By: Mike Beacom (AthlonSports.com) —
It was a crime of passion, committed by a man whose actions often preceded rational thought. Disgusted by what he had just witnessed on the field, Woody Hayes took out his frustrations on an opposing player — an act which the following day cost him his job at Ohio State and ended his coaching career. It’s a crime other coaches have committed before and since, but never on a stage as big as the Gator Bowl, which was being watched that evening by 72,011 fans and a television audience of millions.

For a brief second, Woody Hayes was an out-of-control fool for the whole world to see.

The 1978 Buckeyes were one of the least accomplished teams of Hayes’ near three-decade-long stay at Columbus. At 7-3-1 they finished fourth in the Big Ten at a time when Ohio State simply did not finish anywhere other than first or second. Their opponent was a 10-1 Clemson team coached by Danny Ford.

Late in the game, trailing 17-15, the Buckeyes were driving for a go-ahead score. But freshman Art Schlichter committed the one crime an Ohio State quarterback dare not commit — he threw an interception deep in Tiger territory — and it all but ended the game for the Buckeyes. The benefactor to Schlichter’s gaffe was a middle guard named Charlie Bauman, who rumbled a short distance before being wrestled to the ground, out of bounds, in front of the Ohio State bench. Bauman stood up, and some suggest he taunted the Buckeye players; Hayes grabbed hold of him and delivered a locked-elbow blow to the neck. As Bauman stood there, stunned, and surrounded by a handful of his Tiger teammates, Hayes charged at him before several Buckeye players separated their 65-year-old coach from a swarm of orange jerseys.

This was Hayes’ inexcusable crime.

But his punishment has been equally inexcusable. Hayes’ punch not only cost him his job, but it has yet to be wiped clean from his record. While society has been quick to forgive Bobby Knight, and while most of it bleeds to forget Pete Rose’s wrongdoings, it has chosen neither to forgive nor forget Hayes’ act on December 29, 1978.

And, unlike Knight and Rose, Hayes might actually have a legitimate excuse for his misconduct. Many former players and friends suggest the coach had forgotten to take his insulin that day and was not in a sound state of mind when the play occurred. “Plus,” said Tom Skladany, a three-time All-American for Ohio State from 1974-76, “Woody Hayes coaches in the Rose Bowl for national championships, not in the Gator Bowl against Clemson … he was already pissed.”

No matter, others will say, it was merely the last straw from a series of Hayes tirades. He waged war with the press, took a few swings at photographers, and cursed game officials. More than anyone else, Hayes abused his own body, slugging himself in the temple and ripping apart his ballcap on occasion.

Yet what gets lost in all of the discussion about Woody’s sideline showmanship and shenanigans is the incredible good he did away from the field. Fans tend to reflect on the punch or his sideline antics, but in doing so they forget that what makes a coach truly great is not control or success, but rather influence and impact.

Hayes understood the responsibility his high-profile post carried and he never short-changed the job description. He and his players regularly walked into the area children’s hospital unannounced, without cameras or a public relations team, and offered joy to kids who had little to feel good about.

Recalled Skladany, “He used to pull us out of the shower once or twice a week and say ‘You’re coming with me.’ He’d walk right in and say ‘I’m coach Hayes’ and immediately parents would start to cry because they knew what he was there for.”

He visited troops in Vietnam and calmed a campus during a time of great tension. His players were successful in the classroom — mostly because if they failed they would have to face his wrath.

Lineman Moose Machinsky recalled in Paul Hornung’s 1991 book, ‘Woody Hayes; A Reflection,’ “One day Woody pulled up at my residence and said, ‘Pack some clothes, get your books, and get in the car.’ We drove in silence to his house, where he informed me this would be where I would live until my grades improved. He dropped me off at classes, picked me up after classes, made me study constantly, and would review my assignments and quiz me. I wasn’t permitted to do anything — no dates, no movies, no TV, no beer, nothing but study. Needless to say I worked my tail off to get out of there and not to return.”

Some coaches preach for the cameras about the importance of academics; for Hayes, having dedicated students meant having dedicated players, and he fully bought into the concept that a student-athlete could accomplish as much in the classroom as he could on the gridiron. What did Hayes consider the single greatest accomplishment in his life? Not the 1968 undefeated season or boasting the only two-time Heisman winner, but rather his giving the Ohio State commencement speech in 1986.

Beyond the value of an education, Hayes also taught his players about the importance of staying grounded. Said Skladany, “He’d say, ‘If anybody ever gives you a compliment, you kick them in the shins unless it’s a lady over 80.’ I’d laugh but it was probably one of the best pieces of advice I took from him and to this day I’m uncomfortable receiving compliments.”

Hayes was everything college coaches were designed to be: committed, colorful, tough and loving. And he pushed his players to their peak.

“He could make a good player great, a great player into an All-Big Ten player, and an All-Big Ten player into an All-American,” said Skladany. “And if you were already an All-American, he’d make you a Heisman. He took you to a level that you didn’t think you could perform at, and he could do so just by talking to you.”

Hayes looked up to and admired World War II General George S. Patton, while the national leaders of the day looked up to and admired the Buckeyes’ gridiron general. Former President Richard Nixon gave the eulogy when Hayes passed in 1987 and recalled a conversation the two men had once shared: “I wanted to talk about football. Woody wanted to talk about foreign policy. You know Woody — we talked about foreign policy.”

During his time in Columbus Hayes earned the admiration of his peers and the adoration of his players. But he has yet to receive a proper resting spot in the annals of college football because of his actions in Jacksonville 30 years ago.

The greatest coaches of all-time? Hayes’ name belongs near the top of the mountain with few others — if not for his 238 career wins, or his 13 Big Ten titles, or his three national titles, then for his ability to mold men. Hayes liked to say, ‘You win with people’ … well, many of the hundreds of ‘people’ he won with became winners in life because of him — the measuring stick to which all coaches, of every sport, ought to be judged.

“I just wish people had the chance to listen to one of those 40-minute meetings of his,” said Skladany, “then they’d understand.”

(Mike Beacom covers the Big Ten for Athlon and is the author of the recently published book, “Ohio State Football: Yesterday & Today.”)

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