Sidelines
The president who
presides over athleticsQuick, I said to Star-Bulletin writer and recent UCLA grad Grace Wen:
Who is the president at UCLA?
(Quick -- do you know?)
She didn't know. Well, she knew -- she'd recognize the name if she heard it, she could see the face when she squinted real hard, she knew, knew, knew, knew, knew (she knew that he was a chancellor, not a president), but she just couldn't find his name.
Well, then, I said: Who is the athletic director?
Boom. She had that answer out before the question was even over. (I don't have that here, because I really don't care who the AD at UCLA is. It's not important. This is just to make a point. Stay tuned.)
That is the way it is at most schools. If you're in the college community, you'd know who the president is (that guy handing out the diplomas looks familiar), but at many schools, the president might be all but invisible outside of academic or fundraising circles.
But if you're even a casual college sports fan the AD's name looms large indeed.
The AD hires, fires, sets policy, finds money, rallies the troops. The AD gets things done, or not, and takes the heat for both. They're like corporate CEOs now, and Sears Cup-contending programs are led by guys like Lee Iacocca in his Chrysler prime.
Nebraska, a big-time Big 12 program, has Bill Byrne, a big man with a big budget, a big shadow, a big ego, and he's great at his job. He soaks up the spotlight like a cat napping in a sunbeam. He is a genuine star, and loves it (he can actually get away with putting his grandkids' picture in the sports media guides). He's got his own radio show. He commands a room like an elementary school principal.
Meanwhile, you couldn't pick the NU president out of a lineup. (Or maybe it's the chancellor.)
In Hawaii, we know who the president is.
In Hawaii, it is the university president who has grabbed the spotlight, it is the president who plays to the media, it is the president who has quickly and calculatedly cultivated a reputation for being (let's use capital letters here) A MAN OF ACTION.
The star of this show, even in athletics, is one Evan S. Dobelle.
(He might even have Byrne's grandchildren picture beat --Dobelle actually got up and led Aloha Stadium in the Pledge of Allegiance.)
So far, beyond big dreams, beyond his personal name recognition, we still wait to see what comes of it. But at least for now, Dobelle seems to have taken over the public role, if not the duties and responsibilities, that has traditionally fallen to athletic directors.
He's got it backward, but he's making his splash.
Dobelle met with editors and writers of the Star-Bulletin the other day, and I finally got to meet the man. He's impressive in person. He's clever. He's smooth.
(And he explained the logic behind pushing the was-never-really-going-to-happen Dobelle Bowl. It actually made sense.)
He's got words and ideas and dreams. They may work, they may not. But we do definitely know who he is.
Kalani Simpson's column runs Sundays, Tuesdays and Fridays.
He can be reached at ksimpson@starbulletin.com