The Gophers football season was in free-fall, and anxiety and unrest blanketed TCF Bank Stadium like oxygen. Donors, boosters and former players increasingly demanded reassurance that Tim Brewster had a remedy for the losing, or better yet, a one-way ticket out of town.
Joel Maturi, though, remained upbeat and optimistic, passionate as ever about his athletic department. All is well, he told one worried observer. We're in good shape -- Minnesota is ranked third among Big Ten schools in the Director's Cup standings.
Typical Joel, grumbled one booster when told of Maturi's response. "We can't beat South Dakota," he said, "but he's happy for the cross-country team."
If that's an indictment, Maturi pleads guilty. "I'm the athletic director for 750 student-athletes," he said. "I have an obligation to do my best for the tennis player as I do for the football player."
That philosophy might sum up the nine-year tenure of the 65-year-old Maturi -- an egalitarian approach that suits his cordial and earnest nature, that makes him popular with his bosses and employees both.
"There's no one in his profession I've ever met who cares more about student-athletes," outgoing university President Robert Bruininks said. "I trust his judgment."
Plenty of parents, athletes and coaches support him, too. But it's a win-big-or-else business, and life in the middle or lower class, particularly in football, extracts a brutal price in public esteem.
Somehow this ultra-polite and unfailingly sanguine administrator recently seems to have inherited the mantle of least popular figure in Twin Cities sports. Call-in shows demand his resignation, and message-board posters accuse him of malfeasance and worse. To a lot of fans, he's Nick Punto after popping up a bunt, Brad Childress after losing to the Packers, Tim Brewster after promising roses and delivering thorns.