He is no square-jawed, wavy-haired block of granite from central casting. Nor is he a silver-tongued rascal naturally capable of charming the birds out of the trees.
Shee-oot, Jerry Kill is just regular folks. He’s short, bald and ruddy-cheeked. His vocabulary is unremarkable unless he’s inventing a word. Such as when he wants to “guaran-gol-dang-tee” you of something. Kill is a pair of Hush Puppies in a college football world overloaded with Giorgio Armanis.
He’s also an epileptic living a lifestyle that apparently is not conducive to managing his symptoms. On Wednesday morning, however, lacking sufficient energy to both properly take care of himself and run the Gophers program, Kill reluctantly and unexpectedly retired.
Don’t cry for Jerry Kill. My goodness, he’s accomplished an awful lot under trying circumstances. While it’s too bad that he had to give up something he loves, the temporary sadness eventually will give way to a big picture of overall success. Kill has absolutely no reason to look back with any sort of regret.
As for Gopher football supporters, they may be excused while they indulge in a bit of self-pity. Unfortunately for them, they have been the victims of a miracle.
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The miracle was that a terminally damaged program was systematically restored and propelled forward. The “victims” part is that the wonderment of it all obscured reality. Kill could only juggle for so long his responsibilities to the program and to himself and his family. In retrospect, considering all he’s been through, this day was going to come.
There is always background noise. Even though Kill no longer was having seizures in practice or on the sideline, we knew that his struggles were far from over. It was a daily battle for him. Everyone understands that Kill would not have stepped away unless it was his only option.
At least the program is on the proper track. Obviously, Kill will be difficult to replace. You might say he was all substance and no style. In today’s world, that equates to being the anti-Trump or the anti-Kardashian. He didn’t fill a room upon entering. The beautiful people never naturally gravitated toward him. Instead, Kill’s calling card consisted of rock-solid credentials.
That’s not to say he is without personality. After a while, his sincerity and self-deprecation became his trademarks. And they served him well, whether he was walking around campus handing out tickets to the students or addressing a group of skeptical donors.
He gladly accepted responsibility but shunned accolades. Credit always was redirected toward his players and assistant coaches. And if none of those were within earshot, he’d invariably begin complimenting his wife, Rebecca, always close by and to whom he is totally devoted.
No, don’t feel bad for Kill. He deserves applause, not sympathy. The illness was a bad break, but he handled it well for a long time. He never compromised his principles, made a nice living and accomplished many things. At the last stop on his professional journey, he was a big-time coach in a big-time conference.
It’s all rather remarkable for a fellow born in Wichita to a working-class family and raised in tiny, rural Cheney. But that area of Kansas has produced some morally solid, big-hearted people. I know this from being married to one of them for 39 years.
Now, tens of thousands are distraught by Kill’s retirement, including the governor of the state of Minnesota. After the requisite mourning period, however, a celebration of Kill’s career will begin to unfold. Whether he spends the majority of his time working to boost a charity or sitting on the porch telling stories about his “kee-uds” at Minnesota, Kill, 54, forever will serve as a blueprint for moribund programs seeking reversals of fortune.
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He was more concerned with results than window dressing. He never asked for loyalty, just for a chance to prove he could earn it. He never made excuses, preferring to spend his time seeking solutions.
Kill had a tremendous run despite dealing with a serious health issue. Don’t be overly dismayed by the sudden end to it all. Instead, as he walks out the door, raise a glass to toast a job - and a career - well done.
