No Dadgum Cussing

By Phil Williams

CONTINUING with my third story in the ‘tribute series’ to Coach Bobby Bowden, we go back out onto the practice field (at some point during my sophomore year - 1979). I’m calling this one…

“No Dadgum Cussing”

As many know, Coach Bowden had a ‘NO SWEARING’ clause built into our ‘contracts’. He did not allow it. Period.

I cannot remember ever hearing a player cuss on the practice field, all of us scared of what might happen. It was almost mystical how all of us loose-lipped, rough and tough, ‘crazy as hell’ college football players seemed to develop a certain ‘refinement’ - at least as it related to our language - when we stepped out onto those fields; where, at least for me, it seemed to be THE ONE PLACE that swearing made the most sense!.

Like I said, though, I never heard anyone swear in front of Coach Bowden out there.

Except…

Me.

It happened when I ran an out route, which basically meant that I sprinted to a depth of 16 yards, planted hard with my right foot, and began to cut back toward the sideline and the line of scrimmage at the same time. I swiveled my head around to see if the ball was coming yet. Umm, yes!! It was pretty much already there. Jimmy Jordan had fired off one of his cannon shots a bit early and I instinctively threw my hands up…in self defense!

That ball was nothing more than a missile-like blur, and my right hand barely made it up in time to nick it with my pinkie. The next thing you knew I looked like a baby discovering its hands for the first time, you know, where it marvels at its own fingers. Except I was doing so because that pinkie I mentioned was totally bent sideways at the knuckle. Hell, at first I thought it might have been ripped clean off!

I did what came naturally at that point and began to shout out any and all cuss-words that had been timidly hiding within. They spewed up into the sky as if out of an angry volcano.

About that time, as if on cue, I noticed that Coach Bowden was standing just a few feet away, directly in front of me, looking and LISTENING. All curious like. I sort of looked at him from above my hand which I still held in front of my face - pretty much gazing at him through the vacant space where my pinkie used to be - and then I looked back down at the pinkie, and then back up at him.

Uh-oh.

But so far he didn’t say a word, just nodded his head a little. Not that I could read minds, but I thought maybe, just maybe, he could understand why the volcano had erupted. He walked over at about the same second as Randy Oravetz, Doc Fauls’ main assistant trainer, and looked at my finger and chuckled lightly.

“Take a couple of plays off,” he said through a mischievous grin. “Not days…plays.” He winked.

“Tape it up and get him back out there,” he said to Randy, as he turned and walked away.

(side note: did you know you that could ‘tape up’ just about any type of injury back in the day?)

I never heard another word about it.

Coach Bobby Bowden was a man of principle. But he was also human. I’m sure he felt good about his rule, but he also knew when that rule had reached its limit.

And thank God, he evidently felt so in my case.

By the way, there’s still a knot in my pinkie…