Kismet at a college football game by TERRY HAIG Strung out and fed up with the financial and political posturing ruling the sports pages for the last six weeks, I took dead aim on Loyola last Saturday. The Concordia Stingers were hosting the State University of New York at Canton Northstars. A college football was there for the taking. Kismet! The day was divine, the atmosphere balmy. Entering the stadium with the prerequisite hot dog, I immediately made a bee-line for the best seat in the house: three-quarters of the way up the stands, smack on the mid-field stripe. Wasted energy. Concordia fans, I discovered, truly believe in getting behind their team. Virtually all of them were planted about 15 yards over, directly behind the Stingers' bench. Surprisingly, few students were among the crowd of several hundred. "Too many other things to do in Montreal on a Saturday," Catherine Grace, the Concordia sports information director, explained. "Most of our fans come from the neighborhood." Cathy then pointed down to the Northstars bench. "Lou Saban," she said. I straightened for a better look. Saban is a football legend. Been around seems like forever, coached at every level, including nine years in the NFL and old AFL. Left football once to take a job with the Yankees and George Steinbrenner. Was back two years later. Football coaches are the stuff of legend in the U.S., regarded with the kind of awe most countries reserve for heroic generals. When they're good, they tend to have a lasting effect on players' lives, dispensing lessons in pulling together, perseverance and other salutary virtues that mark the American psyche. When they're bad, they tend to be pugnacious boors. And, when they lose too often, they tend to get hung in effigy on overwrought college students. Saban is approaching 77, likely seen it all in 47 years on the job. I gazed down on a Norman Rockwell painting. Saban--bowlegged, arms folded across an old sweatshirt, cast in a pair of beat-up running shoes, baseball cap atop his pate--was studying his players intently during warm-ups, the archetypical football coach. He shook hands firmly as I introduced myself. I asked if he remembered my old coach, Harry Mahnken, a man I had adored, who had once been head man at Princeton before sliding downhill professionally to coach the likes of me. "Of course," Saban replied crisply. I asked Saban how he came to be coach of the Northstars. "I'm just a teacher who happens to coach football," he replied. "Can't get away from it, keeps me young. "We're rebuilding this year," he continued. "The last three years have been pretty good (21-and-4). This is a tough year so far. "But I have to hand it to these kids. They don't get any help--no scholarships. They're here because they love the game." After glancing at his watch, Saban suddenly shouted "Team, team, team." Instantly, he was engulfed by his players. I left before the pep talk. Some things, I figured, are private. The game was a fumble-filled blowout: 23 to 7 for the Northstars. Turns out the SUNY at Canton athletic director had called his Concordia counterpart, Harry Zarins, on Friday, to ask him to keep in mind that the Northstars were rebuilding, off to an 0­2 start, and that CUNY­Canton was a two-year school. He might just as well have saved his breath. Concordia coach Pat Sheahan had already taken all of the above into account. To fight fair--and, yes, to avoid injuries--Sheahan had opted to play only his scrubs--first- and second-year players who would likely see no other action all season. Sheahan's decision didn't sit particularly well with the Concordia first-stringers, some of whom tried to beg off dressing for the game. They had been informed in no uncertain terms that it's the scrubs who stand on the sidelines cheering the regulars during the regular season. The first-stringers' presence would be required. Case closed. Pat Sheahan is one of those guys who still believes that his word and a handshake outweigh anything you can put on a piece of paper. But he's also a competitor. After the game, I asked if he had been tempted to insert some first-stringers, especially with his team getting steamrolled. "No way," he replied. "We promised the kids they would play. They were going to play." Case closed. For his part, Saban was quick to laud his players. "It's been rough for them," he said. "But they stuck with it. Hopefully, this will give them some confidence. We have a big game next week against SUNY-Hudson Valley." I asked how this win stacked up with the ones that had gone before. "Just as good," he replied with a smile. "How many does that make, coach?" I followed up. "No idea," he said. "All I know is that it's been 47 years, beginning in junior high school. Though those two years with Steinbrenner felt like 20." Saban paused and nodded toward his players. "You know," he said. "These kids played hard. I feel great for them." Kids on both side of the ball, I concluded, were in very good hands. Maybe, I thought, there's something to this character-building stuff after all. Driving home, I felt like a million bucks.