A Look at Demise of Charlie Weis

STANFORD, Calif. -- When did it all unravel, you may wonder? Where was there a turning point in the Charlie Weis era? How did a coaching tenure that began so brilliantly turn sour so quickly?

Return, if you will, to the first seven weeks of the 2005 season. In those early hours of the Weis regime, it certainly appeared as if everything was full-Holtz ahead in South Bend. To begin with, the Irish were 5-2. They had beaten No. 3 Michigan in Ann Arbor and come within one play of upending top-ranked Southern California, considered one of the more indomitable teams of all time (Matt Leinart, Reggie Bush, LenDale White, etc.) at home. They'd even undressed the team coached by Weis' predecessor, Ty Willingham, with ease in Seattle, extinguishing a potentially incendiary contest early.

The Irish had eclipsed the 40-point mark in four of their seven games, which equaled as many times as they had done so in the previous five seasons. Maybe this Weis guy with the four Super Bowl rings really did have a "decided schematic advantage."

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Then, also, there were the intangibles. Weis had met with a 10-year-old boy on his death bed, Montana Mazurkiewicz, and promised to run a play ("Pass Right") that the lad had developed. In fact he ran that play, two days later (and one day after the boy passed away) at Washington and under difficult circumstances from the shadow of the goalposts. The play, a pass from Brady Quinn to tight end Anthony Fasano, went for 16 yards.

Then there was Weis' classy move in the wake of the gut-wrenching defeat to USC. Moments after the 34-31 defeat, Weis took his son, Charlie Jr., with him to the Trojans' locker room to congratulate them and wish them well on their path to a national championship. And do you remember the pledge that the Irish would stand behind the Navy players after their annual game as their song was played as a display of respect?

It was all playing out as if Charlie Weis were doing everything you or I would do if someone made us CEO of the most renowned college football program in the country. Which was fitting, since you and I had about as much big-time coaching bona fides on the day we graduated college as Charlie had. That was the other remarkable aspect of the story: alum who stood in student section during games is now coaching the team that Rockne made famous? In many respects this tale was taller than Rudy's.

When, and how, did it all unravel? Two ways, and both happened in the second half of that inaugural season. First came the 10-year contract extension, a ridiculously foolish and premature maneuver by then athletic director Kevin White. A decent man, White appeared to be acting out of desperation, out of a seemingly valid fear that Weis would, after only one season, leverage his success at Notre Dame to land an NFL head coaching job.

Notre Dame's official line was that the contract was designed to silence all the gossip on the recruiting grapevine that Weis was simply carpetbagging at his alma mater. What the administration failed to foresee, though, was how Weis' extension after only seven games was in such sharp contrast to Willingham's dismissal after only three seasons.

Forevermore, after that date, the Weis versus Willingham detractors had their ammunition. And they would grow in number. Moreover, the Notre Dame community that had so embraced Weis, one of their own, felt betrayed. It may sound naïve to an outsider, but Domers worldwide saw the 10-year extension as both an act of hubris and ingratitude.

The Irish had given an alum who had never played football the opportunity of a lifetime. To even imagine that he'd turn his back on the school after just one season to return to the NFL seemed unimaginable. To blackmail your alma mater for a 10-year ransom? Again, it may sound naïve, but this is what purportedly sets Notre Dame apart.

More than a few Notre Dame alums, among them many varsity letter winners or national championship winners, were taken aback by Weis' hubris and Notre Dame's weakness. The feeling among them: call Charlie's bluff.



Then came the Fiesta Bowl. Never mind that Oregon and its faithful were chapped that the Ducks, who'd finished 10-1 with their only loss coming to No. 1 USC, were passed over in favor of the Irish. That, after all, was simply a business decision on the part of Fiesta Bowl executive director John Junker.

The game itself, pitting an Ohio State team whose only loss had come to eventual national champion Texas, lifted the veneer on the assumption that the Irish had returned to BCS-bowl quality. It also exposed all the two primary flaws that would be consistent with the remainder of the Weis era: 1) That, contrary to what Weis said when he arrived, the Irish were anything but a "nasty" football team and that 2) their defense was porous.

It was a little ironic that the Buckeyes posted the same number of yards on offense -- 617 -- that had been Weis' area code when he was in New England. Ohio State did its damage with what Weis would call "explosives' (i.e. plays that went for big yardage), scoring on runs from scrimmage of 60 and 68 yards and pass plays of 56 and 85 yards.

The floodgates had opened and the secret was out. The Irish may have had a Golden Gloves boxer on its defense in safety Tom Zbikowski, but if you punch this team in the nose, it will back down.

And so it went. In 2006, the Irish opened up 2-0 and were ranked No. 2 in the nation heading into a home game with No. 11 Michigan. On the eve of the game, Zbikowski and Jeff Samardzija, the team's two cult figures, posed for photos for a feature that "Sports Illustrated" was planning to run that week. The following afternoon the Wolverines humiliated the Irish, 47-21, in South Bend and it was apparent that this was a victory of brawn over schematics.

The following Saturday, in a nationally televised prime-time contest in East Lansing, yet another physical Big Ten program pushed around the Irish. Notre Dame recovered and pulled off the most exciting win of the Weis era, thanks in part to Samardzija's heroics and the dubious coaching talent of the Spartans' John Smith, but once again the Irish were physically dominated.

And thus was the pattern for the next three-plus seasons. With their superior offensive talent and Weis' sophisticated and deft play-calling ability, the Irish were able to handle teams of lesser skill, and there was no shortage of such on the schedule.

Ultimately, it was hubris and a lack of appreciation for being physical that undid Weis. The hubris may have stretched all the way back to his first press conference, when he said, "You're a 6-5 football team and that's not good enough." It exposed itself when he'd flash those four Super Bowl rings or that sarcasm which, in public settings, always hit a sour note. It exposed itself when he failed to provide enough reps for his 2007 starters back in 2006, as if his being Charlie Weis would be enough to prepare any team. It exposed itself when his implacable attitude led to the exodus of Demetrius Jones, who in 2007 was one of the two or three best athletes on the team. There had to have been a better manner in which to deal with that situation.

In Weis' defense, he learned from his early mistakes. No one has seen or heard mention of his Super Bowl baubles for a year or two now and, with the monumental exception of Saturday night, he has taken the podium and faced the music in the worst of circumstances.

But it was too late. The arrogance that he'd displayed in his first two seasons, the polarizing effect of that 10-year deal, were simply too much to overcome. When his fortunes turned, the critics pounced. And they never, ever let up.