My
heart was first broken on November 28, 1964. I was 12.
I was in the car with my dad listening to the closing minutes
of the Notre Dame-USC game on the radio. It was the season finale
for Notre Dame, because the school did not go to bowl games then.
So Notre Dame, undefeated and ranked No. 1, was in Los Angeles
for that wondrous season's climactic face-off, and a 17-0 Irish
lead had dissolved into a 17-13 cliffhanger. USC was moving the
ball down field late in the fourth quarter.
Notre Dame had been 2-7 in 1963, and I had never heard of the
place. That was before Ara Parseghian. In 1964 my family in Louisiana
was buzzing about the dynamic young coach who had returned Notre
Dame to gridiron glory -- right where the Fighting Irish belonged,
according to my parents. Notre Dame was a Catholic school -- the
Catholic school -- and we all knew how the nation disliked Catholics.
So that autumn, because of football, Notre Dame became my
school and carried my dreams onto the playing fields
of America. And when USC quarterback Craig Fertig hit halfback
Rod Sherman on a 15-yard touchdown pass with 1:34 remaining, it
broke my heart.
Two years later I learned more about Notre Dame football. Ara's
Fighting Irish were again in the hunt for the national championship.
This time, a 10-10 tie with Michigan State ruined a perfect season.
But the pollsters looked kindly upon the 9-0-1 Irish (who still
declined bowl invitations) and picked them No. 1 in the final
rankings, with MSU in second place. Alabama finished third that
year with an 11-0 record, having outscored its opponents 301-44
and having beaten Nebraska 34-7 in the Sugar Bowl.
My schoolmates and the local sportswriters were outraged. They
resented Notre Dame for its special treatment, ridiculed the school
for its arrogance and cowardice in avoiding bowl games, and were
angry at the media for their obvious bias against the South. By
the time I graduated from high school, I would fully understand
how Notre Dame football was not just about football. Those who
represented the school on the gridiron carried a lot more on their
shoulders than the pads they wore into battle.
My experience was not unique. Many Notre Dame people had their
first contact with the place through football -- sometimes because
of games broadcast nationally on the radio, sometimes because
of the priests and nuns who asked prayers for "the boys" on Saturdays
and who intertwined Fighting Irish football with their faith.
Millions of Catholics -- whether Irish, Italian, German or Pole
-- lived vicariously through the wins and losses of Notre Dame's
football teams. For that vastly immigrant population Notre Dame
football symbolized the triumphs of an ostracized people. It also
reflected the ascendancy of U.S. Catholics into the nation's mainstream.
The legend of ND football
From the early victories at the turn of the century through the
postwar prowess of "Leahy's lads" to the championship seasons
of Parseghian, Devine and Holtz, Notre Dame football became a
societal icon, the stuff of legend and myth. Its most famous heroes
-- the likes of Rockne, the Four Horsemen and George Gipp, even
Rudy -- transcended the playing field to become part of our cultural
vernacular. And Notre Dame, once a parochial Midwestern college,
rode that football success onto the national stage.
Knute Rockne's genius as a coach, motivator and promoter
not only brought Notre Dame into the nation's consciousness but
also enabled it to survive, even thrive, during the Depression.
Notre Dame was perceived as an "against the odds" winner possessing
uncommon values and ideals. Its appeal as an underdog attracted
an even wider following.
As college football grew into a big business soiled with recruiting
scandals, dismal graduation rates and the misconduct of powerful
boosters and rogue athletes, Notre Dame maintained a reputation
for doing it right. Its football players met admissions standards.
They went to class, got an education, earned a degree. They lived
in residence halls like other college students and not in special
athletic dorms.
Even those who were not Fighting Irish fans acknowledged that
Notre Dame was different, that it kept college athletics in the
proper context, that its philosophy and standards may put the
school at a competitive disadvantage but its guiding principles
had become a hallmark of institutional integrity.
My heart was broken for the second time on November 28, 1970.
I was a freshman at Notre Dame and the Fighting Irish had gone
9-0. It was Thanksgiving weekend and the Irish were again at USC.
I watched on TV as Joe Theismann threw for 526 yards in a steady,
game-long downpour -- and lost 38-28. I was heartsick for days.
A 24-11 win over unbeaten and No. 1-ranked Texas in the Cotton
Bowl eased the pain a bit, but Notre Dame finished the season
second, not first.
Losing has always hurt. The final score has always mattered.
At Notre Dame the point is always to win -- but win the right
way. That tension has imposed an obstacle from the beginning.
