Beware of the Buddha Mode

It's the middle of the college football season, one of my favorite times of the year as a handicapper. Most of the teams have taken on the primary form they will demonstrate for the rest of the season. Strengths and weaknesses have been revealed. Teams that are rolling toward likely bowl games are pretty well identified, and so are those that have become hampered by an inordinate number of key injuries. And teams with major problems on either offense or defense – or both – are usually quite apparent, with their fickle fans usually expressing their disappointment daily in the media, ever more so in the "electronic age."



Being a behavioralist by training, it is always fascinating for me to watch how the many coaches under fire react to their situations. And, as a sports handicapper for decades, there are a couple of telltale signs that I look for when it comes to wagering.



One of the first "stop signs" I see when a coach is under fire for a disappointing campaign is when he goes into what I call the "Buddha Mode" for the last few games of the season. This happens when a coach, fully aware of his team's repeated poor results, stands on the sidelines with his headphones on (and often, eyeglasses down over his nose), stoically staring at his play card – like some sad, contemplative Buddha figure – as another game goes down the drain. Usually, these coaches are attempting to convey calm and steadiness to their struggling young players, and maintain a professional air about the whole situation while their season is going to hell in a handbasket. Tyrone Willingham in his final several games at Notre Dame often assumed such a pose, prompting frustrated Irish fans throughout the nation to scream at their TVs, "Don't just stand there. Do something!"


In the pros, coaches such as Bill Callahan of the 2003 Raiders assumed much the same posture as Super Bowl participant Oakland the previous season finished its depressing 4-12 campaign the ensuing year by losing five of its last six games. Most of the time, trying to demonstrate that type of calm, cool, collected, analytical, note-taking leadership under duress is not the best way to go. An insistent, focused, direct, forceful approach is more helpful to players.



Then, we have the opposite of the coaches' "Buddha Mode," which is the "Panic Mode." When things are going from bad to worse – again – on a troubled team, coaches who go into the panic mode pace up and down the sidelines with great animation, usually screaming at officials, players, and assistants alike, with the thought that their gyrations are the equivalent of leadership. Of course, they're wrong, as neither the refs, players, assistants, fans, nor TV audiences are fooled. It has always been curious to me that coaches who go into the panic mode during games think their antics will help save their teams and their jobs, when, usually, neither is the case.



The handicapping importance of recognizing the Buddha Mode and the Panic Mode from now until the end of the season is that either can be a clear indicator that the coaches are usually de facto lame ducks for the rest of the year, with their fates likely already decided. And lame ducks are not good for football teams, which are like a huge family, with the paternal leader (the head coach), his brothers (the assistants), and his children (the players).



When the "brothers" and "children" know the "father" is going to be leaving, some strange things can happen. Close-knit teams will tend to bond together and fight hard for a well-liked "father" who they believe has been wronged.



But when the "father" is no longer respected by the "children" (as most Buddha and Panic coaches are not), the situation tends to deteriorate. And this is when handicappers can take advantage, usually several times before the end of the season. One classic case was Jerry Faust's last game as coach at Notre Dame in 1985. Faust, a nice guy who was formerly only a high school coach before taking over in South Bend, definitely fit into the category of the Panic Mode as his dispirited 5-5 Irish team took on Jimmy Johnson's Hurricanes down in Miami. Faust had been badgered for weeks (months, really) in the media about whether he would step aside so that a more qualified coach could be brought in to lead the Irish. Most of his players knew all too well that their leader was often overmatched on the sidelines. And things went from bad to worse in that Miami game, with the Hurricanes gleefully stomping on Irish prestige in a 58-7 rout. Faust resigned shortly thereafter.



Once you notice the Buddha Mode or the Panic Mode, remember that old handicapping adage: "Don't expect a sick cat to get well." Just as winning begets winning in sports, losing usually begets losing. College players become embarrassed on campus. Worse yet, assistant coaches see the handwriting on the wall and start spending part of their time networking with their buddies about possible future job openings rather than focusing their attention on upcoming opponents. Once a head coach resigns or is dismissed, many players subsequently admit that they didn't try their hardest when they knew the team was in its death throes.



When you know such a situation is occurring, it's usually not good to try to pick the game when a "sick" team will play well. Either go against it or "pass" on that week's game.



Keep in mind that there are some positives to look for when it comes to struggling teams down the stretch. The key is to search out the proven, quality head coaches who know their jobs are safe, either because of a loyal fan base (there are fewer of these anymore) or because they know they have great support from the athletic director or school president. Such confident, high-quality coaches can easily eschew both the Buddha Mode and the Panic Mode, feeling free to experiment with their teams and/or build for the future by changing quarterbacks, turning to their young players, or gambling with their play calls. These "fathers" tend to gather their "families" closely together under adversity, and can be dangerous underdogs against opponents who underestimate them because of losses earlier in the season.



Chuck Sippl ([email protected]) is the senior editor of The Gold Sheet, the first word in sports handicapping for 49 years. The amazingly compact Gold Sheet features analysis of every football and basketball game, exclusive insider reports, widely followed Power Ratings, and a Special Ticker of key injuries and team chemistry. Look for The Gold Sheet on newsstands. Or, you can obtain a complimentary copy by calling The Gold Sheet at (800) 798-GOLD (4653), and be sure to mention you read about it in Card Player. You can check out The Gold Sheet on the web at www.goldsheet.com.