Parker: Vanderbilt's Caldwell delights

HOOVER, Ala. -- On the way up the elevator at The Wynfrey Hotel I asked Joe Fisher, Vanderbilt's director of broadcasting, if "he had his guy prepped and ready" for SEC Media Days.

Fisher didn't flinch, assuring me that interim Commodore coach Robbie Caldwell was ready for the media blitz.

I half expected a deer-in-headlights look from the former offensive line coach that was lining a field in his shorts just three weeks ago.

Boy, I was as wrong as clothes on a dog.

Long story short, Caldwell received the first-ever round of applause I've witnessed in the Print Media room as he exited the podium. Granted, I don't have a box of Just For Men under the bathroom sink, but it was still a flattering display for Caldwell.

"I know the first question you're asking is, 'Who is Robbie Caldwell?'"

Anybody that covers Southeastern Conference football that didn't know Thursday morning, certainly knows now.

When asked about whether or not he'll continue former coach Bobby Johnson's no profanity in practices policy, Caldwell got the sports writers chuckling again.

"You know, I'm no angel, that's for certain. We certainly do try to live by that. But, you know, it's just a sign of limited vocabulary sometimes. I know y'all can't tell it, but I do have an education."

Growing up in Pageland, S.C., (where Watermelon World Queen carries weight) apparently wasn't a lush and lavish lifestyle. His roots painted his collar blue, which no doubt has gotten him to this point. He grew up in a time and place where few daytime hours were wasted. Kids weren't sporting headsets locked onto a 41-inch flat screen playing Xbox 360 games with fellow gamers in other time zones.

"If you played a sport, you didn't have to work during practice time," Caldwell said. "That's why I played basketball. I was probably the worst there's ever been, but I played it so I wouldn't have to go pour concrete. That's a fact, tellin' you the truth.

"My first hourly paying job was on the turkey farm. I don't know if I could tell you what my job was, but I was on the inseminating crew. That's a fact. I worked my way to the top. That's a fact man."

I believe him. Injecting semen into a female turkey's reproductive tract isn't something you joke about on live television and streaming video.

Turning down a high school job to join the staff at Furman as an assistant meant a pay cut, which wasn't looked at fondly in the family.

"My daddy said, 'You're an idiot.' I've continued to live up to his words, I'm sure. But, the rest is history," said Caldwell, who's now got over three decades' worth of college coaching experience.

A Southern drawl can sometimes be confused with ignorance (or so I hear), and he'd likely ask if he needed to grab a coat and tie before walking into eat at the Bell Buckle Café, but he comes across as the type of coach that college-aged kids will gravitate toward.

Eight years at Vanderbilt has done little to affect Caldwell's anonymity off campus. After his performance on stage with the cameras rolling, that'll change quickly.

"I can still walk in places and nobody knows me," said Caldwell, who vaguely resembles Gen. Norman Schwarzkopf. "Last night I was opening the door for people and they gave me a tip. I thought, 'Hey, that's great. How can you get it any better than that?'"

Thanks for the laughs coach, it don't get no better.

Danny Parker is sports editor of the Times-Gazette.