Meet the good guys, those plucky lads wearing crimson. Many college football fans probably remember them as the bad guys — or alternatively, as the evil empire coached by the guy nicknamed after a biblical villain.
Call it my Christian upbringing, but I always thought the “Satan” moniker was too harsh for a football coach whose biggest sin was winning all the time. Now, the nickname simply does not fit Nick Saban.
The 72-year-old is more like a tough but lovable grandpa who sprinkles in a sneaky-good sense of humor to soften his bark. But don’t think he’s content to nap in his recliner. He still has enough spunk to toss a faux tough guy off his well-manicured lawn.
Jim Harbaugh’s crew earned its Michigan-against-the-world battle cry, because the world generally disdains cheaters.
Saban achieved his greatness the old-fashioned way. He signed the best players, developed them, won seven national championships (six at Alabama) and vanquished opponents to the extent that fans who don’t shout “Roll Tide!” grew sick of him.
Saban was a hard-nosed know-it-all who was all business. For a time, he never even seemed to take all that much joy in winning. In fact, his teams became known for their tough brand of “joyless murderball.”
Saban once possessed a Tiger Woods-like effect: Alabama fans worshipped him, while others fell in the Root for Whoever Is Facing Saban camp.
Whether you cheered Alabama’s dynasty or rooted against it, no one can say Saban and his Crimson Tide didn’t earn their place.
Now here comes Michigan trying to cheat its way to the front of the line. I suppose I should add the perfunctory “alleged” cheating label, although the evidence is piled so high against Connor Stalions, a central figure in this scandal, that the Michigan analyst resigned in shame.
Michigan remains under NCAA investigation. Harbaugh denies knowing about Stalions’ scheme of using in-person advance scouting to steal opponents’ signs.
When you consider all of the heinous, hurtful and life-altering scandals in college athletics in just the past 15 years, Stalions’ little operation hardly ranks as the crime of the century.
