Lou

I don't know how it's going with Lou Holtz this morning at the pearly gates, but I bet he's telling St. Peter he's still scared to death of Rice.

I bet he's doing magic tricks, and saying how "the University of Navy" used to make him tremble, and asking if the good Lord has laid in an adequate supply of Zagnut bars. I bet this tiny man -- this leprechaun, OK? -- is being every bit the Lou Holtz we knew but never really knew, because Lou was always aces at the shake-and-bake, the juke and the deke, the spin move that left us all grabbing air.

Which is to say, Lou Holtz, who died yesterday at 89, was a whole pile of things. What he wasn't was uncomplicated.

He was a comedian and a hard-ass and one hell of a football coach, to start with. He won 33 games in three seasons at William & Mary, for God's sake. At Arkansas, he once suspended his star running back right before the Orange Bowl, replaced him with some kid named Roland Sales, and Roland Sales ran for 200 yards as the Razorbacks crushed No. 2 Oklahoma 31-6.

He won everywhere he coached, unless you count that ill-considered foray into the NFL with the New York Jets. A man who always knew himself and where he belonged better than any of us, Lou bailed on that deal after just 13 games. The Jets were 3-10 at the time.

Of course, Notre Dame is where he made his bones, and if you put him on the coaching Mt. Rushmore two things are going to happen: No Domer's gonna kick, and Lou's gonna crack wise. Say something like, "Fine, but make sure you get the nose right."

Lou took over the wreckage of the Gerry Faust years and produced a national champion in just three seasons, beating archrival Miami 31-30 in an epic October clash and then taking down West Virginia 34-21 in the Fiesta Bowl. He had Tony Rice and Tony Brooks and a freshman named Rocket Ismail on offense, and scary dudes like Michael Stonebreaker and Frank Stams and Ned Bolcar on defense, and the Irish ran the table, finishing 12-0.

That remains, of course, Notre Dame's only national title in the last 50 years. It's partly why there's a statue of Lou outside Notre Dame Stadium now, same as Knute Rockne and Frank Leahy and longtime athletic director Moose Krause.

Lou went on to win 100 games in 11 seasons in South Bend, third on the all-time list behind Brian Kelly and Rockne himself.  His departure in November 1996, on the other hand, was hardly as straightforward. In fact it was downright weird.

On the day he talked about it, see, there were no magic tricks or jokes or one-liners about how special it was to walk outside at night and see the snow falling on the Lady atop the Golden Dome. ("And it's July," was always the punchline). The teevees and deadline grunts kept asking Lou why he was leaving, and all he kept saying was, "It's the right thing to do."

I was there that day, and what comes back to me now is a linebacker named Bert Berry, one of that year's stickout players. He was sitting behind the TV cameras with his head down and his hands folded. His eyes kept opening and closing, and every time he opened them to stare at his shoes, he looked every bit as bewildered as the rest of us.

Lou could do that you. Never uncomplicated, remember?

And so on the day he announced he was walking away from the only place he ever really wanted to coach, he said it was his decision but left the impression it wasn't. That he didn't want to step down, but was somehow left with no choice. And of course, being Lou, he never explained why that was.

There was talk, of course. It was rumored he and athletic director Mike Wadsworth got crosswise over an eligibility crackdown, which Lou vehemently denied. And there were all these stories about a booster/sort-of booster named Kimberly Dunbar who lavished gifts on Notre Dame's players right under Lou's nose.

Notre Dame got in dutch with the NCAA for that -- but not until after Lou left. Same thing happened at North Carolina State, Arkansas, Minnesota and South Carolina, too. And so the perception, fair or not, that Lou got out of Dodge each time just ahead of the law became part of his legacy, too.

On balance, though?

On balance -- the only way truly to measure a man's life -- he belongs up there on Rushmore. He deserves his statuary. Even if, at this very moment, he really is telling St. Peter he's still scared to death of Rice.

Know what the punchline is to that one?

The very week Lou said it, Notre Dame beat Rice 54-11.

Rimshot.