After the Fall Is Over: The Transition
UHND.com - Rock Kanutski
09/27/2001

Following the Nebraska game you heard Rock say that it was already over for Davie—that while we were digesting the Sunday papers, Kevin White was digesting his Rolodex, making calls and talking names. You heard me say the transition had already begun.

That statement would be true today even if the Men in Gold had defeated Michigan State. There is no way Kevin White will allow ND football to continue in its current state, winning season or no. (See below for Rock's reasoning on this.)

But last week's loss puts an awkward spin on the transition now in progress. Had we won, the Bob Davie endgame could be played out in private. The number of players with pieces on the board would be limited to Fr. Malloy, Bob Davie, Kevin White, and White's many, but discrete, telephone contacts.

This is a manageable crew, one that would act both effectively and silently. With a victory the fans could hope or complain as they choose, but in the face of (apparently) mixed evidence, nothing much would have changed. And the players could tackle the rest of the season with only game-thoughts in mind.

The drama, in other words, could unfold in the most favorable way, by appearing not to unfold at all. You'd need a backstage pass to see the entrances and exits in this play.

But the Notre Dame loss last weekend, the second in two outings, makes the situation now more complicated. Now the drama might have to unfold in public—while still appearing not to unfold at all. A daunting situation for any Athletic Director to handle, even for the talented Kevin White.

WHY KEVIN IS ON THE MOVE NOW

Let me emphasize again (this can't be said enough), the Davie era is over. It was over after Nebraska. If White weren't preparing to reset the table now, we would, in hindsight, consider him irresponsible.

What CEO would throw away four months of planning time in such an important process? The entire Notre Dame franchise is at stake, its identity in the big league sports market, its "brand." Not at stake forever of course, but at stake for the piece of forever that Dr. White signed up to manage. No number of victories the rest of the season can change that now.

And the stakes are very high. "Notre Dame"—the marketing entity, not the place of learning or the place of the spirit, not the Library or the Grotto—but Notre Dame the brand, that Notre Dame, is being degraded more seriously than at any time in its history. Its gold is turning to lead as we watch.

The team has been bad before, as bad or worse. But in a sports landscape now completely dominated (we won't say "corrupted" until later) by business—by hundreds of millions of dollars, by brand identities and corporate tie-in, by deep and inextractible bonds to the holders, users, and marketing agents of the nation's wealth (think Enron Stadium; think California energy); in other words, by the most mutually agreeable bed-fellowing one can imagine between the palaces of the mind and the temples of acquisition—in that environment, the consequences of a university's failure to deliver are orders of magnitude greater than they have ever been.

Notre Dame is failing to deliver. We'd have to disconnect, to get off the train entirely, to avoid the consequences.

To put it simply, the stockholders of whoever owns NBC this year own a piece of Notre Dame. Further, the stockholders of Champion were recently traded for the stockholders of adidas so that Notre Dame's marketing of someone else's shoes could be combined with the marketing of someone else's clothes. Such corporate-university synergy deepens the reward for both parties, but it brings with it a debt (ours, not theirs).

Neither NBC nor adidas is making a charitable donation. In both cases, someone is buying something—a virtual profit center, a virtual business unit. And Notre Dame, like all good business units, now owes its contribution to the bottom line. If you've lived in the corporate world of the (now dying) boom, you know what that means.

I've kept it simple, but the chamber we just peeked into isn't a closet; it's a grand ballroom at Versailles. And the art on the walls is both confusing and not very spiritual, to say the least. Some might call it disturbing, but more on that later.

What's Kevin's job now? Among other things, to keep the money flowing in both directions. To keep the brand intact as long as Davie draws a check. To introduce the next Mike Brey when Bob Davie bows and leaves.

What's Kevin's job now? To manage the next four months.

Yes, he has other jobs as well, work that's noble enough to please even the unworldly. We'll tally the full measure later; there are many plusses to count.

Today we're just talking dollars, or listening as they speak. And there's no question that the dollars now speak with one voice.

What do they say? If you're quiet, you can hear them:

Kevin, don't let it come apart. Kevin, don't let it come apart. Kevin? Got that, Kevin? We're invested in you, boy. Don't you dare let it come apart.

