Quite a Sight to Behold Is Bo at His Best

The Rose Bowl has never been Bo’s bowl. Practically everybody knows that by now. When it comes to postseason college football, Michigan Coach Bo Schembechler, a man who has never been accused of putting the Pas in Pasadena, has been about as successful as Rex Reed was in Mr. Universe contests.

Schembechler’s record in the regular season is quite another matter. Ever since Michigan hired him away from Miami of Ohio, after his previous coaching stints at Miami of South Dakota and Miami of Tennessee, Schembechler has been one of the most enduring figures along the Lincoln Continental Divide, keeping the Wolverines among the nation’s top teams, year after year, without one whiff or whisper of NCAA recruitment scandal.

He has ruled with an iron fist, has rebounded from a heart attack, and has recovered from the shock of hearing that his son had been thinking about someday becoming a sportswriter.

He has even been rumored to have mellowed. There was indication of the latter recently when Michigan was defeated by Minnesota, after which Schembechler did not spill gasoline around the stadium and light a match.

Big Ten failures annoy B.S. a lot more than Rose Bowl losses do, or so he says, and lately Schembechler has taken to teasing himself about his lack of luck on New Year’s Day, claiming that he has no right to lecture anybody else about postseason preparation, considering the mess his own teams have made.

Success at a Rose Bowl certainly would please this poor fellow, so naturally Thursday’s game against Arizona State carries a certain significance. If Michigan loses this one, Schembechler might be tempted to run into Athletic Director Don Canham’s office and suggest, ever so humbly, that the university leave the Big Ten and try the Big Eight for a while. You know. Get thee to an Orange Bowl.

Actually, Schembechler hasn’t done so well in other bowl games, either. He did manage to win the Bluebonnet (cough) classic a couple of years ago against UCLA, though only after driving Terry Donahue crazy by stalling the start of the game in a quarrel over a 30-second clock.

Donahue, if memory serves, eventually relented, most likely to prevent the game from being televised between test patterns and “Good Morning, America.”

The week before that game, the UCLA players had made the most of the Houston area’s entertainment, even trucking over to that other Pasadena to ride a few mechanical bulls, dance a few Cotton-Eyed Joes and hoist a few, uh, diet Cokes at Mickey Gilley’s hangout for urban cowboys.

Of such distractions, Schembechler disapproved. “We came here to play football, not to go to a bar!” he barked.

Schembechler has always liked to keep his boys in line. Like most college football coaches, he believes in fairly rigid discipline and in doing what the coaches say, whatever they say, even if the coaches say, “Shut up.”

One season, because he didn’t like the way the Wolverines played after having talked a good game during the week, Schembechler issued a general trap-clap order. He told his players to keep their lips zipped and let him do the talking.

Butch Woolfolk, a splendid running back, now a pro, was approached a couple of days later and was more than glad to give a very affable interview. The men with the memo pads asked Woolfolk if he wasn’t afraid of offending his coach. “Hey,” Woolfolk said, “Nobody tells me when I can or can’t talk.”

This is not to suggest that Michigan players have mocked or defied Schembechler over the years. Far from it. It would seem, from what has been said publicly for the last couple of decades, that former lettermen have nothing but the utmost admiration for the man. Coaches do seem to leave their brands on young steers. There is definitely a second-father factor in college football.

Both parties, coach and player, must be careful, though. Michigan once had a very good defensive back, Brad Cochran, later drafted by the Raiders, whose relationship with Schembechler became strained. Off the team he went, and the coach was convinced the kid was big trouble.

It turned out, however, that Cochran had been afflicted with some psychological problems, for which he needed outside help. Once Schembechler learned that, he helped the player, warmly welcomed him back to the team, and watched him become a team leader.

There are sides of Bo Schembechler rarely seen. One day at practice last year, he told the players that a friend would be dropping by. She did. Her name was also Bo, and she happened to be in Detroit to pick up a custom-made Lincoln that she and her husband had ordered.

Bo Derek posed for photos with the players that day, and onlookers could only try to imagine the dinner-table conversation she and her good friend, the Michigan coach, might have--she discussing John Derek’s new idea for an all-nude production of “Hamlet,” he discussing a plan to use a play-option pass against Wisconsin.

Michigan football means a great deal to Bo Schembechler. When he turned down the Texas A&M; job that Jackie Sherrill eventually took, for huge bucks, it was mostly because Bo preferred Ann Arbor.

It was also, of course, because Michigan upped his ante a bit, and because Detroit Tiger owner Tom Monaghan handed him the deed to one of those joints of his that makes two things: pizza and money. Since this place happened to be located in enemy territory--Columbus, Ohio--it was later suggested that this would become the first Domino’s anywhere to serve pepperoni that was blue.

Schembechler stuck around to continue the autumn wars against Ohio State. Often, the game between these two schools has determined which one would earn the right to lose the Rose Bowl.

The last time Schembechler did win at Pasadena, he was quite a sight. After the game, he talked for a while, and later was spotted in a rare moment alone, lighting up a cigar the size of a clarinet.

“Is that Cuban?” somebody asked.

“Naw. It’s an American cigar!” Schembechler said, and he shot one of those looks that suggested that anybody who smoked a Cuban cigar was probably the sort of person who would drown kittens.

What a vision this made--Bo Schembechler at the Rose Bowl, a real American beauty.