Time to Hang the Visor Up?

Remember when a youthful Steve Spurrier made news for running up the score and drumming up controversy with his rivals via witty and debilitating quips? And how he always seemed to have receivers running in the open field? With every nervous and jittery tic of his body as he called a play, you expected a touchdown to ensue. On every snap you held your breath, shook with fear, and hoped that your pregame beer wasn't about to trickle down your leg. As the ball was snapped, you had but one thought: what horrible doom was impending for your team?

It got to the point in the '90s when you were happy if Spurrier's team only completed a pass for 20 yards. Even if the Gators were your rivals, you respected Spurrier's puckish wit, the way his eyes, nestled up under a visor, lit up when he saw a play that appealed to him on his play card. Love him or hate him, Spurrier left no doubt that he adored what he was doing.

All that's changed.

Now, Spurrier seems weary, At long last, the fun in the fun-and-gun offense, is gone. Now all that's left is a gun. And sometimes, you get the feeling Spurrier would rather be hunting in the woods with that gun than standing on the sideline in Columbia, S.C.

There was a time when every fan in the SEC wanted Steve Spurrier to be their coach. After a scorching defeat at the hands of the Gators, fans would crack open cold beers and stare off into the distance. "That Spurrier," they'd whisper, "I wish he was ours."

It wasn't just that Spurrier dominated, it was that he was a genius-- l'enfant terrible--Van Gogh in a visor. The football field was his canvas. Where other coaches in the SEC fought tooth and nail to gain three yards, Spurrier tossed 30-yard passes to receivers who would appear, as if by magic, all alone on the field. Millions of times fans threw their hands up in the air, "How," we'd all curse, "is it possible for one receiver to be that wide open."

And the visor, my God the visor. Spurrier coached football like he was out for a leisurely game of golf. Football equations that baffled the rest of us his competitors, he figured out while waging war against par at Augusta. Remember John Nash in "A Beautiful Mind"? Spurrier was like that, the X's and the O's swam around his head and spoke to him in a football language no one else could translate. Football was easy.

In 12 seasons at Florida, Spurrier went 122-27-1, including 87-14 in the SEC. The game couldn't catch up to him, so he left.

The rest of us were all secretly a little glad when Spurrier left for the NFL's Washington Redskins. "Let the NFL deal with him," we thought.

Only the NFL did.

And Stephen Orr Spurrier returned chastened, the genius who realized he wasn't as much of a genius as he thought. Spurrier went 12-20 with the Redskins and returned to the SEC after a year spent in coaching sabbatical. South Carolina fans welcomed him with open arms, ready to forget the NFL failure. "God smiled on the 'Cocks," said fans, as they raced to the store to buy Spurrier-inspired Carolina visors.



Only God hasn't actually smiled on the 'Cocks.

In four years at South Carolina Spurrier has gone 28-22, just five fewer losses than he had in 12 years at Florida. Worst of all, he's just 15-17 in the SEC. Yep, Spurrier, lord of the SEC manor, has already lost more games at South Carolina in four years than he lost in his entire tenure at Florida. Steve Spurrier, the man who brought offensive pyrotechnics to to the Southland, was suddenly behind the curve.

He's never done better than 8-5 on a season at South Carolina. Worse, he's won a single bowl game, the Liberty Bowl in 2006. Hardly the stuff of South Carolina fans' dreams. If things go perfectly for Spurrier, the defense can make them the champions of Memphis.

Watch Spurrier now, he's come to South Carolina, the place where coaches go to give up the ghost, and he seems like a beaten man. The joie de vivre, the zest for football, it seems to have leaked out of him slowly. Now Spurrier is the embittered old coach standing with his arms crossed and his jaw agape. Self-doubt seems to stalk every play call. Stephen Garcia is his quarterback now, Garcia who is the yin to Danny Wuerffel's yang, kicking dirt into the face of the man who was once the ultimate dirt-kicker.

Once the king of the comedic quip, Spurrier only makes news for his mistatements off the field. Urban Meyer to Notre Dame? It's not an insult, it comes off as a fevered Spurrier dream, the hoped for departure of his heir, the man who has made Gators forget who named The Swamp. There was a time when Spurrier walked into SEC media days and the adoring throngs swarmed. Now? Now, they grill him about errors on his first-team ballot, force him to utter mea culpa after mea culpa. It used to be that Spurrier made quips about his rivals that made the rivals wish he'd never been born. Now the rivals just wish he would be quiet so he doesn't embarrass himself.

In the end, Spurrier, the man who was once loved or hated like no one in the history of the SEC, the man that every single fan had an opinion about, isn't even worthy of an opinion any more. And he knows it, look at him, the football thrill is gone.

He's Bobby Fischer and South Carolina is his Iceland.

Anger over losses is never the cruelest fate for a football coach, indifference is. And right now every SEC fan is indifferent to Steve Spurrier.