You know, we talk a lot about winning in sports.
It's a word that gets thrown around so casually
that it almost loses its meaning. Oh, absolutely.
It's completely deleted. We call a coach a winner
if they have, what, two good seasons in a row?
Or if he managed to scrape together a bowl victory?
Right, or they hit a .600 zero winning percentage
and we're ready to build them a statue. We lower
the bar because, frankly, winning is hard. Sustaining
it is nearly impossible. It is the hardest thing
in sports. Entropy comes for everyone eventually.
You see it with dynasties all the time. They
rise, they peak, and then the inevitable decline
sets in. Gravity takes over. Exactly. But today,
we are looking at a figure who seems to have
defied gravity. We are talking about a man who
didn't just win. He dominated so thoroughly and
for so long that his record looks like a statistical
anomaly. It looks like a typo, is what it looks
like. It really does. We're talking about John
Merritt. Big John. Big John is the only name
that fits. The footprint he left on college football
is massive, even if the mainstream history books
sometimes unjustly gloss over it. Well, let's
just drop the number right at the top, because
I think if we bury this, people won't understand
the scale of what we're discussing. Let's do
it. During his tenure at Tennessee State, John
Merritt had a career -winning percentage of .828.
.828. Let's sit with that for a second. That
is winning more than four out of every five games.
It's winning eight out of every ten, basically.
Every single year for two decades. In modern
football, if a coach wins 60 % of their games,
they get a statue. If they win 70%, they are
a legend. Merritt was operating in the 80s. It
is rare air. You are talking about a percentage
that rivals the absolute greatest to ever do
it at any level. Newt Rockne, Frank Leahy. Those
are the kinds of names you have to invoke. Right.
But what makes Merritt's .828 so compelling to
me isn't just the math. It's the context. He
wasn't inheriting a fully oiled machine at Alabama
or Notre Dame. He was doing it during one of
the most tumultuous eras in American history.
That is the key, isn't it? He wasn't just an
X's and O's guy. He was a figurehead. A pillar.
When you look at his total career record, 235
wins, 70 losses, 12 ties, that represents a level
of consistency that is almost humanly impossible.
It is. He turned programs into powerhouses, but
he also built a legacy that literally reshapes
the cities he lived in. Quite literally. We are
talking about a man who has bridges and boulevards
named after him. You don't get municipal infrastructure
named after you just because you called a good
play on third and long. Not usually, no. You
get it because you meant something to the soul
of the community. So that is our mission today.
We are going to unpack the life of one of college
football's greatest winners. We're going to look
at how he did it, obviously. But I also want
to look at the who. Who was Big John? The man
behind the numbers. Yes. We need to talk about
the NFL legends he molded, and I mean absolute
titans of the game. And we have to discuss a
specific moment in 1973, a what -if moment that
could have changed the entire trajectory of college
football history. That 1973 moment is the pivot
point of his entire biography. It tells you everything
you need to know about his character. But before
we get to the dynasty and the difficult decisions,
we have to go back to the start. To understand
the coach, I think we have to understand the
player. Absolutely. You cannot separate the two.
It all starts there. Okay, so John Ayers Merritt,
born January 26, 1926. Falmouth, Kentucky. Now
think about that time and place. 1926 in Kentucky.
He is growing up in the Depression, coming of
age during World War II. It's a different world.
A completely different world. That breeds a certain
type of toughness, a certain type of pragmatism.
You don't have the luxury of being frivolous.
Life is about survival and hard work. And...
He stays in state for his education. He goes
to Kentucky State University, graduates in 1950.
Right, an alumnus. But his playing days were
from 1947 to 1949. And this, to me, is where
the first breadcrumb of his coaching genius lies.
He wasn't the star quarterback. No, and he wasn't
the flash -in -the -pan running back either.
Not the guy getting his name in the headlines
every week. He was a guard. An interior lineman.
Now, I have a theory about this, and I want to
see if you agree. I feel like some of the best
coaches in history come from positions where
they had to understand the entire game, not just
their own route or their own throwing lane. Yeah.
But a guard, that feels specific. I think you
are onto something, but I would take it a step
further. Think about what a guard does. You're
in a phone booth. You are in a phone booth fight
on every single snap. It is physical, brutal,
unglamorous work. It's all leverage and pain.