Winning mattered even in the post-Leahy era when football mediocrity
in the 1950s was blamed on the new young president, Theodore M.
Hesburgh, CSC, who was reputedly de-emphasizing football as he
pushed the University to bold new heights academically. It mattered
in 1958 when, with Hesburgh as president, Terry Brennan '49 was
fired on Christmas Eve after going 32-18 over five seasons.
Despite some rough periods, Notre Dame has won enough football
games through the years to be inextricably tied to its football
heritage. Few colleges or universities (or corporations, institutions,
organizations) have the immediate name recognition enjoyed by
Notre Dame, and, for better and worse, the place derives
much of that identity from its athletic traditions. Focus groups
and surveys consistently confirm that, in the national consciousness,
Notre Dame means "Catholic" and "football," with an awareness
that the place is pretty strong academically, too. Only a few
organizations (the New York Yankees come to mind) have acquired
the cachet for excellence over time combined with so broad a following
as Notre Dame football.
Whether proud of the brilliant legacy or sheepish about being
thought of as "a football factory," there is no escaping the fact
that football is important here. Even many of the faculty, who
complain that the institution's football image detracts from how
seriously their scholarship is viewed among peers, will second-guess
a play call from the previous Saturday or lament a blue-chip recruit
choosing to go elsewhere. Expectations are high; perennial finishes
in the top 10 are practically assumed as a birthright. It's an
amazing phenomenon for an auxiliary enterprise that isn't the
school's primary reason for being.
The highpoint of my life as a Notre Dame football fan came on
New Year's Eve 1973 at the Sugar Bowl in New Orleans. It was my
senior year, my home state, two unbeaten teams, the national championship
at stake. Ara Parseghian on the sidelines across from the legendary
'Bama coach, Bear Bryant.
The game was a thrilling epic that featured fumbles and long
passes, sustained drives, a kickoff return for a touchdown, a
halfback pass for a touchdown, momentum swings and mood swings,
a missed extra point and a 24-23 Irish lead late in the fourth
quarter.
I prayed throughout the second half for a Notre Dame victory
-- knowing full well that there were Southern Baptists in the
same stadium who were probably praying to the same God for a Crimson
Tide win. Although the theology is now embarrassing to confess,
it's a good indicator of the passions aroused when games acquire
additional levels of meaning.
I do not know if God interceded that night, but when Tom Clements
threw out of the end zone on third and long to Robin Weber, sealing
the win, I was engulfed in a rush of jubilation, even euphoria
I have rarely felt in my life. And I have since made good on my
part of the pact -- never to invoke the name of God in sport again.
Of course, my stories of Notre Dame football are interchangeable
with the memories and tales of others. The legacy is a richly
storied past starring seven Heisman Trophy winners and 11 national
champions and replete with heroes, with endings sad and happy.
Even the names are evocative: Lujack, Lattner, Hart, Hornung,
Bertelli, Montana, Page, Hanratty, Bleier, Browner, Buoniconti,
Sitko and Patulski.
It's been a different story for the past 10 years. The tradition
is alluded to and the ghosts of gridirons past are invoked. But
it's been awhile since the echoes were more than that.
After the 1993 Lou Holtz team made a run at the national championship
(with some of us still thinking they earned it), his final three
teams went an undistinguished 23-11-1. Bob Davie followed by going
35-25 over five years, and perhaps his most memorable game was
the 41-9 humiliation he suffered against Oregon State in the 2001
Fiesta Bowl. In three years Tyrone Willingham's teams went 21-15
-- but they were only 13-15 after starting 8-0 in 2002, then ending
that season with a 44-13 humiliation at USC and a 28-6 Gator Bowl
loss (the first of a series of demoralizing losses during the
Willingham era). The indications that things were not getting
better and the lackluster recruiting seasons did not suggest hope
for dramatic on-field improvement. The program seemed to be sputtering.
It's been a tough time to be a Notre Dame fan. There have been
a few sweet victories, but Notre Dame football has surely changed
in recent years. It is now the ceremony that matters, the ritual
of it all. The game may bring us together, but the tradition,
memories and fraternity are the real reasons for pleasure. A certain
amount of emotional distancing from the games played by college
students may demonstrate a healthy maturation for someone my age,
and, as an alumnus who subscribes to the school's philosophy
and mission, I have no trouble keeping football in its place.
But life is more fun when the team gives you reason to
celebrate and feel good.
