Jay Paterno: A Timeout for Family Is Sometimes the Best Call

One of the storylines heading into the 2011 Outback Bowl is the retirement of Florida head coach Urban Meyer to devote more time to his family. I do not know Urban Meyer—our paths crossed only once while he was at Notre Dame and we were recruiting the same two guys, Sam Ruhe and Sean McHugh.

But I am familiar with the coaching and family pressures that come with coaching at a major college program. I grew up with it as a member of a coaching family and I’ve coached for 20 seasons—the last 11 as a father.

In a college town like State College, Tuscaloosa, or Gainesville, the head football coach is usually the most recognizable person in the community. It’s not like coaching in Los Angeles or Miami or Boston. In a college town, a lot of people know what you are doing most of the time.

It is a job that for 12 or 13 days a year produces a clear tangible outcome, win or lose. Most jobs don’t come with that kind of public outcome.

Growing up here, I became aware of that. After a tough loss in 1984 my mother was in the store buying bologna at the deli. A woman nearby heard her order and commented, “After last Saturday’s game, that’s all your family should eat.”

I love bologna—German, garlic, turkey, Lebanon—but the comment’s intent was not lost on me. Neither my mother nor any of her children had anything to do with the loss, but that woman felt we should all suffer for it.

The explosion of electronic media has created more scrutiny than ever. Message boards and cell phone cameras allow some of our fan base to track and comment on a coach’s personal life. Some believe every moment of a coach’s life should be spent in the pursuit of a recruit, watching tape or getting ready for the next game.

The expectations become a monster in a coach’s mind. You have to be perceived as constantly working on your job. Moments away from work at Little League games or on a “date night” with your wife may be held against you by someone expecting all wins all the time.

Because coaches are sometimes elevated beyond their true importance to society, they lose their “humanity” to people they’ve never met. That is true of politicians, coaches, athletes and anyone else we as a society identify with from a distance.

It is easy to forget that public people have families they are responsible to outside of their jobs.

While coaches must endure the pressures, the people who bear the biggest burden are the wives carrying the ball for the rest of the family on so many occasions. Whether at school conferences or other kids’ activities, the wives are often there alone.

I try to teach my own family to keep it in perspective. I remind them of people in tougher situations than ours. There are soldiers on 12-month deployments. The families left behind must bear a much larger burden than others in this country even realize.

After win No. 400 by my father, I realized all the time he’d missed with us as children to get to that point. But a post-game moment in the locker room with Bobby Engram, Kenny Jackson and Ki-Jana Carter made something clear to me. They were recalling the day when Joe had to call Bobby—a freshman, miles from home—into his office to tell him that Bobby’s father had died. Ki-Jana had been there with Bobby as a friend and Kenny as Bobby’s coach.

Coaching required Joe to be a parent to so many kids that, at times, his family had to sacrifice their time with him.

This week on the road recruiting, I heard a song by George Strait on the radio. The lyrics reinforced a lesson Joe has tried to impart his coaches.

It began:

He looks up from second base, dad’s up in the stands. He saw the hit, the run, the slide there ain’t no bigger fan.

In the parking lot after the game he said, “Dad I thought you had a plane to catch.” He smiled and said, “Yeah son I did.”

Life’s not the breath you take. The breathing in and out that gets you through the day ain’t what it’s all about . Ya just might miss the point try’n to win the race.

Life’s not the breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away.

The toughest part of this job is knowing when to stop so you don’t miss those moments. It is having the courage and conviction to be able to separate any public perception from the things your wife and children need from you.

This Christmas I am thankful for the two coach’s wives who have made an impact on me—one who raised me and one who saved me—my mom and my wife. My wife’s unyielding will and strength have enabled me to attack my job.

But sometimes the best call a coach can make is to take a timeout to be there for their wives and their families. Years from now, the wins and losses will fade, but the precious family moments will never lose their importance.