“Leave no doubt.”
That was one of Bill Stewart’s signature lines. He used it three times in his emotional pregame speech before the 2008 Fiesta Bowl, urging his players to give all they had.
It was classic Stewart: emotional, genuine, positive, clean, laced with West Virginia and Mountaineer Pride references and topped off with, “It’s a game, lads. Let’s go have fun and get us a big victory.”
And, of course, West Virginia did, dominating and upsetting the third-ranked Oklahoma Sooners 48-28.
WVU quarterback Pat White said during the awards ceremony that Stewart, who had been serving as the team’s interim head coach after Rich Rodriguez’s sudden departure for Michigan, should be named the head coach.
Within hours, the job belonged to Stewart. It was his crowning moment, a divine event for a good ol’ boy from New Martinsville who had coached from here to Canada and back again.
Unfortunately for Stewart, his tenure ended with a forced resignation and an unceremonious exit after the football program failed to live up to the lofty expectations set by the Rodriguez years.
But there are worse things in life than losing a football game. When Stew died unexpectedly yesterday of an apparent massive heart attack while playing golf at Stonewall Resort, the eulogies were more about his record as a man than as a coach.
Stewart was unfailingly polite and decent to people.
Many times I saw him stop and talk with a student intern, a reporter or a fan. They were all the same to Stew. He did not rank people by their perceived importance.
He always greeted you with a firm handshake and direct contact with his deep blue eyes. He would ask about you and your family, and he was genuinely interested. You left a conversation with Bill Stewart feeling better for having talked with him.
Stew was unconditionally optimistic.
Coaches are, by nature, hopeful, but Stewart was in his own league on optimism. I never saw him be anything less than confident and encouraged. Those who knew him best say he was uncannily upbeat even in the face of stinging defeats and adversity.
It’s not as though Stewart had to search out the good in people; he naturally brought it out of them. He set an admirable personal example that made people want to be better when they were around him.
He loved his family… deeply.
Stewart was devoted to his wife, Karen, and his son, Blaine. He talked of them both with great pride. After years of marriage he still referred to Karen as "my bride."
For Stewart, family was not just about blood relations. He would tell players after a game to make sure they called someone who had made a difference in their lives.
Former Mountaineer running back Steve Slaton Tweeted of Stewart: “A true gentleman, friend, man, coach, teacher, husband.”
In the end, Bill Stewart died way too young. He would have turned 60 next month and he was excited about the possibility of getting back into coaching. Stewart was excited about Blaine’s college choices. He still had a lot of living to do.
But his legacy will be that, as a man, a father, a husband, a friend, a Mountaineer, he lived up to the charge of his own pregame speech.
He left no doubt.
(Editor’s note: I urge you to take a moment to watch this video tribute to Stew put together by our Chip Fontanazza.)