Anybody who knows anything at all about southern football will admit that the world lost a one-of-a-kind coach this past weekend with the death of the great Erskine Russell.

The "Bald Eagle," as he was affectionately called, Russell spent 17 years as defensive coach for the Georgia Bulldogs before he left in 1981 to build a football powerhouse at Georgia Southern. His success there is legendary, leading the team to its first three Division I-AA national titles.

A unique man, he left behind a legion of players who loved him and will miss him. One such player is my nephew, Flint Matthews, All-American linebacker, who played under Russell at Georgia Southern. With his permission, I'd like to share his remembrances of the man he calls a "football genius." "Remembering an Icon"

Growing up, I wanted to be a college football player. My father had played at Clemson and football seemed to come natural to me, especially living a "stone's throw" from Buddy Bufford Field. Initially, like all aspiring young players, playing for a major college team was the goal. I wanted to be a Tiger or a Yellow Jacket.

As far as preferences go, my grandfather [Mitchell Flint] was determined that his namesake would follow his loyalties and conclude that 155 North Avenue, Atlanta, Georgia, was the center of the college football universe. It worked. I could sing the Rambling Wreck, start to finish, by the time I could read. Always with emphasis on the next to the last line of the second verse.

Unlike the vast majority of my peers and relatives, a dog bark did nothing to excite me. I marveled at Herschel and stood in amazement as Munson pleaded for Lindsey to run, but never was I tempted to hitch a ride on the red-and-black bandwagon. Most of the time, however, the Junkyard crew turned my gold-andwhite optimism into shattered dreams around late November.

Despite all of this, one tough old head-banging Dawg enamored me. Erk Russell seemed larger than life. Little did I realize then, that my path would cross his on a whirlwind ride to small college football lore.

I signed a football scholarship to The Citadel because someone in Atlanta thought I wasn't big or smart enough to be a Yellow Jacket. They were probably right on both counts. Unfortunately, stern military discipline was a little more than this bullheaded country boy could take.

After a year, I left Charleston, uniforms, and morning drills behind, and decided to walk-on at my dad's alma mater. To be part of a rolling major college football power would be incredible, I thought. My career as a Clemson Tiger would last all of two weeks. I had made the mistake of challenging a 325 lb Noseguard, which drew the ire out of, not just him but, seemingly the entire team.

To make a long story short, I bolted. I resigned myself to the fact that I just wasn't cut out to be a college football player.

The Lord works in mysterious ways. Most people remember Curry Colvin as the beloved chairman of the Lincoln County Commission; I remember him as the link that would help resurrect me as a college player.

Mr. Colvin's son-in-law, Robert Lamb, was a huge supporter of Georgia Southern's fledgling football program and had close connections at GSU. He called me down to Statesboro to have a talk with the man himself, Erskine Russell. Reluctantly, I

agreed, though I was incredibly anxious about standing in the presence of a college football legend...especially with me being the topic of conversation.

With my granddaddy Auby and Mr. Colvin, I rode to Statesboro on a hot, late summer day. I walked onto the practice field on the banks of "Beautiful Eagle Creek" and there he stood, sweat covering his bald head that glistened in the glare of the oppressive south Georgia sun.

[Coach Russell] noticed me and immediately stopped his coaching duties and came over to greet me.

"I'm Erk Russell, nice to meet you." [Pause] "Son, do you still want to play football?"

"Yes sir," I told him.

"Then go on back home, get your bags and I'll see you on the practice field tomorrow."

That was the extent of our first conversation. Simplicity was just one of his great virtues.

We worked. No, I mean really worked! A hallmark of Erk Russell was that his players were going to always outwork the other team; never losing in the fourth quarter was a key element to his philosophy. If you want to win in the fourth, conditioning is first and foremost.

I never expected the weekly personal letters, however, letters that came in the middle of the summer, challenging me to train harder. He sent them out to every player. How many college coaches do that? Not many, I'd be willing to wager.

Yes, Erk Russell was the master of motivation. The amazing part was, he did it in the simplest of ways. Knowing we could not afford a late-season loss and make the playoffs, he told us the rallying cry would be "Just...One More Time."

The next day "Just...One More Time" was in the newspaper; the day after that, on t-shirts; a week later, in a game-day cheer; and years later, it was a college tradition. Words from great men stick; regardless of how simple the words are.

The Junkyard Dogs, GATA, TEAM-me, and Runts Try Harder, are just a few examples of simple concepts, formed in the mind of a football genius, that became larger-thanlife principles that would motivate his team, and countless others, to achieve greatness for years to come.

I missed curfew one night. Twomile runs at 6 a.m. for a week were my sentence. I expected to meet some sleepy-eyed graduate assistant that first morning. I was shocked to see that bald-headed man sitting there in his chair with his coffee, cigar, and morning paper. His shirt was soaked with sweat, evidence that he had already run his laps. It was that way every morning of that week. He was 61 years old at the time.

Moses had ten rules. Erk had only one. "Do Right!" That's it. Just do right. Granted, his interpretation of right didn't always mesh with mine or anybody else's but, looking back, I see that his interpretation was...well, it was right. It's a shame I haven't had Coach Russell to answer to all these years since my playing days.

During his years at UGA, Erk was known to congratulate his players with the phrase, "Damn Good Dawg!" Friday, September 8, 2006, the state of Georgia lost a Damn Great Man. His legacy will live on for a very long time.

Coach Russell, thank you for taking a chance on me by allowing me to play a small role in something very special. We'll miss you. With love, Flint Matthews