51ºÚÁÏ

On the local scene, the quarterback for Mizzou used to play for Penn State, and the quarterback for the Illini used to play for Ole Miss.

It makes me think of Jim Klutcharch. I did not know him. I only knew of him. On the south side of Chicago, he was considered a sure thing in the same way Dick Butkus and Cazzie Russell had been considered sure things a little earlier.

Butkus played football for Chicago Vocational, and then went on to star at the University of Illinois and then in the NFL. Russell played basketball at Carver, and then went on to star at the University of Michigan and then in the NBA.

Sometimes high school athletes just stand out.

Klutcharch was the quarterback for St. Rita High School in 1963. The team went unbeaten in the tough Catholic league and then beat the public school champ by the lop-sided score of 42 to 7. St. Rita was declared the national champion by the National Sports News Service.

Kluthcharch was heavily recruited. He signed with Purdue. In those days, college freshmen were not allowed to play in football or basketball, so there was no way for Klutcharch to know that the freshman already in waiting at Purdue was Bob Griese. So Klutcharch spent his first three years at Purdue watching the talented and durable Griese launch his spectacular career.

Dumb luck. You could be the second best quarterback in the country, but if you’re behind Griese, you’re on the bench. Klutcharch seemed to catch another bad break his senior year. He lost out to a younger competitor, Mike Phipps, who went on to become an All-American and eventually the third overall pick in the draft.

Griese then Phipps. What are the chances?

Of course, it’s not just in athletics. It’s life. We are all captive to dumb luck. We are never really in control. We go where the current takes us. We try not to capsize.

Maybe if there had been a transfer portal those days, Klutcharch would have taken a quick look at Griese and transferred. Maybe he’d have become rich and famous.

Plus, colleges weren’t supposed to pay athletes in those days. In today’s world, a guy with Klutcharch’s resume would be a millionaire before he set foot on campus.

In the old days, all a guy got was an education.

Klutcharch died two years ago.

His obituary did not mention St. Rita or the national championship or Purdue. It was mostly about family. He was the devoted husband, the loving father and the cherished grandfather. He had twin daughters and four grandchildren. As one of six kids himself, he had numerous nieces and nephews.

He was a teacher — physical education and driver’s ed. Also, a high school coach for 34 years. He coached football and baseball in a school district in northern Illinois. The obituary says nothing about championships or wins and losses.

He also coached his daughters’ travel softball team.

The online remembrances paint a portrait of an educator who was called Coach by all of the kids, even if they weren’t on his teams. For instance, you had Coach for driver’s ed. He sounds like a legendary figure, and yet an approachable man. He was a positive influence. The students saw him working second jobs, running during his lunch hours, always putting in the effort.

How many knew his whole story?

His wife did. They were high school sweethearts. She knew him when he was a sure thing.

Which is exactly what he turned out to be.

Character counts. It is the one sure thing.

I read his obit and the comments and I thought, This is the story of a successful man.

In a way, his story is everybody’s story. It didn’t start out that way. He was a golden boy, one in a million. And then he wasn’t. Instead, he was one of us. A normal guy.

To be sure, being a high school football coach puts you on a pedestal. There is a certain glamour in those Friday Night Lights. But that was probably a test, too. The lights could have been much brighter. The cheers could have been much louder and they could have been directed at him.

He must have been a remarkable guy.