Friday, Oct. 31, 2003 | 9:46 a.m.
Dean Juipe's column appears Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. His boxing notebook appears Thursday. Reach him at [email protected] or (702) 259-4084.
We were almost there too early, John Robinson and I. Kickoff was still more than two hours away, but the stadium was a refuge, and, besides, what else was there to do?
I chose one of the 36,800 vacant seats and sat in the stands at Sam Boyd Stadium, enjoying the solitude, the afternoon sunshine and a contentedness as workers began arriving in preparation for the day's game with BYU. I literally had the view to myself, the empty, metallic bowl providing something of a warm glare while offering endlessly sufficient leg room.
In time, bodies began appearing on the field and Robinson was one of the first as he emerged from the UNLV locker room at the open end of the gracefully aging facility. Studying him with increasing intensity, I realized there wasn't the slightest trace of deliberateness in his step.
No doubt feeling the pregame portion of his work was long since done, he roamed the sidelines and field as if mentally collecting material for his memoirs. A TV executive caught his eye and attention, and they conversed for a while.
Gary Crowton, the BYU coach, came out and found Robinson a willing conversationalist.
Others -- a couple of cheerleaders, a cameraman, and a sound technician perhaps -- spotted openings and mingled with the receptive coach, as did a few familiar faces with athletic-department ties. Each patted him on his burly back and obviously wished him well.
Through it all Robinson moved slowly and with a cordiality that was measurable from a distance.
Was it too much of a stretch to think that he was simply taking it all in, soaking up the atmosphere and enjoying a moment like many before it while realizing there may not be too many more to come?
Robinson is 68 years old and his team lost that game to BYU, last Saturday, in what he termed one of the biggest disappointments of his career. The once-optimistic Rebels are 4-4 heading into Saturday's game at New Mexico and Robinson, a head coach since 1976, is slowly coming under fire from certain segments of the community.
E-mailers deride his coaching tactics, his alleged recruiting failures and his overall losing record with the Rebels. While I am unlikely to ever be among them, some feel he has passed his prime and should get out of the game.
Robinson, it's said, was a bit testy after this most recent loss and left the interview room abruptly. The Rebels had played an awful game at an awful time, coming as the loss did on national TV and with numerous, negative implications.
Later that same night, Jack McKeon, age 72, would lead the Florida Marlins to an unexpected World Series championship, and in the days that followed aging ex-managers like Dick Williams (75) and Whitey Herzog (72) expressed a desire to return to the dugout.
The sexagenarian Robinson aside, suddenly old was in. Had the heirs of Miller Huggins (who would now be 124) or Connie Mack (141) known of cryonics and pulled a Ted Williams, those old boys -- or at least their once-frozen heads -- would be back and angling for the Red Sox job.
But football is a different game, involving lots of young men and innovative strategies, and the older coaches may feel or find that it's difficult to keep pace. Two words come to mind: Joe Paterno.
Unlike Joe Pa at Penn State, however, Robinson is neither facing organized opposition nor constant questions about his future. He neither speaks of retirement nor answers daily inquiries about his advancing tenure.
He may yet coach for a very long time. Or he may surprise us and someday casually walk away.
If that day is sometime after this particular season, I -- and perhaps he -- will always recall a sunny October day before the storms set in and the season slipped away.
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