Urban Meyer (Ohio State) grappling with realization
he’s not, in fact, a God
I spent a decade writing about Syracuse basketball coach Jim Boeheim and
covering his many highs, many lows, many outbursts, and many sarcastic
comments. I completely understand why so many people just think he’s a whiny,
curmudgeonly a******, mostly because the only times they’re hearing about him
is when he’s being a whiny, curmudgeonly a****** with suspect opinions about
his players, old man thoughts about the state of the game, or dickish responses to
reporters.
But the more I followed his career, and the way he reacted to major touchstones
across it, I came to realize that what seems like a one-dimensional character is
actually a nuanced portrait of a man who struggles with his identity as a “god.” I
don’t mean that literally. While Syracuse fans adore Boeheim, they don’t pray to
alters bearing his image (save for maybe a handful). But Jim Boeheim, a quiet guy
from Upstate New York, built a basketball empire up there without even trying
and has spent much of his adult life managing the expectations and
responsibilities that come with that.
For most of the time, he succeeded and was basically left alone to rule his fiefdom
as he saw fit. Sometimes, however, he failed at his duty and he would meet the
attention and fallout from those times with an outward aggression that
attempted to mask a deep fear that his entire life’s work would be ruined. Worse
than that, it was all a lie. That was basically the case with the Bernie Fine scandal.
In retrospect, it’s a testament to Boeheim’s status in Central New York that he not
only survived that but has since thrived. Especially considering how poorly he
handled the whole thing.
His initial response was to shame the alleged victims. Then he battled with
national reporters who were intruding on his sacred space. He pushed back
against everything that was coming for him because, if you looked closely, he was
terrified. Those smiles during press conferences didn’t prove he was remorseless;
they proved he was realizing just how much junk he was swimming in and using
the only defense mechanism he knew in order to climb out of it.
I’m reminded of all that as I watch Ohio State head football coach Urban Meyer
flop and flail his way from one apology to another in the wake of the Zach Smith
scandal. Like Boeheim, there were multiple points throughout the timeline when
Meyer could have stepped in and made a different decision. But he keeps making
bad decisions. Each robotic apology fails in its purpose, requiring another apology
that clarifies one issue but creates another.
Here were are on the precipice of Meyer’s return after a three-game suspension,
and he doesn’t appear to have actually learned anything or have any further
understanding about what Courtney Smith has gone through. By all accounts,
based on the way he talks about it, he still doesn’t believe her and sees himself as
a victim in this whole ordeal.
My initial reaction to Meyer’s latest press conference on Monday was, like a lot of
people, disgust. I started to analyze why and I started thinking about who Urban
Meyer is and, more importantly, who he’s been for the better part of the last 20
years. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Meyer is a god
struggling, and failing, with the notion that he’s wrong. Furthermore, he’s
struggling with the notion that he alone cannot fix this.
That doesn’t make him sympathetic, but it does make him very human, and
maybe that’s exactly what he needs to understand at this moment.
Because, honestly, when was the last time someone inside Meyer’s program or
school told him no or didn’t look to him to lead the way? That certainly has never
happened at Ohio State where he returned the program to elite status, winning a
national title and going 73-8 in six seasons.
He almost certainly never heard “no” at Florida where he won two national titles
in six years and left for health reasons right before things might have gotten
dicey.
He probably never needed to answer to anyone at Utah either. In two seasons
there, he went 22-2 and took the program to the Fiesta Bowl. No one was going
to question anything this guy did.
You probably have to go back to Bowling Green for the last time that someone
maybe, possibly treated Urban Meyer like a human being with accountability.
That’s 2002. Fifteen years ago. Since then, he’s been a football god standing high
above his peers (save for Nick Saban). Along with his cult of personality, his cult of
winning has made him almost unimpeachable. Every program he’s gone to has
gotten better, gotten better quickly, and gotten to the heights of the sport. This is
a guy who gets things done, knows all the answers and tells you how everything
works.
And you better believe that Urban Meyer has bought into his own hype in a big
way. It’s why he thinks he can define domestic violence. It’s why he can basically
make it clear that he doesn’t believe Courtney Smith even in the face of
everything that’s gone down. It’s why he can try to push through the controversy
and get back to focusing on football. It’s why, in a week or two, he’s going to blow
up at a reporter for asking about Courtney Smith when they should be past that
already and because football is more important anyway.
Gods don’t presume they know everything. They simply know they know
everything.
And he may end up getting what he wants. In his absence, Ohio State went 3-0
and has a clear path to the Big Ten title as the rest of the conference implodes
around them. If Meyer can guide the Buckeyes back to the College Football
Playoff, most Ohio State fans will be happy to move on from the “distraction.” If
he can muster up another national title before he resigns for health reasons once
again, he’ll get a statue on campus soon enough. Hell, he might end up getting
statues at multiple schools when it’s all said and done. And his time as a mere
mortal grappling with the frailty of the human condition will have been a blip on
the god-king’s road to eternal glory.
Hell, it happened for Jim Boeheim. Just a year removed from the scandal,
Syracuse returned to the Final Four. Following a round of NCAA violations that he
also somehow survived, Boeheim and the Orange returned to the Final Four in
2016. Not only has all been forgiven, but after being forced to announce his
retirement date, Boeheim was basically given a lifetime contract to coach as long
as he wanted.
It’s a romantic idea to be truly human, full of wonder and fear and everything in
between. To be vulnerable. To ask for and receive help. To ask for and receive
forgiveness. But once you’ve been a god, it’s hard not to want to be a god forever.
The post Urban Meyer is grappling with the realization that he’s not, in fact, a god
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