Of course, it has not been only the Saturday performances that
have caused dismay among the Notre Dame faithful. There was the
Joe Moore age-discrimination suit and the friendly blond bookkeeper
who pilfered thousands of dollars from her South Bend employer
and lavished her gains on trips and gifts for Notre Dame football
players, leading to NCAA violations that landed Notre Dame on
probation for the first time in its history. There have been various
academic improprieties and charges of sexual transgressions (some
public and some not) on the part of other Notre Dame football
players. There was also the George O'Leary episode and coaching
searches carried out under the glare of ravenous media and enlivened
more by those who didn't come than those who did (leaving
a good many Irish fans miffed that some of the game's best coaches
-- college and pro -- did not drop what they were doing
to take what must certainly be the nation's premier coaching position).
To be sure, there had never been a claim that Notre Dame was
pure and perfect. The Gipper was a carouser, Rockne clashed with
the school's Holy Cross leadership, and football players occasionally
broke the stringent University rules. In 1974 six prominent stars
from Parseghian's '73 championship team were kicked out of school
for a year because of sexual misconduct. But for decades Notre
Dame had maintained its reputation as a special place. The handling
of the often headstrong, sometimes tempestuous relative that is
Notre Dame football had always been a source of pride, not an
embarrassment to the family. Now, given the unfortunate events
of the previous decade, concern grew that the mystique was being
squandered, that Notre Dame -- could it be? -- was like everyone
else. The image was tarnished.
The downward spiral brought pain to the Notre Dame family, but
there were others who clearly enjoyed watching the fall from grace.
An Independent Case
By 1990 Notre Dame had won enough for long enough that it could
hardly be considered an underdog or enjoy the appeal that accrues
to underdog status. On a practical level Notre Dame was a special
case in college football -- it was an independent whose huge following
meant broader media exposure and bowl invitations based more on
resource generation than merit. It did not have to share these
revenues with conference members. It asked for, and got, unique
privileges when the BCS arrangement was negotiated. Often perceived
as elitist, self-centered and arrogant, Notre Dame generates a
considerable level of resentment and antagonism.
Lou Holtz teams won the national championship in 1988, went
12-1 in 1989 and a disappointing 9-3 in 1990. In 1991 the University
entered into an agreement with NBC for all of Notre Dame's home
football games to be televised. Now, the critics complained, Notre
Dame had its own television network. Sports Illustrated
announced the NBC contract with the headline "We're Notre Dame
and You're Not." Notre Dame would go 31-5-1 over the next three
seasons.
These were heady times for fans of the Fighting Irish -- and
for the University's treasurers. The NBC money transformed the
University's financial aid program. Annual bowl revenues and licensed
merchandise income both were in millions of dollars. Stadium expansion
was on the horizon. Football was not just championing the University's
institutional image, it was paying tangible dividends that underwrote
the burgeoning athletic department and the aspirations
of the academic enterprise.
The Holtz revival also reinforced the University's sense of
itself. It proved that the early '80s, during which Gerry Faust
teams went 30-26-1, had clearly been an aberration. It had been
a dismal period for Irish teams, but the lovable coach had been
given a five-year contract and the University would stand by its
man. The fans, too, showed a commendable patience, knowing a change
would come and eventually put things back where they belonged.
That patience was rewarded by the success of Lou Holtz. On-field
performance had been restored and honor maintained -- although,
by the time Holtz was ready to leave after his 11th season, a
restlessness had settled in. Confidence in the future of Notre
Dame football continued to decline under the leadership of Davie
and Willingham, and some University administrators considered
the potential effect of mediocrity on such revenue streams as
television contracts and major bowl invitations.
By the end of the 2003 season, a band of alumni put their dissatisfaction
on public display with an open letter to the University, calling
for a major revamping of the program. After the 2004 season's
6-6 record, the grumbling on the street was that the ship better
get righted next year or Tyrone Willingham wouldn't survive here
-- five-year contract or not. And wouldn't it be nice to have
someone like Utah's Urban Meyer running the show?
Meyer had been an assistant at Notre Dame under Holtz and Davie.
His Utah team was unbeaten. Notre Dame, he had said for the record,
was his "dream job." His Utah contract, the papers reported, included
a release clause if Notre Dame would beckon him to fulfill that
dream.
Still, when Notre Dame athletic director Kevin White announced
at a press conference on Tuesday, November 30, 2004, that Tyrone
Willingham was being fired, it stunned people from coast to coast.
