Thank you, Coach Walker. You’ve kept the spirit of my father alive within your football program when you certainly didn’t have to. The help that you’ve given, the memorabilia, your sentiments — all honor him. Thank you, Matt.
Look at this turn out. If you ever wondered what difference one solitary person can make upon the world — take a look around. We are all the product of one man’s commitment to excellence.
(Share how they can contribute their stories to coachfarley.info …. Everyone has a Coach Farley story.)
I carry his name, voice, his mannerisms and I know most all of the same people. Which means for many of you, I get the blessing and the curse, of being him. Know that I’m OK with that. Anytime you want to share your story with me, I’m happy to be a “surrogate” Coach.
My dad would want this night to move swiftly… and I have to tell you… (tell story of Tribute dinner and him giving me the “wrap-it-up” sign just before I got to the best part of my speech – The Bridge Builder poem).
So, I will tell you only one story this evening… the story of how I came to play for him. Unlike my brothers, who were Big 10 scholarship athletes, I was a 6’0 tall 160 pound kid (and that’s being kind) with few interested in my athletic achievements. When the scholarship offers didn’t come pouring in from UCLA or Notre Dame, I had to rethink my future. My dad actually sent me down to UW-Platteville. The coach down there, who was one of my dad’s closest friends, George Chryst (the father of Badger Coach Paul Chryst). After checking it out, he said to me,
“What are doing? We both know you’re not coming to play here. Just play for your dad.”
So I did. Really, what most people don’t realize is that when you grow up with a college football coach as your dad, they think you get all of this coaching. But none of us were ever coached by him. We got instruction – don’t get me wrong – but we never played for him. So I thought, this could be a good thing for him and for me. And if it turns out that I hate it — I’ll just transfer.
When I went out for football, ego shattered an all, I determined that I just wanted to make the starting team, but knew it would be tough because his players were really good. I wanted to keep playing the three positions I had in high school – kicker, punter AND quarterback.
So during two-a-days in my freshmen year — you know, 2 practices in hot August weather with 100-plus guys all vying to become one of varsity players. I wondered what kind of coach he might be with me… I was his kid and all.
Would he favor me? Or make it harder? Would the team like having the coach’s kid on their team, or would they think I was a baby?
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Well, it didn’t take long to get an answer.
I was an all-conference QB in high school. I was named as the Outstanding Athlete at River Falls High for 1981. I had my props. I was even the 3rd team All-State punter, but you don’t get much love for that. And the guys on the Falcon team could care less.
We practiced hard and learned a new offense, schemes, plays, play calls and reads. I knew this stuff, but I didn’t KNOW this stuff. Our starting senior QB was Jim Abbs, who was voted 2nd team all-conference in the WSUC the year before. And we got a college transfer by the name of Bobby DeLeo who was not only incredibly fast, but a really attractive guy.
I figured the first and second teamers were all locked up. So the battle was who could be the third string QB… you know, just in case the first two guys went down in a game. But that would never happen. Still I battled for the job.
And somewhere near the end of the first week, my dad would post a depth chart. Just a piece of paper posted near the locker room with all of the positions on it and a series of names under each circle. When I looked at QB, I saw Abbs #1, DeLeo #2… and some other guy, and some other guy, and some other guy… and then Farley.
I was the 7th team quarterback! Dead last. There wasn’t another position with seven names under it. I was the only guy on the 7th team!
So this is how it was going to be.
What I didn’t recognize then, but learned later on, was that in my dad’s infinite wisdom, instead of every guy on the team thinking, “Oh, great, the coach’s kid.” He got 100+ guys thinking, “Thank God I’m not the coach’s kid.” And in so doing, made me welcomed by everyone.
Not only that, but any accomplishments along the way, were now understood to be earned. Not just by me, but by everyone else on the team. That’s tough… but it’s a pretty neat trick.
(Introduce Randy Taylor, instead of Terry Franklin – mention that he was ’75 team captain).
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