And no one ever chants your name. Never. But
it is also highly technical. As a guard, you
have to know leverage. You have to know angles.
You have to know how to use your hands, your
feet, your hips in perfect concert. And maybe
most importantly, you have to be unselfish. Absolutely.
Your entire job is to clear a path for someone
else to get the glory. Your success is measured
by someone else's touchdown. That is a great
point. You are literally the shield, the unsung
hero of every single successful play. Exactly.
So if you are a coach who played guard, you understand
the foundational elements of the game. You understand
that the game isn't won by the guy spiking the
ball in the end zone. It is won by the guy who
made the block three seconds earlier. Yeah. That
mindset that. In the Trenches mentality permeates
Merritt's entire career. He built his teams from
the inside out. He always started with the line
of scrimmage. And it suggests a level of toughness
that you can't fake. If you're standing in front
of a team of young men and you are telling them
to get tough, to get their nose dirty. It helps
if you've been there. It helps if you have the
scars to prove you've done it yourself. Credibility
is currency in coaching. And Big John had that
currency in spades. But here is the contradiction
or maybe the compliment to that brute force background.
He wasn't just a football guy. Right. This surprised
me. He graduates in 1950 and almost immediately
pivots to higher education. He earns a master's
degree from the University of Kentucky in 1952.
That is a very distinct choice. It's not the
path of least resistance. Not at all. I mean,
plenty of guys finish playing and just go get
a job. Or they jump right into coaching as a
graduate assistant, a grunt. But to go get a
master's degree in the early 50s. It signals
ambition, but it also signals intellect. It shows
he saw a bigger picture. It signals that he viewed
coaching as a profession, as a discipline that
required study. He wasn't just going to rely
on his gut or yell louder than the next guy.
No, he was bringing an academic rigor to his
approach. He was a student of the game, yes,
but he was also just a student, period. He valued
education, not just for his players, but for
himself. It sets the stage for the nickname Big
John to mean something more than just physical
size. It was a... Bigness of personality, sure,
but also a bigness of mind. That's it. He was
an intellectual approach to a violent game. And
that combination, the guard's toughness and the
scholar's mind, is a terrifying combination for
an opponent. You can't outthink him and you can't
out -tough him. So he has the degree. He has
the playing experience. Now he needs a team.
And he lands his first head coaching gig at Jackson
State. Well, back then it was Jackson College.
Right. This is the early 1950s, his first shot
at running the whole show. He takes over around
1952 or 53, and his tenure there runs until 1962.
Now, looking at the back end of his career, we
see all these undefeated seasons and championships.
So it is easy to assume he just walked into Jackson
State and started winning immediately. But that
is not what happened. And I think this is crucial
for the listeners to understand. Merritt wasn't
a magician. He was a builder. And building takes
time. I'm looking at the record here. 1952, his
first year. Three wins, five losses, one tie.
Not great. A losing season right out of the gate.
1953, slightly better at 5 -4. A winning record,
but just barely. Okay, some progress. Moving
in the right direction. But then, 1954. This
is the nadir. This is the moment where most careers
would end. Oh, this is the test. One win, seven
losses. One or one tie. A one -win season. If
that happens today. If a coach is in his third
year and he puts up a 1 -7 record. He is cleaning
out his office the next morning. The moving trucks
are already there. Almost certainly. The patience
for building has evaporated in modern sports.
But think about what that season must have felt
like. You are a young coach. You have this master's
degree. You have these big ideas. And you are
getting beaten every single week. Humiliating.
It has to be. That tests your resolve. It tests
your philosophy. Do you panic? Do you change
everything? Do you start pointing fingers? That
is the question. Did he change? He didn't. From
everything we can gather, he doubled down on
his culture. He weeded out the players who weren't
buying in. He established the standard. He made
it clear that mediocrity wasn't an option, even
when the scoreboard said they were worse than
mediocre. He trusted the process, as they say
now. He did. And usually right after the darkest
moment is when the breakthrough happens, if you
survive it. And the breakthrough was dramatic.
