Jimbo Fisher’s Degree Of Negligence Is Startling
LOUISVILLE, KY – OCTOBER 30: Head coach Jimbo Fisher of the Florida State Seminoles looks on prior to their game against the Louisville Cardinals at Papa John’s Cardinal Stadium on October 30, 2014 in Louisville, Kentucky. (Photo by Andy Lyons/Getty Images)
By Tony Meale
If you look across the college football landscape, you’re bound to find a few bad apples at various programs.
Florida State, however, is becoming an all-out orchard.
You know about Jameis Winston, whose transgressions have been documented as closely as U.S. Ebola patients. You know about interim president Garnett S. Stokes and athletic director Stan Wilcox, who have hidden behind written statements for the speakable and unspeakable actions of their most recognizable “student”-athlete. And now you know about Karlos Williams, Florida State’s leading rusher who in the last week has been linked to domestic-violence accusations and a drug-related robbery.
That’s quite a list. And Jimbo Fisher ain’t checking it twice.
Yes, while there are plenty of fingers to point for the dysfunction at Florida State, Fisher deserves a whole hand. Winston, as dumb as he is, is just biding time before he becomes a millionaire. Williams, same deal. Stokes has the word “interim” in her title for a reason, and Wilcox was hired last August, meaning he has less Seminoles seniority than Winston – by about a year-and-a-half.
That makes Fisher, rightly or wrongly, the most powerful person in Tallahassee. That’s what happens when you win 41 of your last 44 games, including 24 straight.
But instead of owning up to that responsibility, Fisher has shied away from it. He’s defended his players blindly. He’s shown no remorse for their actual or alleged missteps. He’s built a standard-less program based on a simple premise: If you’re good at football, you can stay.
That coaching philosophy is hardly unique to Fisher, but his degree of negligence isn’t just stunning; it’s startling. Even worse, he doesn’t seem to care. His plan of action when faced with incriminating questions is simple: Stonewall. If that doesn’t work, bully.
Last week, for example, Fisher was asked for updates on Winston’s disciplinary hearing. Imagine that. Someone wanted details about the investigation of the reigning Heisman Trophy winner. Crazy.
Fisher, however, waltzed his way around it, saying he was there to talk about “other things” and that “everything should be great.”
Thanks, coach. Great answer.
But it didn’t end there. When asked about his sagging reputation, Fisher grew visibly perturbed. He backpedaled like Lance Armstrong caught in a lie.
“I don’t want to get into all this,” he said. “Stop it, right now. I’m done.”
You’re done? You gonna take your ball and go home, too, coach?
When pushed further about Winston, Fisher got defensive.
“Why is my reputation taking a hit?” he asked. “For backing a kid who’s done nothing wrong?”
A kid who’s done nothing wrong.
Yup, that was actually said.
The sad thing is, Fisher said it like he actually believed it.
Look, we don’t know if Jameis Winston did everything he’s been accused of doing, but saying he didn’t do anything wrong is like saying Mother Teresa didn’t do anything right. It’s like saying Custer’s Last Stand was a good idea. It’s like saying Titanic’s maiden voyage was a success. It’s like saying Ray Rice is a model husband. It’s like saying Justin Bieber isn’t a tool.
Ignorance is bad. Denial is worse.
“I don’t want to get into this,” Fisher continued. “(These) questions weren’t supposed to be asked today.”
Oh, really? They weren’t? So, Fisher can sign a $21 million contract extension and end the SEC’s streak of seven consecutive national titles, but he can’t answer questions about his best player or his own reputation?
Sorry, Jimbo, but bad PR to you is journalism to everyone else. If you make appearances or agree to interviews only if certain topics aren’t broached, then that should tell you all we need to know about you and your program.
Here’s some advice, even if you think you don’t need it (and you do): Reprimand your players the way you reprimand reporters. Suspend your stars for more than two quarters. Establish a standard – and then actually enforce it.
Victory is great. Victory with honor is better.
Winston, to be sure, is the bumbling bonehead behind the wheel. But Fisher is leasing the car. He wants to reap the benefits of Winston’s brilliance on the field but deal with none of the baggage off it. That doesn’t make Fisher a bad person, but it does make him a hypocrite – not to mention a coward.
Yet, Florida State fans don’t seem to mind. Fisher wins. So does Winston, who is 21-0 as a starter. The Seminoles survived yet another scare against yet another inferior opponent on Thursday night, falling behind Louisville 21-0 before winning, 42-31. It was simply the latest Houdini in a season that has been more illusion than magic.
FSU fans ate it up, naturally. Five more lay-ups until the playoffs.
And that, friends, is the essence of fandom. If it’s someone else’s program, we’re Pontius Pilate. If it’s our program, we’re Johnnie Cochran. If the glove does not fit, you must acquit.
Fisher’s glove fits just fine.
The only problem is, it still doesn’t feel right.
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Tony Meale is the author of The Chosen Ones: The Team That Beat LeBron. He lives in Chicago and won’t be mad if you follow him on Twitter @TonyMeale.
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