MADISON, Wis. — It’s Sunday morning, Nov. 27, 2011, and you’re back home in what used to be Happy Valley, Pa.
According to AccuWeather, the day is supposed to be mostly cloudy. Not a surprise.
Not the rain that ended your parade to the Big Ten championship game. But not many rays of sunshine either – despite your 9-3 record and a share of the conference’s inaugural Leaders division title.
Now what?
You have questions, about bowl games and coaches and bosses and jobs and transfers and recruits and family and the future.
And questions, of course, about the scandal that you – from bottom to brand new top — have fought to desperately compartmentalize in the 18 days and three games since Joe Paterno was fired.
But answers? Not really.
You know there will be a coaches meeting and a team meeting later in the day. But that’s it. Unsure if a postseason bowl is in the Nittany Lions’ future — bids go out next Sunday, but wrangling is ongoing — there’s no practice, no game plans.
It’s Day One of the future of Penn State football.
YOU’RE TOM BRADLEY
You’re interim head coach Tom Bradley. The middle of three Bradley brothers — tucked in birth and Nittany Lion order between Pittsburgh Steeler surgeon Jim and the late Matt, a sweetheart of a guy – you came to Penn State 37 years ago. And never left.
You want to go to a bowl game, you want the “interim” tag to go away. You know that your new boss can make that happen.
“I think Dr. Joyner (the acting athletic director) will work on the bowl discussion. I know Dave will get to work on that on Monday,” you say, turning your attention to what you can control – which may not be all that much.
“I’m going to go on the road recruiting, and I am giving the kids off for a week, let them rest up. They’re pretty banged up. A week away from everybody won’t hurt us….They need some times for themselves, to re-gather, maybe re-energize a little bit.”
You’re Tom Bradley, and while you know that you can have up to seven coaches on the recruiting trail, you also know some of them might feel pressure to look into a new job. Not you. You have a job, and you want to keep it.
“I told (the assistants) if they want to go, great,” you say, dedicated and determined to what may be to the end. “But if not, I’ll get it done.”
YOU’RE GALEN AND JAY
You’re assistant coaches older, like Galen Hall. And younger, like Jay Paterno.
The former has been a part of the Penn State football family since he first made the 38-mile journey from Williamsburg to State College in 1959. The latter has been Penn State family since the day he was born.
You’re Jay Paterno, and like Bradley you also plan to meet with recruits face-to-face. But you may need a day or two, to hang out with your five kids, to re-introduce yourself to your wife, to actually sleep more than four hours at a clip, and to un-numb, if only for a little while.
‘Now that we don’t have a game next week,’ you say, Sunday ‘will probably be the first day I can just crash emotionally and think about some things.’
You’re Galen Hall, and you got a phone call on a golf course in Florida back in 2004, the familiar voice on the other end asking you to come back and coach at your alma mater, to help halt a slide. You’ve now done that, you helped out your old boss who helped you when you were down. Your bills are paid, your retirement sound. You hope Scrap gets the head job.
But you can quit – or be let go – today. You’re OK with that. It’s the other folks you’re worried about.
“I feel very sorry for all of the young men in this program and the coaches…,” you say, always the reliable plain-speaker throughout this whole horrible mess. “We’re not allowed to say anything, obviously, but all the coaches that have been drug through this. I feel sorry for them.
“Someone is going to hire me or they’re not. But some of these guys, they have young kids and this is their life. You worry about maybe in this profession about getting let go. But, you will survive. Maybe not in these circumstances, but usually you survive.”
You’re Galen Hall and you’ve been fired yourself, and you’ve coached in five pro football leagues plus a quarter of a century at the college level. You know no job is forever, not even at Penn State. No any more.
“When you’re in this profession, things happen,” you say. “Joe was going to retire at some time… I don’t want to be flippant about it, don’t get me wrong, this is a very horrendous situation, but everyone will hopefully survive.
YOU’RE A PLAYER, A CAPTAIN
You’re team co-captain Derek Moye, who’s known Bradley and Penn State for almost seven years. That’s two years as a recruit out of Rochester High School in Western Pennsylvania, being schmoozed by and forging a bond with Scrap. A season as a redshirt, one more as a backup. Nearly three as a star, the last as a captain.
And three games playing for interim head coach Tom Bradley.
“I love him as a coach,” you say, echoing, almost eerily in their similarity, the post-game sentiments of teammates like Drew Astorino, Chima Okoli and Nick Sukay. “He turned the team over to us, and made it about the team and not that, ‘Oh, it’s Tom Bradley’s team.’ The only way for us to get through this was for him to be himself. What he did was incredible.”
You’re Quinn Barham, an offensive tackle and in your fifth season with the Nittany Lions. You’re affable, articulate and, as the quintessential team co-captain, always available to your teammates. Especially those who aren’t sure about their football future.
“A lot of guys think about it, especially the younger guys,” you say. “They worry, ‘What’s going to happen to me, what’s going to happen to me?’
“I say, ‘Honestly, I don’t know. All you can do right now is focus on yourself and keep getting better. If a new coach comes in and you want to transfer or whatever, you do that on your own. But right now, you just focus on Penn State football.”
You’re quarterback Matt McGloin, a straight shooter who wasn’t always a straight passer against Wisconsin. Yes, you say, you want to play in a bowl game.
“We want to be in that situation,” you say. “It’s just going to get tougher from there.”
