It seems reasonable to question why any wise man would even entertain thoughts of leaving a place where a monument to him has been erected outside his office. Or in the case of Nick Saban, along the Walk of Champions outside Bryant-Denny Stadium in Tuscaloosa, Ala., where a 9-foot statue of his likeness certifies him statewide as the highest-ranking live human.
But perhaps there is a lesson for Saban to consider from the historically disturbing developments over the past 15 months in State College, Pa. No statue is legally bound to stand forever. Hang around long enough in any one place — as Joe Paterno did at Penn State — and you just might give today's supplicants good reason to tear you down tomorrow.
Given that Saban is the hottest coach in college football, with consecutive national championships and three in the past four years after Monday night's 42-14 beat-down of Notre Dame, it's no wonder that his name was floated for N.F.L. jobs, despite his underwhelming performance during a two-and-through tenure with the Miami Dolphins.
That's how it works in the cyclical world of N.F.L. coach hunting, with even modestly credentialed college maestros very much in vogue. Greg Schiano left Rutgers last season for Tampa Bay after having never so much as gotten his team to a B.C.S. bowl game. Doug Marrone has been hired by the Buffalo Bills after rolling to a 25-25 record at Syracuse over four years.
Not surprisingly, Brian Kelly's name has come up as a possible target of the Chicago Bears after a 12-0 regular season in his third year at Notre Dame. Until Bill O'Brien procured a raise after winning eight games in his first year as a head coach, his candidacy for a pro job was amplified by the unusual circumstances at Penn State and his pedigree as a former assistant to Bill Belichick.
For the record, Kelly batted away the question of interest in the N.F.L. by saying, "Leaving is not an option." When it was Saban's turn during the long wait for the season ender at Sun Life Stadium, he said, "I want to be a college coach" and added, drolly, "I don't have any unfinished business in the N.F.L."
Left unsaid was that he had no business whatsoever to conduct with the N.F.L.
Saban gained a measure of infamy by telling reporters in Miami that he would not be the Alabama coach shortly before landing in Tuscaloosa in 2007. It was not the crime of the century. People in every line of work make what feels like a monumental decision and wake up the next morning with an altogether different outlook.
Given the power and visibility that comes with fronting a major college program, and the fact that the objectionable practice of contract breaking is standard operating procedure, the issue is not so much that a coach will ultimately exit one program for another or leap to the pros; it's about what condition the operation will be in when he is gone.
Shamefully, Pete Carroll took the Seattle Seahawks job with the N.C.A.A. violations police pounding at Southern Cal's door. Chip Kelly has reportedly decided to remain at Oregon under vaguely similar circumstances, and good for him.
If Notre Dame's Kelly were to walk out after one season of championship contention — and he no doubt will be well compensated to keep his word — he would undo much of his own fine work. Ditto O'Brien at Penn State, where a multitude of transfers and de-committed recruits would have rushed for the door right behind him.
Why take the time to build a speedy racecar only to deliberately crash it into a wall after a lap or two around the track?
In Saban's case, any rational person would argue that Alabama has gotten its money's worth since he rolled into town and his Tide crashed the title game for the third time in four years and became the first to repeat in the B.C.S. era. If he should leave, sooner or later, a likely replacement would be Kirby Smart, his highly regarded defensive coordinator and a native Alabama son.
But, again, the looming question is: why would he want to go anywhere else?
Here in South Florida, Smart said that what drives Saban is to be considered college football's greatest coach. But that's a title he can never officially win.
In comic reference to his reputation as a control freak, Saban talked the other day about an off-season basketball league in Tuscaloosa in which he claimed to choose the teams, decide who has to guard him and occasionally determine what constitutes a foul.
It's no surprise that football-crazed Alabamians see him as the commissioner of everything. But how long before someone whose entire working life has been an itinerant whirlwind — the last quarter-century has taken him from Texas to Ohio to Michigan to Louisiana to Florida to Alabama — becomes bored with such power?
With his current Alabama run and Monday night's tough-to-watch rout, how long before he craves change and the chance to make a new constituency bend to his will?
At 61, Saban is young enough to settle in and become Bear Bryant 2.0, or try to become a coach with statues, real or imagined, in multiple locations. With his championship credentials at L.S.U. and Alabama, he could fail spectacularly in another N.F.L. city and still name his back-to-school price at one of America's leading institutions of higher football ranking.
"It's not even anything I want to do," he said, dismissing the notion of the N.F.L. Maybe he meant it just for the moment or until next year or the year after that. More than most, he has earned the right to at least have that debate with himself, or his statue.
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