Two years later, 1956, they go 6 -2 -2. That
is the pivot. That's the moment the ship turns
around. From one win to six wins in two years.
And from there, the rocket ship takes off. The
foundation is set. By 1961, they are 9 -2. He
took a program that was literally at the bottom
winning one game and within a few years turned
them into a nine -win juggernaut. That is the
definition of coaching. Right. Anybody can drive
a Ferrari across the finish line. Merritt took
a beat -up sedan, rebuilt the engine piece by
piece, and won the race. And they didn't just
win games, they won titles. SWAC champions in
1961 and 1962. And the SWAC, we need to contextualize
this. The Southwestern Athletic Conference, this
is historic territory. We're talking about grambling
under Eddie Robinson, Southern, Jackson State,
Alcorn State. It's a murderer's row. Winning
the SWAC in the early 60s is like winning the
SEC today. It was a gauntlet of legendary coaches
and incredible talent. And winning that conference
led them to the Orange Blossom Classic. The biggest
stage there was. The granddaddy of them all for
HBCUs. For listeners who might not know, explain
the significance of the Orange Blossom Classic
in that era. You have to remember this is before
full integration of the NCAA bowl system. For
decades, black college teams were excluded from
the major bowls like the Rose Bowl or Sugar Bowl.
So they created their own championship. Their
own pinnacle. Exactly. The Orange Blossom Classic,
usually played in Miami, was effectively the
Super Bowl of black college football. It was
the event. The national media covered it. It
was where the champion was crowned. If you were
playing in the Orange Blossom, you were the elite
of the elite. And Merritt took Jackson State
there back to back. Which is incredible consistency.
It's one thing to have a great season. It's another
to do it two years in a row and establish yourself
as the dominant force. 1961, they go and they
lose. A taste of the big time, but they fall
short. But 1962, they go back and they win. The
team goes 10 -1. Think about that arc. 1954,
1 -7, losing nearly every game. The program is
an afterthought. Eight years later, 1962, 10
-1 and Orange Blossom champions. They are the
best in the nation. That decade at Jackson State
was his proof of concept. He proved that his
system worked. He proved that he could take nothing
and turn it into everything. His final record
there, 63 -37 -5. He left the program in a completely
different universe than where he found it. And
that's when other people start to notice. When
you build a champion like that, the phone starts
ringing. So by 1963, he has nothing left to prove
at Jackson State. He is a champion. And Tennessee
A &I, which eventually becomes Tennessee State
University, comes calling. And this is where
the story shifts from a great coach to a legend.
He moves to Nashville in 1963. And unlike Jackson
State, where he had to dig them out of a hole
at Tennessee State, he hit the ground running.
Immediate impact. There was no learning curve
this time. 1963, his first year. Yeah. 6 -3.
1964, 8 -2. He established the culture much faster
this time, probably because he was bringing that
confidence, that championship pedigree with him.
He knew exactly what the blueprint was now. And
then the explosion. 1965 and 1966. The golden
years. This is where the dynasty is truly born.
1965. 9 -0 -1, 1966, 10 -arrow. Undefeated, back
-to -back, just utter dominance. This is where
that .828 percentage really starts to bake in.
He wasn't just winning, he was unbeatable. You
just did not beat a John Merritt team in the
mid -60s. And it wasn't a fluke. It wasn't one
great recruiting class. When you look at his
entire tenure at Tennessee State, he had four
undefeated seasons. Four. That's absurd. Most
coaches pray for one undefeated season in a 30
-year career. Merritt had four. And these weren't
cupcake schedules. He was playing against the
best of the best. And the championships kept
stacking up. I have the list here. It's just
relentless. Read it out. It's worth hearing.
Black College National Championships in 65, 66,
70, 71, 73, 79, 82. It's relentless. That spans
three different decades. It does. The game changed
so much between 1965 and 1982. The rules changed.
The style of play changed. The recruiting landscape
changed dramatically with integration. That's
a great point. A coach who wins in the 60s off.
and struggles in the 80s because they become
a dinosaur. They refuse to adapt. They're still
trying to run the wishbone when everyone else
is throwing the ball. Right, the game passes
them by. But Merritt was winning titles 20 years
apart. That shows he was a constant innovator.
