Today, as he strolls across the practice field, a vision of Stanford colors with his white hair beneath a red cap, Walsh seems to fit just fine. He admits to a single moment of panic his third day on the job when he found himself, instead of on a scheduled Hawaiian vacation, on a recruiting trip in San Angelo, Texas. “I asked myself, ‘What in God’s name am I doing?” Walsh says. Since then, he insists, everything has been “great-no regrets!” Still, fans across the country remain flabbergasted by his decision. Why would Walsh, who seemed like a classic burnout when he quit the 49ers three seasons ago, then a passionless broadcaster plying his X’s and O’s for big NBC bucks, step down to the college ranks? And why to Stanford, which has had just three winning seasons and two decidedly unsuper bowl appearances since Walsh departed? “There should be more redeeming and gratifying things in life than winning a Super Bowl,” says Walsh. “Of course, you can only say that once you’ve done it. But I am first and foremost a teacher.”
Walsh proved that at the first practices, getting down on the turf to demonstrate blocking drills. For a man whose TV style was unquestionably uptight, Walsh seems not only relaxed but downright jocular. Quarterback Steve Stenstrom says the coach began cracking jokes from day one, but the players couldn’t figure out for a few days “whether we were supposed to laugh or not.” When Stenstrom showed up at a recent practice with his throwing arm in a sling, Walsh shrugged it off-then doubled over, feigning his own crippling injury.
Both the coach and the quarterback will need to be in peak condition this Saturday as Stanford, which has won three straight games since a narrow loss to Texas A&M, gets a national TV showcase against Notre Dame. But win or lose in South Bend, Walsh Redux is already a big winner back in Palo Alto. Stanford has sold 25,000 season tickets, and its booster club, which raises the money for athletic scholarships, rode the “Bill’s Back” boom to a record $2.8 million haul.
Walsh prefers not to talk about money–Stanford’s or his. (He says his salary package, estimated to be in the half-million range, puts him among only the top 30 or so college coaches.) He would rather talk about being an integral part of a great academic community and the unique opportunity the team has “to demonstrate that you can celebrate athletics while retaining the highest standards.” He has endeared himself to the faculty by being the first Stanford coach in memory not to gripe about the high admission standards. “Change them,” Walsh says, “and this wouldn’t be Stanford anymore.
He will observe, however, that because Stanford remains Stanford, it doesn’t get to play the recruiting game “on a level playing field.” In a typical year, he says, his pool is limited to about 45 of the nation’s top 1,000 players-“and some years they may all be kickers.” Walsh’s reputation, though, should ensure that Stanford snares more than its share of top prospects. This year he landed eight of the 10 he pursued. “I never dreamed that Bill Walsh could be sitting in my living room,” says freshman Jeff Buckey, one of the nation’s most coveted offensive tackles.
Walsh says neither the college game nor Stanford has changed much since he left; he, however, has. “I don’t need to prove myself,” he says. He has no plans to return to the NFL, “no matter what the money.” Walsh says, somewhat immodestly, that he was the first person called for every NFL job that came open, “but I don’t want to take on the cynical, almost oppressive pressure that goes with an NFL job.”
Inevitably, there will be pressure at Stanford too. Walsh inherited most of 1991’s Aloha Bowl squad-and lots of Rose Bowl chatter. If he can lead Stanford past Pac-10 powers Washington and UCLA and to Pasadena for the first time in two decades, talk of genius will be shelved for more Biblical metaphors. However, a couple of lackluster seasons and, Walsh well knows, the ’90s game will have “passed by” the ’80s genius. He’s delighted to take the risk “for the chance to find more personal satisfaction in what I do.” In the autumn of one’s years, that seems a pretty fair trade-off for any man.
