HAZELWOOD: Unspoken motivation led to Livengood's HOF career

Looking back, it still doesn't make sense. The whole scene felt strange to me then. Even nearly 20 years later as I learned more, it doesn't quite add up. Seven times, I watched John Livengood hit the pause and rewind buttons on his remote, replaying a single snap. Less than an hour before, his St. Paul football team had overwhelmed Mohawk in the second half of a 41-7 first-round playoff win at Whitney Field on Nov. 5, 2005. The play in question was a simple 1-yard touchdown run by running back Joe Stoll. He essentially jogged in from the right side with no resistance. But over and over, the coach kept replaying this sequence. Finally, he turned to one of his assistant coaches — who had simply entered the room to return Livengood's keys after locking something away — and pointed out what caught his eye. At the top of the screen, as far away from Stoll's easy run as possible, a St. Paul player didn't have to block a defender. But he didn't come out of his stance with the proper technique, and his feet weren't correctly set or spaced before the snap. "We have to talk to him about that," Livengood told his assistant. "He can't be doing that." The week before in that same 2005 season, I recall watching one of the lone punts the Flyers had in a 46-6 win over Plymouth. Just after the play was over, a St. Paul player was flagged 15 yards for a personal foul for a late shove— near where the ball landed at the far opposite end of the sideline where Livengood stood. The player in question quietly slinked off the field at that end, and for a moment, probably thought he had avoided any confrontation with his head coach. You know how the rest of the story goes. Livengood made a beeline for said player, and let's just say it was a one-sided conversation about losing focus — and playing time. Livengood announced his retirement from coaching last month on Dec. 8. His 33-year career at St. Paul goes down as one of the best in the history of Ohio high school football. When you reflect on a tenure that spanned that long with 310 wins and every possible championship there was to win, those two stories — not the victories — immediately come to mind. For me, that's why the wins came so frequently: Livengood didn't miss the tiniest of details, and the discipline he established within the program was always evident. My job aside, I had a look into all the different stages of Livengood's tenure at St. Paul. When he arrived at the school, my mother worked there and often made mention of a young, no-nonsense new coach. My cousin was a starting offensive lineman for him on his first two of 21 Firelands Conference titles in 1992 and 1993. Then came my four years of high school across the street at Norwalk. Having attended both schools, I had several friends on those St. Paul teams that went to multiple state championship games. Soon after were my wife's years at the school, then I became a writer in 2003. Something that stood out during those years was how much time Livengood spent at Whitney Field. The long hours of a head coach and athletic director are simply part of the job, much like my profession doesn't really offer much in the way of a free weekend. But all that time spent breaking down game films and fielding successful teams on a yearly basis came at a price. When I interviewed Livengood for his retirement, it took him exactly 37 seconds to reference a moment that clearly sticks with him. Prior to a second-round game against Warren JFK in 2007, the St. Paul volleyball team was playing in a state semifinal at Wright State University in the early evening. A win meant a spot in the state championship match Saturday night — at the same time as the football playoff game in Medina. The dilemma for the head coach and athletic director: his oldest daughter, Hannah, was a member of the volleyball team. And 16 years later, Livengood can tell you exactly where he was on his drive home from practice to his home as he listened to his daughter serve eight points in a row in a big momentum-shifting stretch of the match. He coached the football team to a win 48 hours later as the volleyball team played for the state title more than three hours away. Even though missing that important event for his oldest daughter left a mark, so did the other side of the coin. Hannah recently told me she has vivid memories of waiting for her dad to finish his postgame interviews with myself and sometimes others. In recent years, she got to experience that with her own kids waiting for him to finish up with me after a game. When she was younger, Hannah held the headset cords for her dad during games, long before they were wireless. There were donuts before school for herself, and siblings Olivia and CJ, if they got up early to go to church. After mass on Sundays, the kids went to the field and finished washing, drying and folding the uniforms from the night before. Hannah's point: Yes, Livengood missed many events with the commitment level from the coaching position. "But everything about St. Paul football was so much a part of our family's routine that it seemed completely normal," she said. "As a kid, those jobs felt so special to me, and in my mind, it was such an important role." On the field, the success is told in the win-loss record. One could write pages and pages on various stats, numbers and trends from that 310-87 record. But beneath the surface of a 47-24 playoff record is one somewhat obscure stat. The Flyers were 38-0 under Livengood in the playoffs when they had the lead through three quarters. That is noteworthy in two ways: his teams almost always had the lead entering the final quarter, and when they did, they finished the game and advanced in the playoffs every time. Also noteworthy is how few major upset wins there were. Sure, there were some. I'm sure past players and coaches would likely argue there are more. But in reality, the Flyers just consistently won. They won nearly 80 percent of the time for 33 seasons. To me, that was always the most fascinating part of this run. Growing up in grade school and junior high, Livengood never played for a team with a winning record. When he played backyard football in his neighborhood as a kid, he was often the last kid selected for a team. That continued in high school at any of the three levels at Norwalk, where he didn't crack the starting lineup as an offensive lineman until halfway through his junior season. Four more losing seasons followed at Ohio Northern University as a college player. All but one season as an assistant coach saw more losing, as did his first year as a head coach in 1991. It was never publicly spoken, but LIvengood admitted to me it was a driving force that was embedded in him. He had a constant need to prove himself. It's why the stance and posture of a player that looked completely pointless to me was such a sticking point on film, and why a 15-yard penalty in a 40-point game was upsetting. Starting with his second season at St. Paul in 1992, Livengood's teams never posted a losing record again, and were .500 just twice. In the end, a coach who had never won anything for much of his football life, quietly carried a chip on his shoulder into every game of every season. And as a result, his teams did nothing but win.