greg, what’s his name?” I asked him.
“LeBron James,” he told me. “He’s an eighth grader here in Akron. He’s going to be amazing.” I guess he got that one right.
As the years passed, Greg’s health didn’t hold up. In 2005, he suffered a heart attack and died on January 30, one day before his 47th birthday. After the funeral, they gave me his trophy from his wheelchair basketball championship, which still sits in my office, every bit as important as the awards that came during my career.
When I got into coaching and had my own family, I constantly used my siblings as an example to my players and my kids. Don’t tell me how tough things are. You want to see tough? Her name is Kathleen. That’s my sister. She’s tough.
And don’t come to me whining about things. I told my players this because I wanted them to recognize they had no right to complain about anything. Get your stuff together, let’s get a plan, and fix it. But don’t whine and complain. Kathy had every reason in the world to complain about the hand she was dealt—and never once said a word.
I took on the role of Kathy’s protector. She was my hero. She is my hero. I’ve always had so much respect for her. She never wanted your help for anything. “Stop, I’ll get it,” she’s said countless times.
When I first got to Missouri, I started to second-guess my decision to take on such a big challenge. “What the hell are we doing here?” I asked myself at the time. “This is so much worse than I thought it would be.” But then I’d catch myself. Don’t complain. Don’t whine.
I don’t think I could have handled my siblings’ disease. Whatever they had to fight through the symptoms and the pain and the disappointment I don’t think I shared in the same supply. That’s why I marvel at Kathy so much. Had the genes not skipped me, I’d like to think I could have lived with her strength and toughness, but she’s a stronger person than me. Always has been.
When Drew and Alex were born, she’d cruise around in her wheelchair with them on her lap. “Kathy,” I’d insist, “put a seatbelt on that baby.” But those boys didn’t know any different. They grew up with the wheelchair. And nobody tells Kathy no.
Later in life, two things struck me when I reflected on my brother and sister. One, my three kids being healthy was the most important thing that happened to me in my life. And two, my parents maintained a wonderful home considering the adversity thrown on their backs. They accepted my brother’s and sister’s condition and dealt with the challenges. My mom probably took on more of the burden, but my dad was very supportive and always there for us. I’
m always sensitive to other families who have similar struggles.
Not long after Greg’s diagnosis, my parents decided to get divorced. When Kathy’s symptoms first surfaced, it put an incredible strain on their relationship. It could be overwhelming at times. Then time passes and the disorder returns, this time with my brother. The trauma of another diagnosis was too much for them to overcome. Both of my grandmothers were divorced from my grandfathers, back in a time when divorce was less common. Our biological grandfathers were never part of the family picture, but fortunately that didn’t happen when my parents split up. My mom made sure their relationship remained friendly, even with each other’s spouses when they both remarried.
When I got into coaching, they made a point to reunite for my games, my dad with my stepmom, Shirley, and my mom with my stepdad, Bill. Somehow, they made it work. Thanks to football, the games have always brought the family together.
• • •
Before I got into coaching, I gave the sport one last stab as a player. After my senior year, I was disappointed the NFL draft came and went and I wasn’t selected. And that was back when the draft lasted 17 rounds, not seven like today. I signed a free agent contract with the Pittsburgh Steelers shortly after the franchise had chosen what might have been the greatest draft class ever assembled. Four of the Steelers’ first five picks from that year have been enshrined in the Pro Football Hall of Fame: USC wide receiver Lynn Swann, Alabama A&M receiver John Stallworth, Wisconsin center Mike Webster and, my old teammate, Jack Lambert from Kent State. There was only one other player in the 17-round draft who’d become a Hall of Famer. The Steelers also signed an undrafted safety that year, Donnie Shell, who’d become a five-time Pro Bowler.
In training camp, one of my top competitors at the tight end position was Randy Grossman, an undrafted rookie from Temple. I wouldn’t have been crushed if I didn’t make the team, because by then I decided I wanted to launch a career in college coaching. Don James and I had talked about becoming a graduate assistant on the Kent State staff once my playing days were over.
After about four weeks of camp and a couple catches in the preseason, I left the team before they could cut me. I just assumed I wasn’t in their plans for the season. Plus, I wanted to coach. I really enjoyed my brief time around Chuck Noll and all those star players, including Terry Bradshaw, Franco Harris, Rocky Bleier, plus all those outstanding rookies. Noll reminded me a lot of Coach James. No nonsense. No bullshit.
I left with no regrets. I had a passion to coach. I had a plan.
• • •
Nick Saban got hurt his senior year and he seemed really conflicted about his future. His dad ran a service station back in West Virginia, and for a while, Nick figured it was his duty to return home and work with his dad or open a car dealership.
Coach James had another idea. He encouraged Nick to try coaching. “You can always go back to selling cars,” he told him. Who knows, Nick might not have pursued coaching if not for their conversation. Nick was part of the Kent State staff as a graduate assistant in 1973, my senior year.
After I left the Steelers, I returned to Kent State and joined Coach James’ staff as a grad assistant alongside Nick Saban.