In making the announcement, White praised Willingham for his "impeccable
integrity and tremendous character," for the way his players represented
the University and for their academic performance. "From Sunday
through Friday, our football program has exceeded all expectations
in every way," White explained, "but on Saturday we struggled."
White, whose demeanor could not hide his sadness, said, "At
the end of the day, we simply have not made the progress on the
field that we need to make. Nor have we been able to create the
positive momentum necessary in our efforts to return the Notre
Dame program to the elite level of the college football world
. . . that's not a negotiable position at Notre Dame."
The firing ignited a media storm. ESPN came at the story from
various angles for days. Newspapers -- from USA Today, The
New York Times and The Washington Post to smaller,
local outlets, from one coast to the other -- weighed in on the
firing. The reaction was almost as interesting as the move itself.
Coaches had been terminated under similar circumstances at other
schools with little national attention. Florida had announced
in the midst of its season that its coach was being fired after
less than three years, and no media indignation had followed.
Notre Dame clearly, even in the minds of many journalists, was
a separate case, its approach to football somehow supposed to
transcend the win-loss record. This raised an important irony
-- many of the sportswriters so critical of Fighting Irish performances
now ridiculed the University for making a move to improve that
performance. The school was taking hits from everywhere.
The suddenness of the move did seem out of character for the
institution. Notre Dame had a reputation for always giving its
head coaches at least five years, and here Willingham was indecorously
booted after three. The manner and timing, as much as the dismissal
itself, certainly contributed to the tempest in the days that
immediately followed. The University was blasted for disloyally
axing the man whose team had gone 10-3 just three years prior,
the man who'd been a celebrated ambassador for the University
and who was, in 2002, the first college football coach named Sportsman
of the Year by The Sporting News. Notre Dame was roundly
criticized for putting money and winning ahead of institutional
integrity, for selling out.
The Storm Continues
Others questioned the firing of the coach when the institution
so severely handicapped its coaches with unrealistic restrictions,
standards and expectations. Many speculated that Notre Dame and
college football had changed so much that the University could
no longer be among the elite programs. Some felt its academic
standards and approach to athletics simply made it impossible
to compete with other institutions playing by different rules.
Others pointed to Notre Dame's schedule, perennially listed
as among the toughest in the country, and one made even more difficult
by the fact that the opponents are playing Notre Dame, a target
game for any school. Both critics and fans of Notre Dame football
say the first step in bringing back the glory days is to ease
up on the schedule.
Other observers said it's obvious the talent just isn't here.
Not enough speed. Clearly no game-breakers. Few top NFL draft
choices anymore. But when the Irish pull off upsets -- as they
did this past year against Tennessee and Michigan -- both critics
and fans are quick to say this shows that the talent is here,
it just needs the proper coaching. Certainly Notre Dame's players
are equal to, if not better than those at Pitt, say, or Purdue,
Boston College, Michigan State, BYU. So why can't they beat these
guys?
Whichever camp is carrying the day, the conventional wisdom
says that admissions standards in recent years have been tightened,
that the kind of athletes who got accepted in the past are now
getting turned away, and that for Notre Dame to be successful
the criteria must be relaxed. The admissions people will tell
you otherwise; the standards have not changed.
It is, however, more complicated than that. For one thing, the
University requires all of its students to enter college prepared
to do college work, including more math than most high school
athletes want to take and more than the NCAA stipulates. These
requirements eliminate from consideration a good many of the nation's
best prep athletes.
The University, furthermore, is significantly better academically
than it was even 10 years ago. While admissions standards for
athletes have remained the same, selectivity for the rest of the
student body is substantially more pronounced. So the academic
credentials of the athlete and those of regular students are much
less similar than in the past. That makes the athlete's life that
much more difficult. And, as the University has improved in recent
times, there are no longer courses (as there were many years ago)
in which to boost a GPA, no majors in which to hide from demanding
regimens.
Besides a demanding academic life, there are other reasons a
hotshot football player may not come to Notre Dame: single-sex
dorms, with plenty of rules and regulations, including parietals,
rather than athletic dorms or off-campus apartment living; the
promise of a social life and college experience that may be much
less diverse and less fun than that found at a state university;
South Bend night life and weather (certainly a consideration for
speedsters whose game is better suited to Southern or California
climes). It would take a special person, with all the right credentials
and a unique set of priorities, to choose Notre Dame.
