Gary Moeller was sweating, his voice was booming and he was gesturing excitedly inside the visitors locker room at Notre Dame Stadium. Shouts and cheers echoed off the walls.
“Look at this, look at this!” Moeller said, waving a crumpled newspaper clipping.
It was a Detroit News story from early that September in 1994. It quoted a Notre Dame player saying Michigan was just another opponent, not a big deal. Considering the Irish were 5-1-1 against the Wolverines previously, it was relatively innocuous, but Moeller hammered the quote all week to motivate his team.
The watery gleam in his eyes — Sweat? Tears? — told the story of that day, and in a way, of that man. Moeller, who passed away at 81 earlier this week, was easy to hear and easy to read. He wasn’t complicated and didn’t try to dazzle anyone. He was new school to Bo Schembechler’s old school, but he was old school at heart. I swear his favorite word was “tackle,” pronounced in his guttural style as “TACK-ull.”
That might have been the happiest he’d ever been as Michigan’s coach. On Sept. 10, 1994, the Wolverines beat Notre Dame 26-24 on Remy Hamilton’s 42-yard field goal with two seconds remaining. Michigan was coming off an 8-4 season and fans were getting restless. Now they were 2-0 after beating the third-ranked Irish and a showdown with No. 7 Colorado loomed.
These were the moments Moeller craved, celebrating with his team in a raucous locker room, no airs, no filters. He headed into the cramped coach’s office wearing only a towel and exuberantly rummaged around for the article, as if it was a secret trick play. When he held it up to show me, he beamed like a kid.
College football coaches today are mostly polished CEO’s, savvy manipulators on tedious marches to the next game. Almost everything they say or do is an image-shaping plan, or a recruiting message. It was Jim Harbaugh dominating the spotlight and social media a few years ago, and it’s Mel Tucker now. It’s every coach in the SEC. It’s the way it is, the way the game is played, and as long as you understand it, you learn to accept it.
Under pressure
It’s different now in every way except one. Yes, coaches are compensated incredibly well, upwards of $9 million, and in return, they live with unrelenting pressure. Not pressure to feed their families, obviously. But a competitive pressure that grows as the money grows and rules change and players have to be recruited and re-recruited.
In his fifth season as head coach after replacing Schembechler, Moeller’s salary was $130,000 and there was no transfer portal, but yes, the competitive pressure was the same. Everyone knows the sad ending, after Moeller was arrested during a drunken outburst in a Southfield restaurant on April 28, 1995. He was charged with misdemeanor disorderly conduct and assault and battery, and was suspended by Michigan. A week later, after police released graphic audiotapes of his arrest that were aired on TV and radio, he was forced to resign. One of his best friends, assistant Lloyd Carr, reluctantly took over on an interim basis, and he shook with anger when he spoke to the media.
“You don’t know pressure,” Carr said that day, his voice quivering. “You think you know, but you don’t.”
Carr went on to become a Michigan legend and won the national title in 1997. He rose, ultimately, because Moeller fell, and he hated how it happened.
“One of the saddest days of my life,” Carr said on May 5, 1995. “I can’t tell you what a terrible experience it was to see this proud man defeated. But he’s tough. He will rebound.”
Moeller was as tough as they come, and he did rebound. He became an assistant coach for several years in the NFL, eventually taking over as Lions head coach in 2000 when Bobby Ross abruptly resigned. The Lions went 4-3 the rest of that season and narrowly missed the playoffs when Chicago’s Paul Edinger drilled a 54-yard field goal on the final play of the final game. That bizarre turn of events altered lives, and history. The Lions brought in Matt Millen, who replaced Moeller with Marty Mornhinweg, a stupendously stupid move that ended Moeller’s head-coaching career.
Moeller never spoke publicly of that fateful night in Southfield, privately telling others he didn’t remember much of it. He had no known issues with alcohol, but when his profane outburst was aired, the scandal didn’t die.
The punishment was harsh — overly harsh in my opinion — but Moeller never lashed back at the school where he worked 18 years under Schembechler. As head coach, he led the Wolverines to a 44-13-3 record (4-1 in bowls). Players, administrators and opposing coaches vouched for Moeller’s high character. His integrity was never questioned and his innovation was underrated — a no-huddle offense at Michigan?! A fourth-down touchdown pass to Desmond Howard?! He also regularly beat the Buckeyes (3-1-1), but he wasn’t going to win a power struggle with Michigan’s imperious president James Duderstadt.
Moeller, only 54 at the time, was broken. But that wasn’t the first pressure-point crack.
'I can't believe this one'
Moeller was broken once before, shortly after that joyous moment at Notre Dame. Following a bye, No. 4 Michigan faced No. 7 Colorado in Michigan Stadium, a huge early showdown. The Wolverines were in control, leading 26-21 with 2:16 left but couldn’t quite run out the clock. The Buffaloes got the ball back with virtually no hope — at their own 15 with 15 seconds remaining.
The final play lives in Ann Arbor nightmares, and who knows how long it haunted Moeller. From his own 36 with six seconds left, Colorado’s Kordell Stewart heaved a pass for the ages, through the hands of defensive backs and into the arms of Michael Westbrook. The 64-yard touchdown with no time left stunned the Wolverines 27-26.
Afterward I remember Moeller slumped at a table in the Crisler Arena media room. His eyes were red and his voice was monotone. Several times he rubbed his hands over his face.
“I can’t believe this one,” he said, staring blankly. “That’s what was going through my mind. I can’t believe this.”
A couple days later, he was back rallying the team but the public reaction was predictable. Fluke or not, fair or not, someone had to be blamed. Moeller tried to move on, and perhaps found it more difficult than imagined.
“You never get over it,” Moeller said later. “You’re not supposed to. It’s a lifetime thing.”
The Wolverines won their next two over Iowa and Michigan State, then slid. They lost at home to Penn State and Wisconsin and closed with a 22-6 loss at Ohio State. They beat Colorado State in the Holiday Bowl, but finished 8-4 for the second straight season, and pressure on Moeller grew.
Perhaps it did become a lifetime thing, a full life ultimately unfulfilled. Who knows if one horrible professional moment contributed to one horrible personal moment eight months later. If Michigan hangs on against Colorado, it could’ve gone 9-3 or 10-2. Even if the restaurant incident still happened, Moeller might’ve held the power to hang onto his job. Schembechler was furious that Michigan pushed Moeller out and so was Carr, who initially declined the interim job. AD Joe Roberson said he was heartbroken delivering the news.
Carr took over, posted two more four-loss seasons, then pulled off the 12-0 championship run. After a long absence, Moeller started coming back to Michigan, reconnecting with the program and his beloved players, attending games. I remember one year seeing him at the far end of the Ohio Stadium press box with his wife, Ann, just the two of them, watching the Wolverines play the Buckeyes.
Yes, college football is different now, but not completely. The plummet from ecstasy to unfathomable despair can still be sudden, and so can the rise. I don’t know if pressure broke Moeller or not. At times, it seemed pressure might break Carr, but he pushed forward, even if the pain never fully went away.
Honorable men are not immune, that is true. No one should be defined by their worst moment, that also is true. I’ll remember Moeller in his bare-chested glory, sweaty and exuberant, relishing the sweet, simple — and fleeting — joy of victory.
