For years and years, the Big Ten Conference carried itself with a regal presence.
It actually can be a bit stodgy. Like most prestigious organizations, it goes to great lengths to avoid allowing warts to grow. And if they do grow, the conference goes to great lengths to avoid letting them show. No way it's pulling that Lexus out of the garage if there's a dent on the hood. Not if it can help it.
You want regal? Visit the Rose Bowl sometime. Or the Horseshoe.Â
Regal? Watch Barry Alvarez walk into a room. Chest out, head held high, as if he were royalty.Â
When Jim Tressel came to Lincoln to speak years ago, he struck me as a successful corporate CEO. Buttoned-down and polished. Perfect for a Big Ten blue blood.
Growing up in the 1970s and 1980s, my impression of Big Ten football was it was blue collar. It was neck rolls. It was hand-offs to powerful running backs. There seemed to be a lot of cold, gray Saturdays. It could seem, well, a bit boring at times.Â
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If you're in a position of leadership in the league, boring would feel awfully good right now. Much better than the current state of affairs.Â
What we've seen lately is a swift and continuous erosion of a proud conference's reputation. Some now regard the league as a laughingstock because of the many missteps its "leadership" has made in attempting to navigate a pandemic.Â
Rewind to Aug. 5, when the Big Ten unveiled its schedule for the 2020 fall football season. The misstep that I regard as the most mind-boggling occurred three days later — just three days later — when the Big Ten office forwarded an edict to its programs that they were not to practice in full pads until further notice. The edict sucked the wind out of Nebraska head coach Scott Frost on an otherwise glorious Saturday morning. I'll long remember that morning. The Huskers were set to don full pads that Monday.
Get this: NU never heard from the Big Ten that weekend as to why the edict came down in the first place. Not a peep.Â
It was incredibly poor leadership, one example on a growing list.Â
Of course, the Big Ten then canceled fall football Aug. 11 without adequate explanation. Now, fast forward to Friday: Bruce Feldman of Fox Sports reported "it's a real possibility" that the conference may try to reverse course and actually play later this fall. The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel earlier that morning reported that the league's coaches want to consider a plan that would begin Thanksgiving weekend and include at least eight games. Depending on the exact setup, it would mean playing approximately through the end of January.Â
It seems silly, right? If you can begin the season in late November, why couldn't it have begun in late September, as will be the case in the SEC and Big 12? Will there be significant advances in coronavirus treatment protocols in just two months? What's the deal?
You know the answer: It doesn't make much sense, except that starting a season in late November would be better for NFL-level players than starting in early January and playing until early March. The NFL scouting combine typically begins in late February. That's just one major issue.Â
Based on conversations Friday with Nebraska officials, it's very possible the Big Ten ultimately will coalesce around the late-November start, although it should be noted that the early January start is the schedule model that had generated the most discussion until Friday came around.Â
Timeout for a theory: The Big Ten leaked to various news outlets the possibility of a late-November start as a way to shift the narrative from the story Thursday that was taking place at the County-City Building. Eight Nebraska football players filed a lawsuit against the Big Ten in the District Court of Lancaster County, seeking an injunction that would keep the conference from enforcing its cancellation of the fall season.Â
I'm guessing Nebraska hopes another Big Ten program — Ohio State, for instance — files a similar lawsuit in its own state. It hasn't happened and probably won't. But Nebraska's lawsuit received national attention. You can debate its merit, but there's no debating that it put pressure on the Big Ten, namely on commissioner Kevin Warren.Â
If football continues to be played in high schools and colleges around the country, without a lot of major COVID-19 setbacks, the pressure on the Big Ten will only intensify, as will frustration and anger among thousands upon thousands of fans in Big Ten cities, not to mention business owners profoundly affected by eerily quiet Saturdays.
None of this is a good look for Big Ten leadership, which begins with the Council of Presidents and Chancellors then extends straight to Warren.Â
I think at this point it's OK to say aloud what plenty of folks have been thinking for weeks: There's no way Warren's predecessor, Jim Delany, would've handled the pandemic so poorly.Â
There's no way Delany would've communicated as poorly as Warren has at almost every turn, or appeared as aloof and unfeeling as Warren. The latest example came in the Big Ten's response to Nebraska's lawsuit, which said in part, "We share the disappointment that some student-athletes and their families are feeling."
Some student-athletes and families? It's more like the majority, and probably the vast majority. Â
As last week progressed, something Delany once said stuck in my mind.Â
"Our job as a commissioner is to identify problems and potential solutions and then to rally support for those solutions,†he told the Chicago Tribune. “If there's no support for those solutions, we don't do it.â€Â Â
You wonder at this point how effective Warren will be when it comes time to rally support in key moments of his tenure.Â
I think we already know the answer. The Big Ten's reputation already has suffered significant damage under his watch. It's too often been a circus unbecoming a conference that for years had such a regal presence.