That special athlete must be drawn to the educational experience,
the Notre Dame degree and football. While the education and degree
are probably more valuable than ever before, the heroes of Notre
Dame football are ancient history to the high schoolers now being
recruited; they were little kids when the Irish were big winners
on Saturday. Notre Dame may be on TV weekly, but cable networks
put a lot of schools on TV a lot -- and poor performances, with
too little offensive show, do little to persuade those not already
enamored of the name, the traditions, the place itself. Past laurels
no longer swing the deal; Notre Dame has not won a bowl game since
the '93 season. Even the physical facilities are perceived as
inadequate.
Despite all this scrutiny in the days following Willingham's
dismissal, the University would have more gracefully weathered
the turbulence had the outrage not also been voiced by so many
Notre Dame people. Faculty groups questioned the decision. Former
Irish football players Rocket Ismail, Chris Zorich and Aaron Taylor
chastised their alma mater on national TV. Angry complaints came
by phone, email and letter from alumni around the country, showed
up in the media. Melinda Henneberger, a 1980 Notre Dame grad and
Newsweek writer, posted a column on the MSNBC web site
that concluded, "The Notre Dame we saw this week is just another
soulless sports factory."
A student demonstration to call for Willingham's dismissal had
been planned for the very afternoon that White announced the coach's
termination. It was replaced by another student protest on the
steps of the Main Building -- this group mostly African-American
students who were mad at Notre Dame for firing the coach who represented
to them so much more than wins and losses. Willingham had been
named by Sports Illustrated as the sixth-most-influential
minority in all of sports. His stature at the University reinforced
in the school's minority community a sense of pride and achievement,
a much-needed presence to an institution said to lack a true spirit
of inclusion. His firing, they said, was a signal of insensitivity
to the racial issue.
The Black Alumni of Notre Dame, a subgroup of the University's
Alumni Association, issued a statement in support of Willingham
and concern over his firing. Some 40 African-American students
met with University administrators, and T-shirts in support of
Willingham and critical of the institution were distributed. Chandra
Johnson, an African American and an assistant to the University
president, shaved her head in protest. Her photo made the front
page of the Chicago Sun-Times and her explanation made
the Perspectives page of Newsweek. Johnson, 50, vowed
to keep her head shaved until the Irish won a national championship
in football: "Because when we do, that will be justification for
some people as to why we fired Tyrone Willingham. Not for me,
but for some people."
Things took another startling twist when the University president
joined the chorus of complainants. Father Edward Malloy, CSC,
who last May had announced he would step down in June 2005 after
18 years as president, was speaking in New York at the Sports
Business Journal's Intercollegiate Athletics Forum, when he said,
"In my 18 years, there have only been two days that I've been
embarrassed to be president of Notre Dame -- Tuesday and Wednesday
of last week," referring to the events surrounding the Willingham
firing. Malloy then explained, "I am not happy about it, and I
do not assume responsibility for it. I think it was the wrong
move, and the fact that other schools have made similar choices
after three years suggests that they are feeling the same pressures
that we are." Malloy indicated the decision had been made "with
a strong presence of the Board of Trustees."
Malloy's statements, reported in The New York Times
and carried by hundreds of media outlets, seemed to corroborate
suspicions voiced in various media that a group of trustees and
benefactors had engineered the dismissal. Several university presidents
publicly thanked Malloy for speaking out against what they see
as inappropriate intrusion into institutional affairs on the part
of trustees. In its "Conventional Wisdom" feature, Newsweek
used Malloy's remarks to give Notre Dame a thumbs down. Other
observers, alumni and some school officials were displeased with
his public criticism. The initial University response, coming
through Matt Storin, associate vice president for news and information,
explained, "There was debate and disagreement as there often is
with any major decision at an academic institution. Father Malloy
was gracious enough to defer the decision-making to the group
in light of his retirement next July." The whole affair had certainly
caused a rift in the Notre Dame family and commotion under the
Dome.
For his part, Willingham stayed above the fray, conducting himself
with typical class, reserve and diplomacy. He, too, was disappointed
that expectations had not been met, he said during a press conference
a few days after his dismissal.
Plan B?
It was widely understood that Notre Dame had acted boldly and
swiftly to make room for Utah's Meyer, now a hot property and
likely to get away if the Irish didn't move fast. Most everyone
had Meyer's bags packed for South Bend, and the sting of embarrassment,
in the minds of many Notre Dame faithful, was soothed by the anticipation
of Meyer's arrival. But Meyer had, in fact, been negotiating with
Florida for weeks. Notre Dame's late bidding did not dissuade
him from heading to Gainesville.
