I remember where I was when I found out it was happening. I was just rolling out of bed, half awake and dreading another day of fifth grade, when I heard my Dad on the phone with my grandfather. “We got him,” he said. “We got Spurrier.”
Eleven years later, it was surreal watching the “Ole Ball Coach” call it quits. In a lot of ways, Steve and I grew up together. We screamed at Stephen Garcia together, we made fun of Dabo Swinney together and we cried together when Marcus Lattimore went down. Every Saturday for the last 10 years, there he’s been on my TV, like a mad distantly-related uncle, throwing a visor, or benching a quarterback or telling a reporter at halftime that we “gotta throw the ball a little better and so forth.” I don’t remember football without him. None of us do.
Whether you’re a Gamecock or a Gator, a Hog or a Longhorn, a hated Tiger or a “Dawg” as he would say, you’ve got a soft spot somewhere for Steve Spurrier. He may have torched your team or you torched his (probably more of the latter the last few years), but at the end of the day you had to give him credit for being memorable. Who will ever forget “Free Shoes University?” Or “you can’t spell Citrus without U-T?” While his jabs are a thing of legend, he would also give you moments where you were reminded of his greatness. I’ll never forget going to the Arkansas vs. South Carolina game in Fayetteville my sophomore year of college. It was a blowout, and at halftime an Arkansas man came up to me in my Gamecock attire, shook my hand and simply said, “You have the best coach in the country. Enjoy it.” I certainly have.
I could write all day about how the HBC changed the face of our program and how nothing will ever compare to those first years of glory, when we realized that we could play with the best. But even those things, as near and dear to my heart as they are, aren’t what I’ll miss most about Steve Spurrier. No, what I’ll miss most are his weird quirks; his personality of befriending everyone around him; his one-of-a-kind “I’m going to tell you the truth whether it’s good or bad” interviews; but most of all, I will miss his spirit that believed anything was possible which led him to take a crummy job at a crummy football school 11 years ago, because he believed he could make them winners.
Here’s to you, Steve. Thanks for the memories.
