Paul Daugherty, USA TODAY Sports

Jones is leaving Cincinnati for Tennessee

A charade had become a farce before he left. His leaving only made it official.

For the second year in a row, Butch Jones -- aka, Mr. Commitment – toured the country, shopping himself like a traveling salesman. He didn't like Purdue. He did like Colorado, then he didn't. Now, he likes Tennessee. Apparently, Tennessee likes him.

All along, Jones bristled at questions about his future employment because, well, because it's all about the "kids'' who would be playing in the Belk Bowl. Now, those same kids will be without their coach in that same bowl. No one needs both sides of a mouth like a college football coach. For Butch Jones, two sides might not be enough.

See ya later, Butch. OK?

Have fun Representing the T. Or, you know, whatever.

This isn't some angry rant from a jilted lover. UC has hired several solid football coaches in a row. It'll probably do it again.

Jones did well here. Not as well as his predecessor, but well enough to keep the momentum going. And it wasn't his fault UC didn't rate, in the eyes of the Atlantic Coast Conference, or that the Bearcats play in a charming old beater of a stadium we don't fill.

Jones is leaving for what he perceives as greener grass. OK, fine.

But here's the thing about Lyle Jones. Here's why his departure makes Brian Kelly's exit three years earlier look gracious, and why Jones has made cynics of more people in one day than Kelly or Mark Dantonio did in six years:

He pretended to be committed to Cincinnati.

He made the university look foolish. While Whit Babcock and Santa Ono huddled to find ways to appease Jones, Jones was job hunting.

He said how much he loved it here, then spent every available moment looking to leave. If this is Monday, we must be in Boulder. Jones was a starlet, batting his eyes all over Hollywood. He was a vacuum salesman, knocking at your door, tipping his cap and throwing dirt on your living room rug.

When did the guy have the time to talk to Tennessee?

If it hadn't been Tennessee, it would have been Wisconsin. If not this year, then next. Maybe Jones' definition of ''commitment'' is different than yours or mine. Last year, after leveraging one good season into multiple job interviews and a contract extension, Jones said, "I think I've proven I want to be here. This is a very special place. We're building something special here. I ask our players to make a commitment. I need to make a commitment back.''

Astounding. Even by college football coaches' standards.

Dear Tennessee fans: When your new coach starts spouting the corny slogans and the silly mantras, you have one move to make, and that's for your coats. As a parting gift, after it exacts its $1.4 in buyout money, per Jones' redone contract, UC should offer Butch a platinum-plated shovel, to use in Knoxville whenever he speaks.

We could ponder the logistics here. Did Jones want the Colorado job until his buddy Charlie Strong turned down Tennessee? Had Tennessee not been interested, would Jones' agent have sent feelers to Wisconsin? Had that been done already?

It doesn't matter. If you want to know why cynicism runs the show in quasi-amateur football, look no further than Butch Jones. It's too bad, because college football could use an infusion of hope and faith right about now, as it slides deeper into the money muck. The only reason it isn't professional now is because its performers don't get paid. That's the biggest crime of all, in a very long list of them.

Being a fan requires believing in something. Or in this case, someone. Cynical fans aren't happy fans. They're the ones who go to the games to boo and to release aggression they can't release in polite society. They don't feel better for having been there. Without that good feeling, what's the point in being a fan at all?

Good luck to Butch Jones. He had a chance to distinguish himself at UC, and he surely did, though not in the fashion you might have preferred. He's just like every other quasi-am football coach/mercenary, only moreso, because his ambition and loyalty to self was well hidden, beneath several layers of pseudo-earnestness.

The next coach will have to bear the fallout from Jones' clumsy departure. Let's hope that guy doesn't use any words that sound like "commitment'' or "loyalty.'' Comedy isn't pretty, especially when it's unintentional.

Paul Daugherty is a columnist at Cincinnati.com



