The world feels emptier today. A light that once burned so fiercely, so defiantly, has been extinguished. He wasn’t just a coach. He wasn’t just a player He was more than a coach . He was a force—one that shattered walls built to keep him out, one that carried the dreams of countless young athletes who never thought they’d have a chance. He walked into a world that told him “no” and made it his mission to turn that “no” into a legacy. He was their leader, their protector, their proof that history could be rewritten. And now, he’s gone.
On Tuesday, March 13, 2025, the University of Texas football program delivered the kind of news no one was ready to hear. **Al Matthews**, the man who paved the way for so many, the man who bled burnt orange and gave his life to this game, took his final breath at the age of 77. The stadiums will never echo with his voice again. The sidelines will never feel the weight of his presence. The young men who leaned on him for guidance will now have to carry his lessons in their hearts, aching with the realization that they will never hear him say, “I’m proud of you” again.
He was more than a coach—he was a warrior. In 1972, when he first stepped onto the Longhorns’ coaching staff, he wasn’t just taking a job. He was taking on a fight. A fight to belong. A fight to be seen. A fight to make sure no one who came after him had to fight the same battles alone. And he won. Not by force, but by heart. By proving, time and time again, that talent knows no boundaries. That leadership is not determined by the color of one’s skin, but by the size of one’s spirit.
He was a player, a mentor, a man who stood tall even when the world tried to cut him down. He played for the Green Bay Packers, battled through the NFL, and still, he came back. Because Texas was his home. Because the Longhorns were his family. Because the game wasn’t just something he loved—it was something he lived for.
And now, the game must go on without him. The sun will still rise over Darrell K Royal–Texas Memorial Stadium, but it will shine on a field missing one of its greatest warriors. The players will still run the drills, but they will do so with a heavy heart, knowing the hands that once guided them have been laid to rest. And the fans—oh, the fans—will feel this loss like a dagger to the soul. Because Texas didn’t just lose a coach. Texas lost a legend. Texas lost a father. Texas lost a piece of its very heart.
So cry. Mourn. Feel the weight of this loss. Because men like **Al Matthews** don’t come around often. And when they leave, they take a part of the world with them. But if you listen closely, in the roar of the crowd, in the echo of every touchdown, in the fire of every young athlete who refuses to back down—you’ll still hear him. Because men like him never truly leave. They become something greater. They become eternal.
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