Murphy - all sides of him - will be missed

How best to summarize the surprising and abrupt resignation of Pat Murphy?

Perhaps this way:

The Arizona State baseball program just got a lot less interesting.

Maybe the Sun Devils will be better off without Murphy. Maybe they won’t.

One thing is for sure, though. They won’t be as entertaining.

Murphy is one of the most fascinating coaches I’ve ever met in my 26 years as a sportswriter. He could be volatile, sentimental, funny, profane, paranoid, argumentative and depressed – all in 20 minutes.

Once, after a column he particularly disliked, he called three straight days, screaming profanities over the phone. When I saw him the next week, he shook my hand, gave me a hug and asked how I was doing.

But he’s also a softie. Murphy was devastated to learn my late Tribune colleague, Bob Moran, had cancer. He wrote “Coach Moran” inside his cap during the 2007 College World Series – he later sent the cap to Moran’s mother - and when a few of us had lunch with Bob one day, Murphy announced, “I’m the only one at this table who’s overpaid, so I’m buying.”

We didn’t argue.

I don’t know why Murphy resigned Friday. It could have something to do with the ongoing two-year investigation into alleged violations within the program. But if that’s the case, why now?

Were other improprieties recently discovered, whether related to the investigation or more personal issues? If so, was Murphy forced to resign by athletic director Lisa Love? According to Baseball America, Murphy recently spoke with his good friend, Oregon State coach Pat Casey and said nothing about quitting. That would suggest he didn’t leave on his own terms.

Or did Murphy open the door marked “Exit” because he felt mistreated by the administration? It’s no secret that Love and Murphy were like oil and water. Perhaps the relationship deteriorated to the point that both parties felt it was best Murphy move on.

Unfortunately, Murphy’s phone mailbox was full Friday, and he didn’t return a text message. Love’s comments revealed little. Former ASU player Mikel Moreno, who prompted the NCAA investigation when he accused the program of academic fraud, said he’s certain Murphy was forced out. But, Moreno admitted, he has no firsthand, factual evidence to support his allegation.

So we’re left to wonder.

Without knowing the real story, all we can do is judge Murphy on his 16 seasons at ASU.

Did he win a national championship? No. For some fans spoiled by the extraordinary successes of Bobby Winkles and Jim Brock, that made him a failure.

But, really, how can you criticize a coach who made four trips to the College World Series (1998, 2005, 2007 and 2009), won three straight Pac-10 titles (2007, 2008, 2009) and kept college baseball relevant in a market with four professional sports teams?

Yes, Murphy liked to have it both ways. He’d complain about the oversized expectations placed on the program while he had a Barry Bonds jersey hung in the dugout during the CWS.

But those contradictions were part of what made him so much fun to cover. I walked into his office one day a few years back and before I even said hello he said, “Take down these numbers.” I did, and asked him what they were for.

“The number of my divorce case in the courts,” he said. “You won’t believe what’s in there.”

The ensuing conversation – which consisted of Murphy unburdening himself as if I were Sigmund Freud – prompted me to start the column with this line: “You don’t interview Pat Murphy. You listen to him bleed.”

Unless NCAA violations are reported that permanently tarnish his reputation, I fully expect Murphy to coach again. He’ll turn 51 later this month, and he has neither the patience nor the interest to spend the rest of his life on a golf course.

Wherever he goes, he’ll entertain, infuriate, scream at umpires, tell great stories, drive his bosses crazy, carry that boulder on his shoulder and sport Bruce Springsteen T-shirts.

I just wish he’d still be doing all of it at ASU.