The F**king Sun Bowl

One game . . . one sideline blowup . . .and a one-way ticket to the NFL.

We fell short my sophomore season and didn’t make it to the Rose Bowl. Instead, Coach decided to take us to the Sun Bowl in Texas over the Aloha Bowl in Hawaii. What the hell was he smoking? None of us understood his decision or actions leading up to the game. But I didn’t even try to get in his head—until one moment during the match up that I will never forget.

It was a full-on defensive battle—a slog of slogs against Michigan State. The score was a measly 7–6 for most of the game. And it wasn’t my best performance—not surprising given the brain cells annihilated only days before. By the fourth quarter, the coaching staff had seen enough. Offensive line coach John Matsko, a barrel of a man, delivered the news: “We’re going to go with Shane.”

I glared at him, sparks practically flying out of my eyes.

Shane didn’t deliver in the next series, so John rolled back my way. “When we get the ball, are you ready to go?”

I hesitated, sick of being jerked around. It wasn’t what the coaches wanted to see. Coach Smith caught my body language out of the corner of his eye.

He approached, bringing a shitload of hostile energy my way. He unloaded years of suppressed frustration in under thirty seconds. I held steady without answering. “So are you going back in?” he half asked and half told me through his grimace. “I want an answer, damn it.”

I looked at him and then at our bench of offensive linemen, receivers, and running backs and paused. “I’ll go in for these guys.” I pointed to the bench.

There was no stepping back from that steep of a ledge.

Coach lost his shit with hostility holding court. Full-on zero to sixty in a school zone, almost a Marv-worthy melt-up. I made out the bulging of his jugular as he radiated heat faster than a furnace in overdrive. I understood instantly that our relationship was irreparable. I never went back in that game because our opponents ran out the clock, but I meant what I said.

I called Marv from a pay phone outside the stadium later that day. I didn’t even bother with a hello. “What a shit show,” I said, exasperated.

“You can say that again,” Marv stated dryly.

I began to tell him about the locker room fight, but he cut in. “Guess who caught your exchange with Coach?”

“What do you mean?” I wasn’t following.

“ESPN, that’s who. Everyone watching SportsCenter got to read your lips.”

I paused, rewinding the clock to the verbal dress-down and my reaction. Oh shit, I really said aloud, “That’s it, I’m outta here.”

For more on what happened next, check out Marinovich at https://www.marinovichbook.com.