REFLECTIONS
A National Treasure Austin Murphy John Gagliardi is as gracious as he is Perspective, humility and football journey, on a high school field shrewd and generous and smart, which in Trinidad, Colo., he discovered a excellent listening skills is why he never told me he wasn’t crazy different path. You could win games about the book I wrote based on my without degrading players. You could aren’t attributes sports season with the Johnnies. It contained, win championships without many of the columnists expect to find in among myriad other flaws, too many silly trappings of the sport—calisthenics football coaches until they and whistles and coaching towers and accounts of players slaking their postgame thirst at the LaPlayette. Had he all the other items on Gagliardi’s blessed meet John Gagliardi shared his misgivings, I would have list of No’s. By stripping the game to of Saint John’s. apologized, and instructed him to take its essence, by emphasizing preparation a number. and execution, by taking common-sense The Sweet Season had problems big (ungainly twosteps to protect the health of his players, he reminded me of track narrative) and small (no one bothered to tell me John another wise, white-haired visionary: Bill Walsh. disliked the nickname “Gags,” which appears in the text John may have had the itch to test himself in the roughly 100 times). Yet it’s the best of the six books I’ve NFL—he had opportunities—but didn’t scratch it. He written. With this cast of characters, a dramatis personae to realized that he was on to something good, conducting his die for, I was going to have to work to screw it up. own grand experiment under the Swayed Pines. I’d met the main character in 1992, when I spent a Shadowing him all those autumns ago, I got to know couple days following John around for an SI feature. He John well, but not intimately. During the season, he’s filled my notebook with gems (Lombardi double-teamed preoccupied. (Duh.) Still, there were wonderful grace Otis Taylor, and we’re out there covering him with Bernie notes, such as a car ride with him, during which he played Beckman!), and I wrote a fun story for SI. There was his a cassette of himself singing “A Mighty Fortress Is Our picture on the cover of the magazine the following August, God.” One afternoon we walked through the cemetery a big grin on his face. overlooking Lake Sag, John reminiscing briefly about the The coach whose office I haunted for five months nearby deceased. This guy, Ignatius, was the procurator. during the ’99 season was less of a comedian. He was more Tight as hell, but a great guy . complex, more layered, more interesting—and a tad more Even if I never quite solved the riddle of John, I profane, although that was hardly a problem. The university was around long enough to pick up on what made him had one Saint John; it didn’t need another. successful, and it was a lot more than his famous list. Gagliardi wasn’t a saint so much as he was a national Prowling around the offices, in search of conversation and treasure. I was drawn to him because I’d played football for company more than book fodder, truth be told, I would benighted coaches who conflated the game with war, who drop anchor in Jimmy’s office, or go bug Jerry Haugen or screamed and punished and completely missed the point. Gary Fasching. John’s door was usually open—but just a Back in the days of Woody and Bear and Bo, that’s how crack. Come in, it said, but please have a good reason. they rolled. Invariably, when I intruded, he would be peering into It wasn’t how John rolled. Early in his remarkable a video monitor, watching the same play eight, 10 times
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