Trust me—Kevin's listening.

NEW ACTORS ON THE STAGE

Thanks to the second Irish loss, there are new actors on stage in the Bob Davie Drama, and each adds a complication to the problem White must solve. These new actors include:

The players. Whatever else transpires, the men on the team have nine more games to play. In order to salvage this year, Kevin must appear to be waiting until season's end to decide Bob Davie's future. He can't appear to have already drawn the curtain, even as he does just that.

He can't say to the players, "Go out, bust your butts, risk career-ending injury, and do it knowing that I think you've already failed." It can't appear to the players that the boss has given up. Otherwise, a real disaster awaits. Can you say 2 and 9? I knew you could.

And not just on the field—a disaster there will quickly spread to recruiting.

The recruits. They are also in the game if this thing goes south. If a viable public discussion of Bob Davie's future erupts, White has to work even harder to keep the current, brilliant crop of high school commits in the fold. Since many are deeply loyal to the coaches who recruited them, Kevin has to appear to share that loyalty. Hmmm.

Not that it's disloyal for Kevin to be doing what he's doing; in fact, it would be either disloyal, or worse, incompetent, to do otherwise. But he can't appear to be firing coaches, or preparing to fire them.

After all, recruited athletes have few ties to their chosen schools, and in some cases only one—an emotional bond of trust with the coach to whom they said Yes. If that coach becomes a known lame duck, many of our current commits will go back on the board, cherry-picked by other institutions.

Keep in mind—there will be no Mike Brey to resecure them for at least four months.

That's right, four months. Think about it. For the sake of the recruits, if for no other reason, Bob Davie and his staff must appear to have a future until the season is over.

The assistants. In some ways, these are not new players in the transition game, since they already know what's happening and they already know what to do—either nothing, or what they would do anyway.

An assistant's resumé is always "out there," so keeping his ears open represents no change. And when an assistant brings his lunch pail to work in the morning, the job is always the same—stay out of coaching politics (Joe Moore's big mistake) and prepare the players to win.

If the hue and cry for Davie's dismissal doesn't spook the assistants into more active seeking, the transition will go better. After all, some assistants will have jobs in the new regime. But if assistants start searching too aggressively, that becomes news, and that's bad news for Kevin.

The fans. It's pretty obvious, isn't it? The louder the fan outcry for Bob Davie's dismissal, the tighter the spot Kevin White will be put in.

For reasons we've already mentioned, White must appear to be waiting until season's end, even while he's doing the opposite. If creating this illusion elevates fan outcry to hysterical levels, the media will be required (let's not say eager) to report that as a story. This will require White to make increasingly numerous denials, which in turn will increase hysteria, which in turn . . . well, you get the point.

Can you say "snowball?" I knew you could.

And what if the season comes really and truly apart, say, 4-7 or worse? (Again, I don't anticipate it.) Those disingenous denials won't sound credible even to White, even as he speaks them. Think the cameras will catch that on his face?

I'll say it again. If the transition game isn't played properly by everyone with cards on the table (everyone with cards on the table), a real disaster awaits. Fans and supporters have cards on the table.

THE ROLE OF THE FAN—TAKING THIS NORTH OR SOUTH

In some ways, the fans are the lynch pin, the key to the whole operation.

An escalation in fan desperation—in effect, in distrust of Kevin White's ability to see the obvious and do his job—could destroy what fans want most, a smooth and successful transition, and take the whole thing south very quickly. You think I'm wrong? Consider two more losses. What follows from that?

This is why Rock is writing this article. It's critical, in my view, that Notre Dame fans and supporters act with confidence, in the certain knowledge that:

Kevin White is on top of it now.

No number of victories will save Davie's job.

Escalating, mob-like calls for dismissal can only damage the transition already in progress.

Current players and recruits must see a fan base united behind the team, or the next coach will inherit a degraded version of both.

Look at it this way. If you were a player, dying every Saturday and playing for a lame duck coach whom you respect, what would you want from your fans?

