Notre Dame Football Is the Devil in Disguise

I ran across something that absolutely disgusted me while reading about Notre Dame football. When discussing sports, you frequently use severity and exaggeration as hammers to drive home a point.

This is not one of those situations.

I was not a fan of the program before, but my antipathy blossomed from admittedly petty reasons. Because I acknowledged this pettiness, I tempered my feelings. Capped them at intense dislike.

No more.

I literally hate Notre Dame football and what it represents—the perfect National Collegiate Athletic Association program.

Heretofore, I could only say that I hated the Los Angeles Dodgers. They were the one rival I allowed myself to hate because I take no pleasure in that emotion. But I'm a San Francisco Giants fan—what could I do?

Apparently, the answer was to find a worthier target. And I've found one.

The NCAA's mission statement reads like this: "Our purpose is to govern competition in a fair, safe, equitable and sportsmanlike manner, and to integrate intercollegiate athletics into higher education so that educational experience of the student-athlete is paramount."

Paramount. As in, above all others in importance and priority.

If you know about the program's recent history, and you re-read that paragraph, you will realize that Notre Dame football is Job Bluth, the Great Magician.

You will realize that, intentionally or not, the Tyrone Willingham-Charlie Weis Civil War that rages is a singularly transcendent bit of misdirection. It's the next sh*t, and the NCAA is the program's pusher.

Can anyone remember anything about ND football before this scuffle broke out? Before ESPN assaulted the airwaves with rumors, whispers, and nuanced accusations of racism at the nation's most popular Catholic university. Before each ND win or loss became an excuse to dissect Willingham's recruiting versus that of Weis and to revive the race issue.

It is only a slight stretch to say that Notre Dame's long history seems to have been truncated, consisting merely of the last seven years. Especially in today's ADHD world.

How often does Bob Davie's name get mentioned? In fact, I might have to remind some people that he was the coach that preceded TW.

If the administration at Notre Dame has enough brain cells to blow its collective nose, they should be spending a lot of extra time in divine genuflection for that little bit of deliverance.

Because in 2001, Notre Dame football received the American Football Coaches Association Achievement Award for graduating, get this, 100 percent of its football players.

100 percent. As in every single player eligible for graduation. At a competitive, big-time football program.

Schools like Notre Dame will always graduate a higher percentage of their athletes because they simply draw that type of individual. But 100 percent is perfection.

And 2001 was Bob Davie's last year under the employ of that fine academic institution.

Davie was fired after five years during which he compiled a 35-25 record, accepted invitations to three bowl games, reached the school's first Bowl Championship Series game, eventually graduated everyone eligible for that honor, and was exceptionally inconsistent (unless you count the consistency with which he lost bowl games).

Anything else? Oh yeah, he had stepped into the rather commodious shoes of Lou Holtz.

To be fair, Davie also received and deserved (to a degree) criticism for opening the University to an age-discrimination suit by mishandling the firing of a long-time Holtz guy.

It also must be mentioned that Notre Dame received probation from the NCAA during his tenure for a scandal involving improper gifts from a booster to players, although how poorly that should reflect on Bob Davie is a matter of debate.

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