Ah, George, the L-word. Lying. We meet again.

Welcome, fright fans, to the soul's dark place, that terrible land where men and women with secrets declaim the faults of others. The land of preachers with a past, of sinners with a whip.

We've been walking that mud for some time — some say since Puritan days, since Jonathan Edwards delivered that burn-in-hell classic, "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," the nation's first lab manual for self-esteem issues.

We've certainly had our fill in recent years.

First, the tortured folks in private life, the Jimmy Tammy Fae's and all their friends. Then that year-long song to truthfulness, led by the Washington Capitol Choir under the baton of Billy-Newt Clinton Lott Thurman. Gotta love it — politicos shocked that one of their kind would lie.

And now, one of our own, Coach George O'Leary.

THE TROUBLE WITH GEORGE

Does it matter that he faked the truth? Of course it does. Does he share this fault with, say, everyone in this room? Let's see — raise your hand if you're homo sapiens. Thought so.

Then what's the problem, Rock, I hear you ask. Where's the hard nut in this O'Leary story?

For me, it's not the lying George did. After all, we pay taxes, right? We understand. And it's not the firing Kevin had to do. You break it, you bought it is an old tradition.

No, it was all those lectures O'Leary gave us before the revelation of his own dishonesty. They seemed too over the top, a sure sign of something unsurface-like, of something beneath.

At his press introduction, George promoted himself as so straight-up, his lack of compassion was virtuous. Yikes.

Next, he so lessoned the current ND players that when asked about him, those honesty lectures came first to mind. Talk about making an impression.

Finally, he told an ND verbal commit who wanted to take a visit to another school, "You know, son, when your father married your mother, he didn't keep dating."

Bang zoom; three home runs in one big swing of the bat — a triple appeal to loyalty (of course), chastity (nice move), and self-interest (George's).

That statement is so high-minded, you gotta ask, did he also say it to Bob Morton before mailing him back to Texas A&M, the school Bob "married" before "dating" Notre Dame? Didn't think so.

So there we have it, the H-word. Welcome to the soul's dark place.

O'Leary talked so much about honesty that Kevin Malloy & Fr. White (oops, Fr. Malloy & Kevin White) were convinced he had some.

But he talked so much about honesty. Didn't that raise a flag with these good men? They didn't even glimpse the welcome sign as they drove by:

Entering Psychodrama City
Come Play with the Conflicted
Rooms Cheap

So once again we get this public treat. Tell me she's your sister, Jimmy Swaggart. Say it isn't so, Dr. Laura. Thank you for the lesson, George O'Leary.

WE KEPT THE GOOD ONE

Whatever you think of George O'Leary as a coaching choice (we could talk Dustin Vaitekunas another day), after the revelations White was the man that George O'Leary was not.

Compare their written exit statements. O'Leary, the "young married father" who erred pursuing his "dream" (yep, that's the Davie Excuse Machine you're listening to), now says it "seems" that in keeping with his philosophy, he must resign. (Seems? Really?) Kevin, walking him to the door, notes with compassion the "very human failing" this represents.

If you don't find this remarkable, reverse their positions. Kevin, the disgraced prevaricator: "It's all on me; I'm gone." George, the still-unbusted guardian of virtue's virtue: "You got that right, Kev. God, I hate lying. Now kids, take note."

I'm proud of our guy. He practices without preaching. The right one stayed.

Nor do I blame White for not running a background check. While those checks will be common in the future (so the George O'Learys can weed out the George O'Learys), they are not done in college coaching today. Even for academic positions, Notre Dame doesn't check degrees.

How can we blame Kevin for the universal practice of his profession? Had he run that check, he would have been the first. And after all, how much unasked checking do we need before prevention becomes inhuman?

Don't bother answering; it's not going to matter. The Bureau of Be More Perfect has already been set up. Be Even More Perfect Than That is just around the corner. Thank you, Jonathan Edwards. I wonder what secrets you harbored. Say hi to your friends.

THE NEXT COACH

Does it matter who the next coach is? Of course it does. Does anyone but Kevin Malloy & Fr. White (Inc.) have a clue who that might be? Not a soul, as of this writing.

Does that choice pale in comparison to these national dramas of attack and defense? It pales completely. Football is just football; the national dramas are killers, and not that productive.

So let's just say we'll have one (a coach that is, though the other is certain too). And my money's still on Kevin to find the next Mike Brey, to pry the next Ara Parseghian out of his niche at Northwestern Utah College of the Blue Pacific or wherever he's hiding.

And if the next coach bombs, we'll just look again. Despite the rumors, it's still a world of redemption; there's always next time.

And on that note, let's close this peek into the closet of the tortured and guilty. It's just old undies in there. Blame the times; the story forced us to look.

But New Year is coming and soon we'll talk games and players. O'Leary is taking the lab course in forgiveness, and shortly we'll complain about second-and-eight, not fourth-and-your-soul. A welcome change.

That's next time. Today I'll leave with a line from John Cardinal Newman. As paraphrased in a recent Christmas homily, Newman declared: I wish the good were more nice, and the nice more good.

Amen to that, your Grace. Peace and joy. Now go long; I'll lob you an easy one.

Yours in forgiveness and grace,

The Rock

(c) Rock Kanutski
All rights reserved.
 

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