Would maturity and a sophistication of insight be high on the list, standing just left of strong and vocal support?

If you were a player, what would you want from you?

Rock's suggestion to fans, like a medieval glove of challenge, is now on the table. Stay cool, support the players, and let Kevin be Kevin.

Whew. I'm glad that's off my chest. Thanks for listening.

AFTER THE FALL

After the fall is over, after the dance is done, expect things to move quickly.

Sometime in October or early November, Kevin's short list will be in place. At least, that's how I'd handle it. How dumb would it be to wait until season's end, with February Signing Day right around the corner? Kevin's not dumb, not by a long stretch.

Making sure that list of names doesn't leak out will be Job One at ND Central. And believe me, the wolves (oops, press) will be after it like hawks, doing nothing more than their jobs.

At season's end, Davie will stop making angry denials (his role up to that point) and start to sound like he's thinking about his future (his next role in this play). That acting job lays the groundwork for a dual announcement—Davie's resignation and the name of the new head coach.

I'll offer this promise—if those announcements aren't made almost together, with only a Hamlet-like mourning period between them, the Rock will make salad of the crabgrass in his yard and eat it on the porch with Chardonnay. Stop by if you wish.

(In case you've forgotten, Hamlet complained that the meat prepared for his father's funeral could have been served fresh at his mother's wedding. Without refrigeration. That's how close these two announcements will be.)

When will they occur? How soon will the assistants know if they keep their jobs or pack their vagabond bags for another town? Could there even be (gasp) an overlapping transition, handled like most smart corporate hand-offs?

These are questions of tactics, not strategy. They don't need to be decided now, nor can they can't be. For one thing, too many dependencies are yet unknown. As the season unfolds, we'll make some educated guesses; but not now.

AN INTERESTING COMPLICATION

Here's something to ponder. What if we go to a bowl game?

An 8-3 record could put us there, maybe even 7-4. And I hear the Yesterday Bowl has been scouting us for weeks, along with the Gallery Furniture Bowl by Pledge the Lemon-Fresh Cleaner.

A proud but diminished Notre Dame team, bowed low by circumstance, could look like easy pickings for the boys with a short million to offer. If I were a suit working for a low tier bowl, I'd start circling too.

And what does a bowl game do to the timetable? Gosh, is it January, already? Time to hire us a coach.

As I said, an interesting contemplation.

THE EYES OF TEXAS

You asked about the A&M game (I heard you back there). Well, I won't make a prediction, but with my Hollywood hat firmly over my ears, I'll give you the screenwriter's version.

FADE UP. Bob Davie enters Kyle Field like a wounded deer, like a prodigal son, a man who may soon take that long walk back to his roots. The A&M fans, recognizing this, cheer wildly (we zoom close on the cute ones), saving their hate for next week. After all, Bob is one of the boys, one of theirs. The camera, scanning the big loud stadium, catches tears of hope forming in Texas eyes. It's a misty moment, with very big hats. Fade to commercial.

After the kickoff, both teams struggle at first. Suddenly Davie's team comes to life. A quick strike here, a long run there, a fumble or two (recovered, thank God), and the offense suddenly remembers how to score. The defense, now on the field, plays with strength (and a cornerback). Somewhere on the sideline, the camera sees Jeff Faine throttling two lineman who missed their blocks, one in each red hand. They don't make that mistake twice. Halftime. Cut to commercial.

The third quarter finds the home team playing nobly, but to no avail. In the fourth quarter the Men in Gold are comfortably ahead.

It ain't over till it's over; then it's over. As the last whistle sounds, Bob doesn't have to pretend to smile. The players hearts are lifted. And while the fan at ND Central are now confused (at least the fans who haven't read this article), the situation in College Station is suddenly clear. It's Notre Dame going away. It's Bob Davie coming home.

Both coaches smile for the camera. Fade to black. Commercial.

OK, I will make a prediction. It's Notre Dame going away.

And that's it for this week. I appreciate your ears, ND fans. You're part of the drama now. Play those cards like you know what's going on. There's a long season left. Let's take this one north.

Yours in understanding
(ours, not theirs)

The Rock

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