But it also speaks to his adaptability, and you
mentioned it before, his eye for talent. He wasn't
just winning with scheme. He was winning with
players. Oh, he was winning with absolute dogs.
And this is where we have to talk about the pipeline.
The talent factory. Tennessee State under Merritt
became an absolute conveyor belt to the NFL.
He was identifying and developing talent at a
level that rivaled any school in the country.
We are not talking about fringe roster guys here.
We are not talking about guys who made a practice
squad for a year. No, no. We are talking about
household names. Legends. Let's run down the
list because it's incredible. Ed Tutal Jones.
Maybe the most famous defensive end of his era.
A cultural icon. The first overall pick in the
1974 NFL draft. The first pick from Tennessee
State. Think about that. The Dallas Cowboys,
America's team, had the number one pick in the
entire draft. And they went to Nashville, Tennessee
to John Merritt's program to find their cornerstone
player. That tells you everything about the respect
he commanded. Okay, next name, Joe Gilliam. Jefferson
Street Joe. A trailblazing quarterback. One of
the first black quarterbacks to start in the
modern NFL for the Steelers. He had an absolute
cannon for an arm. Claude Humphrey. Hall of Famer,
six -time Pro Bowler, Defensive Rookie of the
Year, an absolute terror off the edge for the
Falcons. Mike Hegman, a linebacker for the Cowboys,
won a Super Bowl. And the big one. Richard Dent.
Richard Dent, the MVP of Super Bowl XX, a Chicago
Bears icon, Hall of Famer. One of the greatest
pass rushers of all time. He was the engine of
that legendary 85 Bears defense. Now, I want
to go back to your theory about Merritt playing
guard. Sure. Look at those names again. Two tall
Jones, Claude Humphrey, Richard Dent, Mike Hagman.
What do they have in common? They're all defensive
front seven players. They are the guys whose
job it is to beat the offensive line. They live
on the other side of the line of scrimmage from
where Merritt lived. Exactly. Is it a coincidence
that a former guard, a guy who spent his entire
career battling defensive linemen, became the
world's greatest recruiter and developer of defensive
ends and linebackers? I don't think it is a coincidence
at all. I think it is genius. Merritt knew exactly
what gave him nightmares as a player. He knew
what moves worked against a guard. He knew what
kind of leverage, what kind of hand placement
made an offensive lineman uncomfortable. We knew
all their secrets. All of them. So when he was
coaching these young defensive giants, these
incredible athletes like Too Tall or Richard
Dent, he wasn't just teaching them generic defense.
He was giving them the cheat codes to beat the
offense. He was reverse engineering his own position.
Precisely. He could look at Ed Too Tall Jones
and say, look, you're six foot nine. If you get
your hands here and you use a long arm technique
like this, the guard physically cannot stop you.
I know because I was that guard and that's what
beat me. He's teaching them from the enemy's
perspective. And the result was a defensive legacy
that stands up against any program in the country,
Alabama, USC, whoever. In the 70s and 80s, Tennessee
State was D -line U. And that success? That ability
to produce NFL stars raised Merritt's profile
significantly. By the early 70s, he wasn't just
a great HBCU coach. He was just a great coach,
period. Everyone knew it. The NFL scouts knew
it. The other college coaches knew it. His name
was being whispered in circles that just a decade
earlier would have been completely closed off.
Which brings us to 1973, the moment of truth.
The fork in the road. Merritt is coming off back
-to -back -to -back dominant seasons. He's won
national championships in 70 and 71. He's about
to win another in 73. His stock is at an all
-time high. He's arguably one of the top five
coaches in all of college football at that moment,
regardless of division. And he gets a phone call
from Wichita State. Now, we need to set the scene.
1973. This is still the very early days of integration
and coaching. You had black assistant coaches,
sure. But the head coaching ranks at the major
college level, what we would call the FBS or
Division IA today, were still exclusively white
at the top. Completely. A total glass ceiling.
Wichita State offers John Merritt their head
coaching job, a major Division IA program. If
he takes that job. He becomes the first black
head coach of a major college football team in
history. It's a Jackie Robinson moment waiting
to happen. It is historic. It is groundbreaking.
