Canzano: Business? Or betrayal? A dive into loyalty and coaching

Big Ten Football Media days are next week.

Dan Lanning and Jonathan Smith talk before the Civil War game in November. (Photo: Naji Saker)

Jonathan Smith had one foot out the door at Oregon State the last time we spoke. Smith joined me on my radio show in late November, just a few days before he lost to Oregon and left to take the job at Michigan State.

I spoke with the Beavers’ coach frequently over the years. But this conversation felt different. OSU was facing uncertainty. Players were antsy. Fans were anxious. Rumors were swirling. I found it curious that Smith’s camp reached out to me — not the other way around — to see if I wanted him on the show that day.

We talked about the Civil War game. Then, I asked Smith where he stood on the job front. Was he staying in Corvallis? Or about to leave after six seasons? Had Smith or his agent been in contact with other schools?

“I’ve got an agent that’s got a job,” Smith told me. “He best be finding out what is out there and calling people. That’s how that works. I can tell you from his side, he best be working just because I’m paying him so much. They get a percentage and I’m making a couple million bucks.

“I’m not trying to be sarcastic. Any coach, they’re aware of what’s potentially out there if their agent is doing their job. I’m not trying to dodge the question. I’m trying to be truthful.”

When we hung up, I went to a commercial break. Then, I got in the ear of my board operator and said: “He’s gone.”

Hold that thought.

Peter Courtney died this week. The 81-year-old long-time Oregon lawmaker lived a life dedicated to public service and leadership. The long-time president of the state senate was passionate, outspoken, and intelligent. His peers sometimes found him stubborn and dogmatic, but I loved that he cared so much.

Over the years, Courtney read my column and listened to the radio show. He would call me when he was fired up about a topic. When Oregon’s football program didn’t include a single in-state player in its signing class, Courtney vented about it. When Tom Brady retired — then unretired — he ranted. But one of our most spirited conversations came in December of 2021 after Mario Cristobal left Oregon for Miami.

Courtney said: “You’ve got a coach in the locker room saying ‘This has gotta be a team. Teams stick together. Team members are loyal. Team members have each other’s back. You gotta be loyal to this institution. You’ve got to be loyal to each other. Oh, by the way, I’m leaving.’ Coaches are the worst role models in the world to teach those values.

“They’re as loyal as nothing.”

Courtney was a dangerous animal late in his political career. He was aging out. He had no political aspirations beyond his position. He didn’t need to carefully measure his words or watch what he said. When you left a conversation with Courtney, you knew exactly where he stood.

That December, he roasted Cristobal and chastised me for not being more critical of the coach’s departure. But the lawmaker also pointed out that politicians were no better than football coaches. Courtney lamented that both professions play a wishy-washy game of semantics whenever it suits them. The way he saw it, the public institutions in Oregon had given a line of coaches wonderful opportunities, making them rich beyond their wildest dreams, and all they’d done was take it for granted.

At Oregon, he watched Chip Kelly and Willie Taggart leave. At Oregon State, he observed that Mike Riley left for the NFL, then came back after his successor, Dennis Erickson, also bolted to the NFL. Then he watched Cristobal lobby to get promoted to head coach in Eugene, only to leave a few seasons later for the job at Miami.

“All they do is crap on my state and make fools of us, and I don’t like it,” Courtney told me. “I don’t. And you’re not going to make me like it. If you’re going to preach, you ought to follow what you’re preaching.”

The late lawmaker’s words are ringing in my ears this week. Maybe because I miss talking with the guy. Or maybe because I’m about to see Smith at Big Ten Media Day. I can’t decide which, but I think it’s worth some thought.

Peter Courtney served 38 years in the State Legislature.

I’ll be in Indianapolis next week. I’ll meet with several head coaches over 72 hours. Smith will be there, working for Michigan State. So will a line of other coaches, who say they’re loyal to their schools.

Courtney and I debated whether coaches indeed owed their schools and players more loyalty. I’d argue that contracts came with buyout provisions. The industry offered little job security beyond that piece of paper. I didn’t view Cristobal’s defection to Miami as a betrayal. It looked more like a guy going home to me. But Courtney shot back: “Guess what? You don’t get to go home. You made a commitment!!”

Years ago, I wrote a column suggesting Dennis Erickson was a flight risk at Oregon State. Erickson’s resume had a pattern. He’d left other jobs after enjoying success. Erickson read what I wrote and wasn’t happy. I drove to Corvallis to meet with him. We argued for a while. Then, we shook hands. I left his office. By the end of the week, Erickson was introduced as the head coach of the San Francisco 49ers.

The last time I spoke with Erickson, he told me: “I never should have left.”

What does a college head football coach owe his players? Are the promises of a coach sacred? Should they stop hunting for better opportunities? Or maybe just stop talking about their current coaching job as if it’s a forever thing?

I’m thinking about those questions (and more) in front of the Big Ten’s three-day media event where I’ll see Smith and 17 other head coaches. On one hand, the former OSU coach didn’t want to lie. Smith’s agent, Clint Dowdle, did his job and helped his client find a soft landing spot at Michigan State.

Just business? Or a betrayal? Did Smith owe anything to the alma mater that gave him his first head coaching opportunity? Was dumping his OSU-branded gear at Goodwill on his way out of Corvallis poor form? What was he supposed to do with it? It’s a conversation I’d like to have with several coaches, not just Smith.

Did Kalen DeBoer owe Washington a few more years? How about his successor, Jedd Fisch? Should Fisch have remained the coach at Arizona? Did Chip Kelly do UCLA dirty by throwing in the keys and choosing happiness as a coordinator at Ohio State? Or do we accept that successful big-time football coaches are mercenaries?

Dan Lanning doesn’t seem like a risk to leave Oregon. But he’s got one of the best jobs in the industry. He gets Nike’s resources, Division Street’s buying power, Phil Knight’s support, a pile of guaranteed money, and membership in the Big Ten. Lanning’s alma mater, William Jewell College, doesn’t play major college football.

Lanning and his wife would love for their three sons to make friends, and grow up without moving a few more times before high school graduation. The way I see it, aside from maybe the Kansas City Chiefs calling someday, Lanning will stay in Eugene as long as the Ducks want him around. I wondered when Lanning was hired if Athletic Director Rob Mullens added all that up and was drawn to what appeared to be some built-in loyalty.

Humans will frequently do what’s best for themselves. Opportunity is a powerful force. I’ve heard it fashioned as part of the survival instinct that drives natural selection. I understand ambition. I worked for six newspapers in my career. But at the end of every season, as football jobs open, there’s always a little part of me that roots for coaches to say, “Nah, not interested. Loyalty matters.”

I’m an ‘eyes-wide-open’ person. When we walk into a luxurious Las Vegas casino, we know what we’re getting into. There’s no illusion. The place is built and designed to spin us in a circle, take our money, and turn a profit. When we walk into a college football stadium is it equally transactional?

I know what my favorite dead lawmaker believed. Peter Courtney could have left the state of Oregon to climb the political ladder himself. He could have pursued the Governor’s office or aimed for a job in Washington, DC. Instead, Courtney stuck around and served 38 years.

He frequently ended our talks with, “What do I know? I’m just a lowly state senator who has been here all my career.”

I’m starting to wonder if that’s the best kind.

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