Saban and I had to monitor the study table and oversee all the freshmen on the team. One night, while the freshmen studied, Nick and I got to talking about our futures. He thought it was important to connect with an established coach and stick it out to help yourself land other opportunities. “You’ve got to find a good horse and ride it,” he told me. We realized back then that coaches get fired a lot, and if you have a family they’ll have to make sacrifices in such a volatile job market. I had to ask myself the same question Nick had tackled: “Do I want to coach?” At the time, I had given a lot of thought about being a high school coach. Coach Fortner had been such a positive influence on me in high school, I thought that was one job I could figure out. Then I started thinking about the college coaches I knew. On one hand, they were under fierce pressure to win and recruit. On the other hand, compared to high school coaches, the college coaches don’t have to teach during the day. It all started coming into focus. You mean, they’ll pay me to do something I absolutely love to do? This wasn’t driving a Coke truck or installing cable TV. I decided I wanted to be a college football coach, just as Nick decided, too. Nick took over as linebackers coach in 1975. As a grad assistant, I was taking classes toward a master’s degree in school administration. If coaching didn’t work out, I decided I wanted to work in education administration. Fortunately, I never got that chance.
Toledo vs. Penn State
September 2, 2000 State College, Pennsylvania
I didn’t want to schedule a game at Penn State, but this became the signature game of my 10 years at Toledo.
Team Meeting Thursday, August 31, 3:30 pm
“If you asked me what’s the one word we could embrace to help achieve our goal, that one word is accountability. As individuals you are accountable to the team. Accountability means that your teammates can count on you. If you’re accountable, you don’t care if the game is home or away. You don’t care if it’s hot or cold outside. You don’t care if you’re in the lead or behind. If you’re accountable, you have no excuses. If you’re accountable, you get your job done for the team. You ask me, ‘Coach, what can I do to get a ring?’ Be 100 percent accountable to this 2000 team and a lot of good things will happen.”
Final: Toledo 24, Penn State 6
The biggest win of my career to date set the stage for a 10–1 season. We controlled the line of scrimmage and outrushed Joe Paterno’s Nittany Lions 245 yards to 30 and sacked their quarterback seven times. We led 17–0 at halftime and never looked back. “I’m a little numb right now because I haven’t had a chance to relax,” I told reporters after the game. “The whole time the clock was running down, I was focusing on not letting our guard down.”
3. Seattle: Winning & Learning in Washington
After the 1974 season, Coach James got an offer he couldn’t refuse from the University of Washington and took over as the Huskies head coach. I was still on staff at Kent as a grad assistant, and the school promoted defensive coordinator Denny Fitzgerald to head coach. He had a rough first year and won only four games. After the season I sent Coach James a letter. I didn’t care what he paid me. I just wanted to prove myself as a football coach. He wrote back and offered me a part-time job coaching tight ends. Done deal.
I hadn’t finished my graduate degree at Kent, but we were off to Seattle.
I wasn’t a full-time assistant coach, but the job had one perk: Coach James assigned me to recruit Hawaii. The older coaches on staff must have loved that. The rookie assistant fresh out of college gets the best recruiting gig on the staff. It was considered a part-time job, but Coach James treated my role as a full-time position. It was a lot of time and commitment but not much pay. That was okay. We made it work financially. I loved coaching so much, I didn’t worry about anything but doing my job, no matter how many hours it required each day, each week. Years later my players would tell me they wanted to get into coaching, and I’d warn them, “If you want to have success in the coaching world, you have to be prepared for the time commitment.” I’m not sure most kids realize what a grind this job becomes.
• • •
My first year on the Washington staff was the rare year the Huskies didn’t make a bowl game. We were 6–5, third place in the Pacific 8 at 5–2 but back then the conference only secured one bowl bid. The champion went to the Rose Bowl. The rest stayed home.
Over the holidays I was back in Ohio and got a call from Denny Stoltz. He was the new head coach at Bowling Green. Before that he was the head coach at Michigan State. He wanted to talk about a job on his staff. I drove to visit with him and interviewed for a few hours. He offered me a job coaching wide receivers. The most he could offer me was a $5,000 salary. Keep in mind, this was 1977. Still, that wasn
’t very much money. Most assistant coaches back then were making closer to $17,000. He was almost apologetic that he was offering such a low figure. That was okay with me.
“I don’t care how much you pay me,” I told him. “I just want to coach. If you think I’m worth more later, you can pay me more.”
I took the job for $5,000 a year, but I didn’t have to wait long for that raise. During spring practices Coach Stoltz pulled me into his office to say he was going to double my salary. I guess I made a good first impression.
I really appreciated the chance to coach there, but it was frustrating for me because I was used to Coach James, his program, and his process. Denny was a great guy and a good coach, but I struggled to adjust to a different philosophy. I was used to such a detailed, structured environment. At Bowling Green, I’d show up for staff meetings early while the other assistants waited until Denny showed up. I was just stubborn. I had been so immersed in Coach James’ system that it was difficult to work in a different setting.
I coached at Bowling Green for two years and both seasons ended with losing records. We just weren’t very good yet, but we helped recruit the core of a team that would start winning more games and going to bowls under Denny in the 1980s.
One of the best days of my life came during my first season on the staff. Our first child, Erin, was born on Halloween. We had upcoming road games at Hawaii and Long Beach, California, so naturally I was worried about Erin’s timing. We played at Central Michigan on a Saturday, and on Monday, my wife went into labor—for a long time. I was on edge to say the least. I wanted the doctors to help her. Then her doctor came in the room wearing a Popeye surgical mask. I about jumped over the bed and attacked the guy. He was just trying to keep things light so nobody panicked, but this late in the game I wasn’t in the mood for Popeye to walk in the room. Erin was born later that night. What a gift. Erin and I grew very close over the years—she’d get two brothers, Geoff and Blake, along the way—and she grew up into a wonderful lady, a caring mother and, for me, a loyal and devoted friend.