Frankly, it is lucrative. The resources, the
pay, the national exposure on television every
week. Everything would have leveled up. The contract
was likely sitting right there. The pen was probably
in his hand. The history books were open, waiting
for him to write his name in a new chapter. A
chapter that would have changed everything for
the coaches who came after him. He would have
been the pioneer. And he didn't sign. He turned
it down. He said no. He stayed at Tennessee State.
Why? I mean, really, why? We see coaches jump
ship today for a slightly nicer locker room or
a few extra dollars. He had the chance to make
history and get paid. It is the question that
defines him. And the answer is just as defining.
The source quotes him directly on this. He said
he chose to remain out of loyalty to his players
and assistants. It sounds almost quaint today,
doesn't it? In the era of the transfer portal
and coaches leaving in the middle of the night.
But think about what that means. It means everything.
He looked at the young men he had recruited to
Tennessee State guys he sat in living rooms with
and promised their mothers he would take care
of. He looked at his assistant coaches, guys
who had been grinding with him since the Jackson
State days, who depended on him for their livelihood.
And he felt he couldn't leave them. He realized
that if he left for his own personal glory, he
might be leaving them behind. He couldn't guarantee
that Wichita State would hire his whole staff.
He couldn't guarantee that the players he recruited
would be treated the same way by a new coach.
He chose his community over his own personal
glory. And I think there is a deeper layer, too.
I think he knew. that what he had at Tennessee
State was special. He had autonomy. He had respect.
He was the king of his castle. Right. He was
building young black men into leaders in an environment
that was designed for them, that celebrated them
going to Wichita State. That would have been
a battle. He would have been fighting not just
opponents on the field, but likely racism and
skepticism off the field every single day. That's
a fair assessment. He was king in Nashville.
In Wichita, he would have been an experiment.
Exactly. And by staying, he made a powerful statement.
He essentially said, I don't need a PWI, a predominantly
white institution, to validate me. My championships
are real. My players are real. I am a champion
right here. And honestly, that decision probably
cemented his legend in Nashville more than any
win ever could. Oh, absolutely. It proved he
was Big John, the man, not just the coach. He
was loyal to the soil. The players would run
through a brick wall for a coach who turned down
history for them. And he proved he made the right
call by just keeping on winning. Yeah. It wasn't
like he stayed and got complacent. He didn't
rest on his laurels. No. Machine kept humming.
If anything, it got stronger. We look at the
late career stats. 1979, 8 -3, black college
national champs again. But 1982 stands out to
me. 1982 is a crucial year for context. They
go 10 -1 -1, another national championship. But
this was also the era where the NCAA started
the Division IAA playoffs. The structure of the
sport. Right. This is the beginning of the modern
era. It wasn't just about bowl games and polvos
anymore. There was a formal playoff bracket to
determine a national champion. And Merritt led
Tennessee State. to their first ever NCAA Division
IAA playoff victory that year. They made it all
the way to the semifinals. That is significant
because it answers the critics who might have
said, oh, he could only win in the old system.
No, he stepped into the modern playoff era and
won immediately. He proved his brand of football
worked no matter what the format was. So here
he is. It's the early 80s. He's nearly 60 years
old. He's conquered the old era. He is conquering
the new era. He is still on top of the mountain.
He's an institution and an icon. And then it
just... So abruptly. The timeline is jarring.
He coaches the 1983 season. They go 8 -1, still
winning, another great year. Still dominant,
still a championship caliber team. And then a
couple weeks after the season ends, December
15, 1983, he dies. Heart disease. Vanderbilt
University Hospital. He was 57 years old. 57,
that is shockingly young, especially for a football
coach who seems so larger than life. We see guys
coaching into their 70s now. Saban, Snyder, Joe
Paterno. 57 is usually when a coach is entering
their absolute prime wisdom years. They've seen
it all. He was cut down right at the peak of
his powers. He had just navigated the transition
to Division IAA. He had another powerhouse team.
He was still recruiting future NFL legends. And
then he was gone. It really is a tragedy. But
despite leaving us so early, the mark he left
is permanent. We alluded to it earlier, the infrastructure.
It is hard to miss him if you are in Nashville.
