Bill Curry, College Football 19y

Losses are like death for some

When fans tune in to continue their endless obsession with football they are worshipping at the altar of the driven competitor. And for the record, we are currently in the midst of a 19-game stretch in as many nights, all on television. 'Nuff said.

For our purposes I will define the driven competitor as one to whom losing is the emotional equivalent of death. And since I am a driven competitor I know something about how folks like us deal with the exigencies of our condition.

When old jocks have reunions we should probably begin by calling the meeting to order, standing one at a time and beginning, "Hi, I'm Bill. I am a driven competitor." Only those that have sworn off playing and coaching football for three or more years should be allowed to testify.

Why three years? Because that is the minimum time span for the tics, migraines and nightmares to recede. It is a nonscientific number some of us have deduced to allow the blows to the head, ego, family and psyche to fade. Actually, quite a few of us take the cure and get along rather well without our drug of choice, which is, of course, victory.

But what of those who remain in the arena? What about the coaches and players who must endure the grief and pathos normal people associate with death every time they lose a dumb little football game? And more specifically, how do the ones who come back to win again and again get that done?

Lombardi speaks
The ones who survive the grind, who pass the test of years and who come back successfully, must grieve. That's right, they grieve the loss/death and continue to fight the good fight. In Lombardian parlance, they "suck up their guts," remember that "fatigue makes cowards of us all," and re-memorize "What it takes to be Number One."

One of Vince Lombardi's most powerful legacies is his contribution to the language of fighting back. He gave football expression to many of the attributes of the courageous men and women that made this a great nation.

His speeches and team meetings notwithstanding, the driven competitor finds no immediate solace in any words, not even those of the most powerful coaches and leaders. What the coaches must provide is an opportunity to actually grieve the loss, move through the process as if a death had occurred and then work back to positive, inspired performance.

One of the healthy aspects of the sport of football is the sense of belonging to something special, a team, something most folks would not understand. In today's fragmented society there are many young people who have never belonged to any kind of community other than their teams.

So it is that our sport can and does make a lasting contribution when a group of whipped, disheartened football players is unified by that very fact. Each can be made to feel important and participate in a team setting that offers guidelines for solving life's real problems.

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, a noted expert on grief counseling, has written eloquently of the stages of grief. They are as follows:

1. Denial
2. Anger
3. Bargaining
4. Depression
5. Acceptance

Please bear in mind that Dr. Kubler-Ross' work has been with real death and real grieving. We are dealing with games and their outcomes. I do know the difference, and it is immeasurable. It should also be noted that her five stages are intended to be part of a progression in one individual or organism.

We are showing five different teams, each in one of the various stages of the grieving process. The assumption is that each team and player will endure the whole progression.

Believe it or not
Believe it or not, when properly coached, football can provide a step-by-step process that allows its participants to learn and apply something akin to the Kubler-Ross model.

Think with me. Place yourself in a Monday afternoon meeting with your football team. You are a player, and you feel like someone has died. You lost the big game and there is mourning all over campus. The normally nice guy who sits next to you in chemistry class asked you this morning, "What happened to you guys? You were terrible Saturday! Aren't you getting a free education?"

To which you said nothing, stifling the impulse to strangle the guy, who has clearly never worn a jock. You are angry, depressed, and exhausted.

What happens next would make Dr. Kubler-Ross proud. In our hypothetical case we will use each stage of the grieving process, show how a contemporary coach might have addressed it in recent weeks, and wrap up with real outcomes.

Denial -- You are a Texas Longhorn and you have just lost to Oklahoma for what seems like the 50th time in a row. Ever since Saturday you have been trying to convince yourself you were clipped on the long kick return on which you missed a tackle. The tape is flickering and Coach Mack Brown holds you accountable. "Were you clipped?" he asks. You clear your throat and croak, "No sir, I just had a poor base and I ducked my head." You have confessed, faced reality, are still part of the team, and have a chance to redeem yourself. You are a little embarrassed, but feel better about yourself. You come back to win the next week, and the next, and the next after that.

Anger -- You play for Notre Dame and you have just lost your opener to BYU, 20-17. You are furious because you are certain an official blew a call that cost you the game. You are huge underdogs in the upcoming game with Michigan. Coach Willingham interrupts the viewing of the tape to indicate that the officials made the correct call, and that the game was lost because of poor execution, much of it at your position. Your anger is converted to resolve. Next time your unit will produce. You proceed to beat Michigan and Michigan State against all odds in the next two weeks.

Bargaining -- You are at Mississippi State and have been humbled by losing to Vanderbilt, UAB and even Maine. You are about to play the mighty Florida Gators, and you would like to make a deal with head coach Sylvester Croom. You would like to have him quit deceiving everybody, acting like the team can win some games, and just get real about this horrible situation. He walks into the team meeting, and convinces you and the rest of the team one more time that you have a chance. Final score: Mississippi State 38, Florida 31. The next week you win again. No deals with this coach, just keep playing hard.

Depression -- You are a North Carolina Tar Heel and you have sunk to the lowest depths yet. Utah has whipped you, 46-16, running up 669 yards of offense, the most ever relinquished by North Carolina. Your next opponent? The Miami Hurricanes. You could not be more depressed. Coach John Bunting exudes belief, energy, noise, jokes and a superb plan for two solid weeks. You start to hope a little. Not a lot, but a little. You take a third-string tailback and a freshman kicker and bring down the goalposts, 31-28, knocking the mighty Hurricanes from the ranks of the unbeaten. Tropical depression has been lifted.

Acceptance -- You are incredible, gifted, embarrassed Miami. You have just been manhandled by lightly regarded North Carolina. You have been struggling for three games. You have been here so many times before. Calm, determined Larry Coker reminds you of your greatness and demands that you display it at all times. You listen, you trust, you accept. Watch out, Clemson. it could be a long day at the Orange Bowl next Saturday!

ESPN college football analyst Bill Curry was an NFL center for 10 seasons and coached for 17 years on the college stage. His Center Stage examinations appear each week during the college football season.

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