Mike Leach was on his cell phone, riding a bike somewhere in Florida, trying to ride a bike, when I had a long conversation with him about a lot of things, but primarily about his quarterback at the time, a kid from Logan who was throwing for a bajillion yards at Washington State by the name of Luke Falk.
In the middle of his thoughts and commentary, that bike broke down.
From that point on, he half-concentrated on answering questions, half-concentrated on fixing his busted ride, to great comedic effect.
“Luke’s great,” Leach said. “He’s a fabulous person. This damn thing is screwed up. I can’t get it out of that one gear. What the hell’s going on? I’m sorry, what’s the question again?”
Of the thousands of interviews I’ve done with athletes and coaches through the years, there are just a few that stand out as being the most memorable.
The one with Leach that day ranks among them.
There are probably a hundred, maybe more, writers and broadcasters who can say the same exact thing, and who are saying it now.
It will stay and be highlighted as a memory for me — and others — because Leach suddenly, unexpectedly had what is reported to have been a serious cardiac event at his home on Sunday, and the Mississippi State coach was taken to a hospital in Jackson, Miss., on Sunday from his home.
He’s 61 years old.
Anybody who cares about college football and a rare individual who has a prominent place inside it should take a moment for prayer, or if you don’t roll that way, a good thought or two sent toward the man, hoping for a positive outcome. Although knowing Leach, he’d probably scoff at the suggestion of such gestures, appreciating them, but wishing all y’all would get on with whatever you’re doing.
Leach is that kind of character. You might love him. You might hate him. You might do both at the same time. You might simultaneously find him funny and sort of sad. But he has and has had an effect on many college players who are/were better, smarter for having been taught by him. And he’s the kind who has and has had an effect on reporters, too, a lot of us, anyway, people who have grown grizzled and jaded by way of asking so many routine questions of coaches and getting so many routine answers back. We’re talking about people who have forgotten how many questions we’ve asked and to whom we asked them.
You do not forget Mike Leach.
Nor his responses, routine or out of the ordinary. The coach isn’t perfect, he’s had some weaker moments, all around, like we all do. But he also is an original. Not just a football wizard who takes and has taken a lot of passers and makes/made them quarterbacks, but an uncommon thinker in many realms.
When he’s in the mood, he actually plays along with dumb questions, good ones, odd ones, as well, ranging from his Air Raid offense to his favorite subjects away from football to favorite vacation spots to favorite kinds of candy to his least favorite hobbies and activities. He once famously spent five minutes addressing the ups and downs, especially on the dangers and pratfalls, for a groom preparing for a wedding.
Can anybody imagine Nick Saban doing that?
Leach’s connection to Utah, besides coaching against opposing teams here, goes like this: He was once a student at BYU, where he learned about football and about coaching it for a while at the foot of LaVell Edwards. At the time of my interview with him, his parents lived in St. George.
“My dad plays golf every day,” he said at the time. “I hate golf.”
He did not hate Falk, a raw, underrated quarterback who landed in Pullman as a walk-on because nobody else wanted him and who ended up being a prolific passer for the Cougars, a team leader who, Leach said, did more to boost his team than any other player in college football.
“If you judge the Heisman on who elevated his teammates the most, it was Luke Falk,” the coach said. “I don’t know what’s the matter with this dumb bike. I guess I can ride it, but it’s too hard to pedal. What the … it’s messed up. Where was I?
“Oh, the argument can be made that Luke was the best quarterback in the country last season. And he’s got two years left. Luke’s always been diligent, determined. When other kids were out playing with Legos, he was working on playing quarterback.”
Leach may have had trouble getting his bike out of first gear, but he had no such trouble shifting from talking about his own quarterback to talking about what all QBs must do to succeed.
“[Luke’s] got a steadiness to him that’s indisputable. He’s focused. He’s the same guy every day. That’s especially good for a quarterback because everyone else draws off what he does. He probably does that better than anyone I’ve had.
“Everyone always wants to ask about a quarterback … How strong is he? How big is he? How far can he throw it? That’s backwards. What comes first is … Can he make good reads? Can he lead? Is he accurate? As a quarterback, your ultimate job is to elevate the people around you. You have your finger on the trigger. You decide what happens.”
His bike wasn’t on a roll, but Leach was. He went on and on and on about darn near every aspect of quarterback play.
At the end, he confessed that a coach can’t do much without a quality quarterback, the position played correctly is that significant, but he added that a good coach can mentor a quarterback to be great: “You can’t do that with a running back. But a quarterback can learn and play, if he focuses.”
From there, he went on to discuss the Florida weather, the state of current affairs in the country, sound methods of strong leadership, the importance of setting and reaching goals, and having a thirst for good living.
He swore. He preached. He pontificated. He told stories. He laughed in the driest way possible, never letting on that he thought he was funny. He apologized. He did everything but cry. And then, he hung up.
Leach may not have ever gotten that damn bike fixed, but he made a memory for me that I will not forget. And the best part is, as the pirate now battles for breath, I’m not the only one.
from The Salt Lake Tribune https://ift.tt/ePO24Nu
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