You literally drive on his legacy. John Merritt
Boulevard. A major artery in the city right there
by the university. It's a daily reminder of his
impact. You're back in his hometown of Falmouth,
Kentucky. The John Ayers Merritt Memorial Bridge.
I love the symbolism of the bridge. He bridged
the gap for so many players from a life of limited
opportunity to a future in the NFL or as community
leaders. He bridged the gap between the segregated
era and the modern era. And then there is the
living tribute, the game itself. The John Merritt
classic. Tennessee State opens every home season
with this game at Nissan Stadium. The home of
the Tennessee Titans. It is a massive event.
It's a celebration. It's not just a football
game. It's a reunion, a festival. It ensures
that every single player who puts on a Tennessee
State uniform knows whose shoulders they are
standing on. You can't play your first game without
saying his name. And eventually, the broader
football world caught up to what everyone in
Nashville and in the HBCU community already knew.
The Hall of Fame. Inducted into the College Football
Hall of Fame in 1994. Long overdue, but well
-deserved. A no -brainer. And in 1995, he received
the Amos Alonzo Stagg Award. Now, can you give
us some context on that? Because I know that
it's a big deal. The Stagg Award is one of the
highest honors in coaching. It recognizes outstanding
service in the advancement of the best interests
of football. It's not just about wins and losses.
It's about your contribution to the game. Exactly.
And if you look at the list of recipients, it
is the Mount Rushmore of football, Bear Bryant,
Woody Hayes, Bosham Beffler, Joe Paterno. And
John Merritt. And John Merritt. He is right there
next to them where he belongs. His name is on
that list forever. When you put his resume up
against those guys, 235 wins. 70 losses, 12 ties.
A .764 career winning percentage over 30 years.
5 -2 in bowls. 8 black college national championships.
5 conference titles. It stands toe -to -toe with
any of them. In fact, his winning percentage
is higher than most of them. Higher than Bear
Bryant's. Higher than Woody Hayes'. So, we have
unpacked the stats. We have unpacked the loyalty.
We have unpacked the legacy. When you step back
and look at the whole picture of Big John Merritt,
What is the takeaway for you? I think the takeaway
is that excellence is transferable. He had excellence
as a player in the trenches doing the hard, unnoticed
work. He transferred that to his studies and
got his master's. He transferred that to a losing
program at Jackson State and built a champion.
He transferred that to a dynasty at Tennessee
State. And he transferred to his players. And
he transferred that excellence into the hundreds
of young men who went on to be professionals
and leaders. He was a conductor of excellence.
I love that. He didn't just hoard the success.
He distributed it. Exactly. His legacy isn't
just the trophies. It's the men he built. It's
Richard Dent holding up the Super Bowl MVP trophy.
It's Ed Jones being the first tick in the draft.
It's the bridge and the boulevard. It's all of
it. And I can't help but go back to that final
what if. a thought experiment. It's impossible
not to. He died at 57. He was winning 80 % of
his games. If he lives to be 70, another 13 seasons.
Yeah. What does his career record look like?
Well, at his average of about eight or nine wins
a year, you're looking at another 100 victories.
He gets to 335 wins, maybe more. That puts him
in the top five all time. Almost certainly. He
was on pace. He'd be right there with Eddie Robinson
and Bear Bryant. So that's one what if. The other
is... What if he had taken that Wichita State
job in 73? Oh, that's the big one. How different
would the landscape of college football history
look today? If he goes there and succeeds, and
with his track record, why wouldn't he? Does
that open the door for dozens of other black
coaches a decade earlier than it happened? I
think it has to. He would have broken the glass
ceiling. He would have proven that an HBCU coach
could win at the highest level of a PWI. The
ripple effect would have been enormous. We might
have seen a completely different, more integrated
coaching landscape by the mid -80s. But he didn't.
He chose loyalty. He did. So instead of becoming
the first, he became the greatest at what he
was already building. It's one of the great lost
chapters of sports history. It is. But the chapters
he did write, they are pretty incredible. They
certainly are. Unforgettable. Big John Merritt.
A guard. A scholar. Thanks for taking this deep
dive with us. Always a pleasure. We will see
you next time. Keep digging.