Free The Lion in Autumn by Frank Fitzpatrick Page B

football?” he pleaded at one point.
    Occasionally Paterno the broadcaster was distracted, by a visitor to the booth, a sudden recollection, or the spectacular vista of the unspoiled Allegheny Mountains framing the horizon, their foothills dotted with silver-topped silos and picture-book barns.
    â€œWhat a beautiful day,” Paterno gushed in the midst of play-by-play man Steve Jones’s description of a pass attempt, sounding more like a first-time visitor to rural central Pennsylvania than someone who had spent fifty-four years here. “Look at the cows. And the farms.”
    Far removed from the disaster that was the previous season, he seemed to be enjoying himself. He told stories about his father and about Engle, the silver-haired mentor who had lured him to State College.
    But he had plenty to say about the game as well. Paterno called a player who fumbled a “knucklehead.” He booed the White squad’s decision to punt. He jokingly suggested a defensive back who had permitted a wide-open receiver to score “ought to be shot.” He seemed to know every player’s father or grandfather, not surprisingly, since many had been on his squads over the years. He mocked the job he had done in 2003. And when the stadium’s giant TV screen showedtwo of his former players in the crowd, NFLers Brandon Short and Brad Scioli, he good-naturedly chastised the latter.
    â€œPut your hat on straight, Scioli,” he yelled, as if the baseball cap-wearing Indianapolis Colts defensive end were standing for inspection in front of him. “You look like an Italian gangster.”
    For all the fun he was having, though, Paterno’s grasp of radio was nearly nonexistent. He hacked frequently into his mike, forgetting the “cough button” and drowning out Jones’s words. From time to time, focusing on the details of his players’ execution, he appeared to forget he was on the air. After a blown coverage or a missed block, you could hear him mumble, in that undiminished nasal twang, “Awwww, for cryin’ out loud, that’s just terrible.”
    Paterno’s listeners certainly didn’t mind. Alumni and those rural Pennsylvanians for whom big-time sports meant Penn State football relished this rare candid glimpse of a man who increasingly wrapped his program in secrecy. Those people hardly expected a coaching legend to suddenly reveal himself as an accomplished broadcaster. Many Penn State supporters, however, did expect that he continue to be a competent coach. And following the dismal seasons that had marked a strangely troubling new millennium at Penn State, some insisted he no longer was.
    Paterno was offering no indication that the 2004 season might be his last, even though his five-year contract was due to expire at season’s end. “I’m an idealist, I’m a romantic, and I’m a little bit of a cornball,” Paterno had said in March, “but I’m not naive—I understand human nature. There’s nothing that’s always exactly the way you want it. I’ve got to understand people are going to say, ‘Hey, you’re in it too long.’ ”
    Freshman players said he had assured them he would stay through their four years. He told reporters he still felt fresh and motivated.
    â€œI’ve got a lot of reasons to retire,” he said. “I have five children, (14) grandkids, and a young, active wife. It isn’t a question of ego or games won. I’ve always wanted to have an impact. I’m a teacher. You wake up every morning feeling good, looking forward to it. When I lose that, I’ll know.”
    As Paterno the radio analyst casually dissected the scrimmage, a nearby press-box television, tuned to that day’s NFL draft, unwittingly provided an ongoing commentary on the current state of his program.
    Seventeen years ago, Penn State had defeated Miami for the school’s last national