Spare us the tough love tributes. Good riddance to Bobby Knight. For all of the mothers' sons who felt his brand of abuse made men of them, there were plenty of others who saw him for the boor he was and always will be. And that latter list doesn't even begin to include the writers, telecasters, officials and others who felt his everlasting, invective-laced scorn and contempt.
One writer said things would be far less interesting than they were the day before he quit. What is that ancient Chinese curse about living in interesting times? Others cited his rotten timing and wondered, baring extenuating circumstances such as illness or family crisis, what kind of man who dressed himself in the flag at every turn just ups and quits in the middle of a commitment to his team, his school and his coaching fraternity?
Oh, sure, he marched to his own drummer so little things like contracts and commitments are beneath his brand of individualism, but if you've had a chance to watch any of the lowlight reels on the net today in which Knight tees off on one victim or another, beeps peppering his diatribes every other sentence, you will see a guy who is full of himself, vindictive and is enjoying himself immensely at other people's expense.
In the end, his sudden departure brings us to the biggest surprise of all. Ask not whether we will have Bobby to kick around anymore; more to the point, what unsuspecting dog is about to become his new whipping boy?