Unfortunately, Notre Dame had no immediate Plan B. The list
of candidates put forth by the media shrank as various coaches
announced they were staying put, signed lucrative new contract
extensions or declined interest. Not all the nominees put forward
by the media were actual prospects, but the process, as tracked
in the press, gave the impression that Notre Dame was a spurned
suitor, that the place and job were not what they once were, that
the school was being humbled, if not embarrassed. The whole public
ordeal -- the dismissal, the discord, the dissection of the University
-- was an ugly episode that will take time to leave behind.
On Monday, December 13, Kevin White introduced New England Patriots
offensive coordinator Charlie Weis '78 as Notre Dame's 28th football
coach. White noted that the 10-day search had involved "an unquantifiable
number of conversations . . . with potential prospects
and about potential prospects." The athletic director
said five formal interviews had been conducted and "specific compensation
details" had been discussed with two candidates. Only one candidate
was formally offered the position. He accepted.
Serendipitously, Tyrone Willingham was introduced as the new
coach of the Washington Huskies the same day. The two teams face
each other September 24.
Weis was reportedly given a six-year, $12 million contract.
Willingham, too, had had a six-year contract -- not the five-year
pact as was widely reported. Both were quite similar to Davie's
contract -- the one renegotiated and extended to six years when
White became athletic director in 2000. Likened to prenuptial
agreements, these contracts are standard issue in college athletics,
and the other Notre Dame varsity coaches have similar deals. They
stipulate expectations and establish financial arrangements should
either party want out before the term of the contract has expired.
Gone are the days when a commitment to five years meant just that.
This was one of the key points that President-elect John Jenkins,
CSC, made several days after the Weis announcement when he addressed
Notre Dame's Faculty Board on Athletics. He also outlined the
sequence of events that led to Willingham's firing and named those
involved. "It has been said there was inappropriate trustee involvement
in this decision," he said. "As to me personally, I was not pressured
into any action I took by any member of the Board of Trustees.
Senior University administrators did contact me to express concern
-- though not to pressure me. But neither the chairman of the
board nor the chair of athletic affairs took the initiative to
contact me about this situation. I took the initiative to ask
their respective opinions."
The priest said "a number of high-level administrators" had
expressed concern about the team's on-field performance and about
"the trajectory" of the program. Referring to the Weis press conference,
during which Jenkins had noted that success at Notre Dame consisted
of "acting with integrity, giving our students a superb education
and excelling on the field," the priest added, "Success in only
one or two of these areas is not the success we seek. Just as
we would not tolerate a program which failed to graduate its students
or to act with integrity, so we should not be content with one
that fails to succeed on the field."
So on the Monday after the season's final game -- a 31-point
loss to USC for the third consecutive year -- Jenkins said he
went to Father Malloy's office to discuss the situation. Later
that day Jenkins, Malloy, athletic director Kevin White, the provost,
Nathan Hatch, and Executive Vice President John Affleck-Graves
gathered in the Main Building. "Because this was a decision about
such a high-profile issue," Jenkins added, "we included Patrick
McCartan, chairman of the Board of Trustees, and Philip Purcell,
chair of the Athletic Affairs Committee." McCartan and Purcell
were connected via phone. While not unanimous, the decision was
made. "After sleeping on the issue for one night," Jenkins said,
the group went forward. Later that day, Tuesday, November 30,
Kevin White made the announcement, setting off the maelstrom that
would occupy the University for days.
Jenkins concluded his statement by saying, "As is obvious to
all, [Father Malloy] and I disagreed about the dismissal of Coach
Willingham, although he deferred to me on this decision. Although
I did not fully appreciate it at the time, this put [him] in the
very difficult position of being blamed for and having to defend
a decision he strongly opposed. It was for this reason, I believe,
that Father Malloy made some widely reported comments, which put
me and the University in a difficult position. Father Malloy and
I have spoken about this matter, and we each regret and have apologized
for any difficulty each of us has caused the other. It is not
easy for anyone to operate in the glare of such intense media
interest, speculation and criticism. We both deeply regret any
damage we have caused this University."
I got hooked on Notre Dame football as a kid 40 years ago. Because
of football, I came to love Notre Dame and to believe in it. Through
the years I've experienced a lot of the history of the sport so
ingrained in the University's character. There has been rejoicing
and there has been heartache. I'd like to think it's time that
the program and institution bring honor to the tradition and give
Notre Dame fans reason to feel good again.
Kerry Temple is the editor of Notre Dame Magazine
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