Wednesday, 6 a.m.
It was morning in the sky, and already, we were flying like one of Steve Spurrier's visors. It was a little bumpy, in other words.
We sat there, cramped on the plane, coming back to Tampa. The game the previous day hadn't had a lot of meaning, as I recall. Just coming home from another day at work.
The guy sitting next to me was a Florida fan, all decked out in his blue and orange. We chatted a bit about quarterbacks and end zones, and goals and seasons. And then, as if on impulse, he asked a simple question. “Do you like Steve Spurrier?''
I smiled. I told him that I thought Spurrier, then at Florida, was an excellent football coach. I told him that he was bright and innovative. I
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