Volunteering to take the heat

Lou Holtz thought that his players couldn't hear play calls or audibles two weeks ago in a road loss in Little Rock against Arkansas. True to the stubborn side of his personality, Holtz laid down the South Carolina line this past week, as General Robert Neyland's Stadium -- filled with 108,000 Big Orange fans -- beckons in a 5:55 Eastern time kickoff.

"If we can't hear, we can't play," Holtz said. "There's no sense in us even trying to play if we cannot understand what play is being run or when the ball is going to be snapped."

Oh, how delish and nutrish is that?

Folks in Knoxville are getting ready to scream as never before, pouncing on Holtz' words in the hope of making him regret them... dearly.

Commentators are blasting Holtz for what is being perceived as a dumb, shortsighted move that will boomerang back in his -- and his team's -- face.

Fans outside the sphere of this rivalry, in the South and elsewhere, are surely saying that "Grampaw Holtz" is losing it, and that Neanderthal-like offensive performances like the one in Little Rock two weeks ago are proof that Holtz isn't quite the coach he used to be.

Can I say something in response to these three developments?

Have you been living under a rock--in Rocky Top or anywhere else?

Do you think that one of the shrewdest and most cunning football coaches alive was just whining and crying? Heck, do ANY smart and savvy coaches ever just whine? If they say things that come across as complaints, there's always a larger reason, a greater cause that justifies comments that, on the surface, appear to reveal signs of weakness or vulnerability on the part of both coach and team. These seemingly pathetic pleas for help from the mighty referees are actually masterfully-applied psychological tactics.

Folks, you remember Lou Holtz, right? You remember how he talks down his team to sub-snake levels? You remember how he makes the Little Sisters of the Poor seem like Florida State, right? You haven't forgotten -- you couldn't have!

C'mon, all y'all young'uns out theah, I reckon you've huhd some Suth'n Bawl Coaches play ali'l bi' a'poss'm over the yeahs with 'pos'n tuyms, hav'ncha?

(Remove slow, syrupy and twangy drawl, and it sounds like this: Come on, all you young ones out there, I reckon you've heard some Southern Ball Coaches play a little bit of possum over the years with opposing teams, haven't you?)

Let's not even use Holtz as an example. Let's go to his good friend Steve Spurrier (that's no joke), the only coach in the SEC with better credentials than Holtz.

Going back five years, Spurrier's Florida Gators, undefeated and ranked No. 1 after Thanksgiving of 1996, were knocked off by unbeaten and No. 2 Florida State, 24-21, in Tallahassee, on the last day of the regular season. However, a loss by Nebraska a week later in the inaugural Big XII Championship Game put the Gators in the Sugar Bowl for a rematch against the Noles and -- with Arizona State's loss in the Rose Bowl -- a shot at the national championship.

In the loss at Doak Campbell Stadium to the Seminoles, Spurrier thought that his Heisman-winning quarterback, Danny Wuerffel, had been savaged by constant double-barreled late hits from Reinard Wilson and Peter Boulware, FSU's awesome bookend pass rushers. Throughout the game, Spurrier let the on-field refs know, long and loud, that Wuerffel was being hit late and excessively.

Given a rematch with the Seminoles, Spurrier used the week before the game to remind the officiating crew for the game that Wuerffel had to be protected, and that poor ole Florida would need vigilance from the brethren in stripes to manage to win the game.

To the untrained observer (or listener, as it were), Spurrier's hissy fit was nothing but pathetic, irritating and grating pouting, something the Venerable Visor Victor has been accused of before.

But upon further review, this pouting streak had so much more depth to it. I would analogize it to Bugs Bunny's tantrums in the cartoon where the drunk stork dropped him into the arms -- and care -- of two big orangutans. (All you "younguns" out there who've never watched old Bugs Bunny cartoons should make some time. Those are educational cartoons, lemme tell ya!)

Bugs -- a clever and crafty precursor to the Holtzes and Spurriers of the world -- kept shouting, "Mommy! Mommy! I wanna drink a' water! I wanna drink a' watah! WAAAAAAAH!" He did this to infuriate his "daddy," who was set against him, and to secure the protection of his "mommy," who -- being maternal -- cared for him from the start. Bugs' complaining represented nothing more than an act, a smokescreen, to achieve a larger result: get the daddy (whose name was Elvis, for the record -- gotta stay up on the cartoon history) wrapped up in anger, only to have him get caught trying to assault Bugs in front of mommy, who swiftly and decisively punished daddy for his offenses. Bugs 1, Elvis 0.

And so it was with Spurrier. While Bobby Bowden responded to Steve's daily complaints with the legendary line, "We teach our players not to stop until they hear the echo of the whistle," the Seminoles were not sharp when game time came around. Even more importantly, the Gators -- put in the background by their coach, who took the furnace-like heat, the withering scrutiny, and the derisive "pansy" (and MUCH WORSE... this is a family column!) putdowns -- were extremely relaxed, loose and confident, freed from the baggage of pressure in a game that, for every conceivable reason (revenge game, rivalry game, bowl game, national title game, last game for awesome senior class), easily qualified as the most important in the University of Florida's often-futile football history.

What seemed to be whining from Spurrier -- and don't most journalists always assume, in their small noggins, that he is (sigh!) -- was nothing but a sensational psych job.

Let's connect the dots here, then, and revert back to South Carolina-Tennessee.

What's the Vols' biggest strength? Their pursuit-oriented defense.

What slows down a defense? Having to stand or remain in stance for a long time at the line of scrimmage.

What will clock-oriented delays do to Tennessee's defense when USC (Southern version thereof) is on offense?

Uh-huh. Yup -- make John Henderson and Friends stand or remain in stance for a long time at ye olde line of scrimmage.

And isn't Holtz also taking the focus off his players, just like Spurrier did five years ago?

And isn't Holtz working on some specially-scripted plays to take advantage of Tennessee's pursuit?

And isn't South Carolina's defense a layin' in the weeds, waiting to make big impact plays in this game that will make the chants for the checkerboard subside considerably?

Beautiful -- at least in technique.

South Carolina's players may not know how to execute -- we'll find out on Saturday -- but their coach knows how to pull all the strings in the minds of men, and to manipulate the pre-game buzz in the days before kickoff.

Stupid? Whiny? Those words apply to all comments criticizing Lou Holtz this week.

As Bugs Bunny said, "And remember, 'mud' spelled backwards is D-U-M!"

Abadee, abadee, abadee, THAT'S ALL, FOLKS!