El Toro Football Won’t Be the Same

I met with a wee bit of Bob Johnson’s wrath Tuesday. It wasn’t much fun.

Bob was returning my phone call, one I had made in reference to his resigning as football coach at El Toro High School Tuesday morning. When I picked up the line, I was expecting the voice of a man who suddenly had 1,000 pounds of big-time high school football pressure lifted from his shoulders.

But Bob didn’t sound happy--he was gruff, and on guard. He didn’t know why I called; he just knew he didn’t like something I wrote a few weeks back, something about the way he addresses his quarterback son, Rob, after one of Rob’s passes has been intercepted.

Now I know how Rob feels.

Bob’s anger only lasted a minute or so, though. Then suddenly, Bob was Bob as others know him: serious but dry-humored, proud but friendly, intensely competitive, but fair and generous with praise for others.

That’s the thing about Bob Johnson--like most people, he’s not always the way he appears at first, especially if you only consider how he appears within his world of football.

For the past 13 years, his world has been El Toro football. Success? Try 13 consecutive playoff appearances, three Southern Section championships and a 119-45 record.

Johnson’s last game was Saturday’s Division II semifinal in which El Toro was defeated, 19-8, by Paramount, which won the Division III championship last year.

“He’s done it all in high school football,” Capistrano Valley Coach Eric Patton said. “He’s had some great, great teams, some that have been among the best in Orange County.”

Said San Clemente Coach Dave Elecciri: “He’s a very good coach, always very well-prepared. . . . It’s too bad he couldn’t go out in the final.”

Too bad, but not too sad. With exciting passing and staunch defense, Johnson’s teams were always fun to watch.

But so was he.

One of the most intense football coaches in the county--a sneer from him before a game would make a piece of dried-out driftwood sweat--Johnson took his job very seriously. Opposing coaches and a few reporters would often view that intensity with distaste.

Johnson says those who know him know it’s only his super-charged competitiveness coming out.

“I am very, very competitive,” he said. “If we’re in a bar, I will bet I can throw the salt shaker farther than you.”

Mistakes on the field were never viewed lightly, including those rare intercepted passes thrown by his sons.

“I see him chew out Rob or Bret,” wife Debbie Johnson says, “and usually I’m saying, ‘All right! Give it to him.’ ”

In a 1986 Times’ story on fathers who coach their sons, Johnson said of coaching Bret, now a junior at Michigan State:

“Emotionally, I sometimes go overboard too quick. I might be too strict sometimes. I’m tougher on him than anyone else on the team. . . . “

But Johnson did not blast any athletes routinely. They would be “talked to” during the game, but the criticism was usually followed by pat-on-the-back encouragement at the next practice.

That’s the part of football, he says, he’ll miss the most.

“I’ll miss the kids, the coaching, I’ll miss the games,” he said. “It’s not an easy decision. This staff is really close, the hours we put in is unbelievable.”

What will he do now? Besides traveling to his sons’ college games with his wife, the 45-year-old former coach says he has no idea.

Idleness frightens Johnson.

“You know, I really don’t have any hobbies and I’m worried about that,” he said. “I can’t even work a screwdriver or a hammer, I don’t like crossword puzzles, I don’t read--reading to me is watching (game) film. Maybe I’m a really boring guy.

“I don’t like fishing. Or hunting. I’d look through my scope at a deer, see Bambi, and try to feed it.”

With that, Johnson laughed. Almost giggled, really. And that was fun to hear.