Jim Tressel may save his job, but his reputation is shot. He can cure cancer, rescue orphans from a burning building, and get Al-Qaeda to lay down their arms—but he will still be known as a coach who lied to win football games.

He is a man who may also be called a coward. He lied about knowing players’ involvement in the tattoo fiasco prior to December because he knew he could not win the Sugar Bowl without them. He lied verbally, and then he signed his name to a statement for the NCAA.

Now we’ve learned Tressel knew of it in April. He didn’t want players to be ineligible for games during the regular season, either.

Had he come clean to the NCAA in the beginning, the players would have missed perhaps four to five games that they may have won anyway. Then they would have been eligible for the “meat” of the schedule.

Tressel would have had his players a winning schedule, and kept his reputation intact.

But he intentionally chose to lie and take a gamble. It was a big risk. And then he tried to renege on that gambled wager, and lie some more, and say he did it to protect his players.

No. Jim, you did it to protect your own ass.

You made the players promise to take a five-game suspension and come back to serve it: to serve five games for your mistake in judgment.

But then you only offered to serve two games.

You told the players they had to prove they were in it for the team: and to serve that suspension and for the good of the team, return to take their punishment.

And you offered to do two years, you who knew better, who absolutely knew the rules that the players may not have known.

And you were the man who orchestrated the lies, the cover-up—and more—to the school, the good players, and then the NCAA. You not only lied, but you signed your name.

You not only threw your own players under the bus without willing to take the trip with them, but you lied to your school and to the NCAA.

You violated two clauses in your contract with Ohio State which could cause you to be terminated without future compensation.

You violated NCAA rules costing your players and your school many penalties, not to mention yourself.

You rolled the dice and when you lost, you didn’t pay up. That’s just slimy.

To roll the dice like you did and gamble your players’ years at Ohio State—to betray your school who has heretofore treated you like a king—is reprehensible. Then, to try and welsh on the bet makes you one of the dirtiest, slimiest coaches now working.

You were shamed into taking the same penalties as the players, but here’s the sad truth: the NCAA is not through with you. They see you for who you are.

They do not like coaches who gamble with young men’s college lives the way you do. They don’t like coaches who look them in the face and lie to them. They don’t like coaches who falsely sign documents and statements. They don’t like being made a fool of by letting players play in a bowl game based on your lies when they shouldn’t have, and you shouldn’t have.

Your gesture will be seen as the hollow move it is.

Your players will lose future scholarship teammates to help them fight through the schedules to come. Your school has lost face and may have to forfeit wins off their schedule—and pay up as well.

You will lose nothing you haven’t already lost. The world has seen the Emperor has no clothes.

We’ve seen what you are.

We don’t like what we see.

If you had any class, you’d fall on the sword for your players, your school and your legacy, which is now in some serious need of help.

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