By Sean Quinn
Dear Coach Paterno,
I’m not very good at this letter writing stuff, but I felt one was necessary. I know you’re a busy guy with the season just a month away but I just had a quick question: would you be my grandpa?Grandpa Joe I would call you. We could play checkers, build puzzles and perhaps even have a three-legged sack race. I know your legs aren’t in the best shape with you climbing Mount Nittany at the ripe age of 79, but if you promise to run the race I’ll manage to get us a backyard full of Astroturf, “Brady Bunch” style.
I have always looked at you and knew you would be a fun grandpa. The kind of elder statesman that I could play cards with for several hours while you crack me up with you’re “I’m too old for this” comedy routine. Remember when you played that one last year and everyone laughed, then Michael Robinson made them all cry. Good stuff, Joe.
Maybe once you’re my grandpa I can finally find out how you motivate kids my age to reach their full potentials. Every coach has his way of relating to their student-athletes. Larry Eustachy likes to go party with college girls to get a feel of what his players’ lives are all about. Eddie Sutton just plain loves the beer bong. Rick Neuheisel makes bets with his players. And some schools go above relating to their players, they just pay them like at Ohio State.
But not you Joe. You have your own way. I’m not quite sure what it is but I can take a guess. Maybe all your players have adopted you as their grandpa. What football player wouldn’t want to try their best for their grandpa? It’s an even better idea than playing for your father. Kids let down their fathers all the time. They skip curfew or crash the car or attend Auburn. Some kids have “estranged” fathers because of these let-downs. But no one has an estranged grandfather.
I bet you thought about making yourself the legal guardian of every person on your roster but you don’t want to end up like Larry King – an old, creepy man all hopped up on Siberian Ginseng, popping out little kids and then reloading for more like a Nerf Gun. Smart thinking Joe, no one likes a creepy old man, except Catherine Zeta-Jones.
But you don’t worry about your image, do you? The black tennis shoes accompanied by the khaki pants that are hiked-up just high enough for your drip-dried white socks to peek through periodically just to say hello, like a next door neighbor that every now and again makes you homemade jam but leaves you baffled as there aren’t any trees or gardens in his yard. And those glasses that you don’t really need but wear anyhow. A modest pair of reading glasses would suit you just fine, but you load up those frames with more layers than a piece of Star Jones’ dinner cake just so no one can actually peer through into that wisdom that lies behind them.
Everyone admires that half-century old style that still makes the students at Happy Valley throw theme parties, dressing up in your honor. They attempt to mirror your grace, heart and cheerful grandpa jolliness but it’s no use. You’re one of a kind Joe. It’s as pitiful as Floyd Landis’ attempt to impersonate an honest athlete.
You’re not like others your age, like Bobby Bowden, who is letting his years get to him. Bowden sometimes confuses his straw hat with a halo the same way his players confuse the word “No” with “Yes.” Seven sexual assault charges later and Bowden still refuses to suspend his criminals for the Miami game. I don’t really want a guy like that as my grandpa and if I did I’d have to get in line behind Ricky Williams and the entire Cincinnati Bengals to make an offer.
So listen, you don’t have to coach for another 10 years even though we all know you most certainly could. Just think about being my grandpa, Joe Pa. I could use the coaching.