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W hen I saw the breaking-news bulletin on my phone the night of October 12, 2015, I sat stunned, unable to move. I stared at the screen for a moment, hoping my eyes had deceived me, hoping against hope it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.
But it was.
And it quickly became one of those never-forget, unable-to-breathe kinds of scenes. My first emotion was selfish—I was mad at him. I mumbled to myself: How can you do this? This is not fair. Then I slowly began smiling and nodding my head. The Head Ball Coach had done it again.
One more hidden-ball trick play by him left us all searching for the pigskin while he went racing past us down the field for the winning score. I quickly understood that the announcement that Steve Spurrier was stepping down at South Carolina wasn’t an end, but a beginning. He wasn’t going to follow the normal path. He was ending one of the most brilliant careers in college football history his own way—putting his own personal imprint on the announcement. It wasn’t perfect. But it was typical Spurrier—leaving everyone talking, debating, screaming and hollering, pointing fingers, but also praising him.
In the days that followed, tributes came from all corners of the college football universe, from every major coach in the game, from Saban to Meyer—and then some, from Darius Rucker to Rick Flair—and most, if not all, correctly said the HBC had secured a spot on college football’s Mount Rushmore.
But that tells only part of the story, part of what made Spurrier one of the game’s most compelling coaches. And personally, my favorite coach of all-time to cover and be around.
Who else could be the greatest coach at two SEC schools?
Who else could win a Heisman Trophy and coach another player who won one?
Who else could be one of the most polarizing figures of the first half of his coaching career—only to become one of the most beloved in the second half?
Who else but Stephen Orr Spurrier?
It is easy to say Spurrier’s greatest days were at Florida: the swagger and style, to say nothing of an avalanche of SEC titles—including four in a row. Four in a row! Still hard to believe years later, plus the national championship. But in some ways, his most meaningful accomplishments as a coach were at South Carolina, where he lifted the school’s spirits and stature, leading the Gamecocks to the SEC title game in 2010.
Attention was paid and respect was earned after three straight eleven-win seasons—and Top 10 finishes—at South Carolina, mind you—as well as producing the No. 1 pick in the 2014 NFL draft.
I asked him once in a quiet moment at his old office at Ben Hill Griffin Stadium if he agreed with a newspaper ranking that listed him as the best coach in college football. He sat there for a moment, shrugged, and with that all-too-familiar and often-imitated voice—so sharp and often shrill it could pierce a hole through a steel plate—said: “Well, that’s their opinion.” For the record, he didn’t argue or correct a mistake, as he often did with sportswriters. He knew the poll was precise, but to soften the blow, he added: “I’m really just a coach who calls ball plays.”
In other words, the Head Ball Coach.
And now the HBC had stepped down. Done. Called it a career.
The next day in Columbia, as the nation watched his emotional press conference—emotional for others, not so much to him—airing on ESPN and other networks and being treated with the gravity and solemnity of a presidential nomination to the Supreme Court, I couldn’t help recalling a line written by John Logue of The Atlanta Journal about the HBC during his playing days. He had led the Gators to yet another improbable victory over North Carolina State, and Logue wrote of Spurrier’s superiority: “Blindfolded, with his back to the wall, with his hands tied behind him, Steve Spurrier would still be a two-point favorite at his own execution.”
He did it his way—one reason many today remain so sad for his departure from football, but also so extremely fortunate and grateful to have had a front-row seat to view his greatness.