The ‘Tying Irish’ Just Doesn’t Make It

I don’t think it occurred to Lou Holtz till he was running off the field and was stopped by a TV interviewer who wanted to get some light on a strange series of plays Notre Dame called with one minute to play. “My God!” Holtz probably thought to himself, “I’ve tied one for the Gipper!”

For the second time in 26 years, a Notre Dame coach was guilty of running up the white flag, seeking terms, hiding the football, saying, in effect, “I’ll quit if you will.”

Notre Dame is not supposed to do that. The typical last-minute desperation pass to win a football game is called the “Hail Mary” even by heathens. That’s because its chance of success is dependent on divine intervention. Who better to call on that than the University of Our Lady of the Lake?

When Ara Parseghian put away his gun in the great shootout with Michigan State in 1966 and said, “Can’t we talk this over?” the derision was incredible. Notre Dame men hung their heads. Anti-Notre Damers had a field day.

It is the notion in some quarters that Coach Parseghian never fully recovered from that perceived stigma. And the perception was clear: Notre Dame ran and hid. “Fighting” Irish, indeed! “Fainting” Irish, jeered the rivals. Even the Michigan State team leaned across the line of scrimmage in the final minutes and mocked their opponents.

The next week, Notre Dame took out its humiliation on USC. It beat the Trojans, mercilessly, 51-0. That may have been a bigger mistake than playing for a tie. Parseghian did not beat USC again for seven years, and, in his last year, USC, behind, 24-0, till a minute before the half ended, drubbed him, 55-24.

Playing to a tie, Bear Bryant once said, “is like kissing your sister.” For Notre Dame, it was to prove a lot more exciting, more like killing your sister. Serial killers get better press than Notre Dame coaches who hide in the closet.

Coaches play for a tie all the time. That’s all right at Princeton, Cornell or Iowa State, but Notre Dame is supposed to go out like John Paul Jones (“I have not yet begun to fight!”).

It’s the tradition of “One-Play O’Brien,” “The Gipper.” I mean, would the Four Horsemen start falling on the ball? What would Grantland Rice write? “Outlined against a blue-gray September sky, The Four Horsemen fell on the football”?

Would Rockne send in orders to pack it in and try to hide the football and sue for peace? An Irishman ducking a fight?! Say five Our Fathers at once!

It’s a tradition nurtured by Hollywood--after all, a future President of the United States, no less, played the legendary Gipp in the all-time hit football film “Knute Rockne--All-American.” Notre Dame never went for a tie on a sound stage.

So, outlined against a black and white sports page or color TV, Notre Dame comes across as a guy hiding under the bed. Notre Dame died (or tied) with its boots off, handing over its guns and putting its hands in the air. The subway alumni feels as if John Wayne gave up the fort.

Actually, the last-minute, desperation pass is more for image than hope of success. It gives the illusion of brave effort without the substance. What earned Coach Lou Holtz his scorn--and there were catcalls from the supposedly super-loyal home crowd--was his unconvincing, truculent attempt to head off criticism in his postgame TV byte.

Here was the situation: Notre Dame had just had its prayers answered when it blunted a Michigan victory drive on its 12 with an interception of an Elvis Grbac pass. There were 65 seconds left in the tie game.

First, the coach called for a line buck up the middle. The bad news is, it gained seven yards. The worse news is, it used up 30 seconds.

Holtz later explained resentfully he “was trying to see what kind of defense Michigan was in.”

He apparently decided they were in a defense that was a sucker for another line buck. This one took the clock down to 12 seconds. Holtz decided to call time out.

This looked to the crowd--and the rest of the country looking on--like folding your hand. With aces in there.

In the Rose Bowl game after his mortifying 51-0 defeat at the hands of Notre Dame, USC Coach John McKay’s Trojans went in for a touchdown in the waning minutes of the game against Purdue to bring the score to 14-13 in favor of Purdue. His dilemma: go for the sure tie with a kick--or go for the victory with a two-point pass play.

McKay never hesitated. He tried for the victory. The play got knocked down.

The record books show he lost, right? Uh-uh. No, he didn’t. He went out with his guns out and his boots on. He didn’t want the tie.

Holtz did. The record books show he got his tie. So he won? Uh-uh. The headline should probably read: “Notre Dame Loses, 17-17.”