RICH Rodriguez arguably presided over the biggest choke job in college football history.

On Dec. 1, the Mountaineers faced hated Pitt in the regular season finale.

The bookies believed West Virginia was 28 points better than the 4-7 Panthers, who decided to bus down I-79 and show up for the game anyway.

All that No. 2-ranked West Virginia needed was to beat Pitt to go on and play Ohio State for the national title, a game that not only Mountaineer diehards but also objective observers believe WVU could have won.

Imagine that. Let's bring on your national champion West Virginia Mountaineers.

On that chilly Saturday night that will live in infamy, the team stormed through Rich Rod's stupid-looking gigantic inflatable smoking helmet and onto the field as a crowd of 60,000 whooped and hollered.

At the coach's request, fans wore gold, which made a pretty sight for the ESPN audience.

Not so impressive were the new canary yellow uniforms that Rich liked to break out for big games.

They made our team look like Peeps.

An omen, perhaps.

From the West Virginia standpoint, of course, everything that could go wrong did go wrong.

Pat White, the best player in the country for my money, got hurt. Talented kicker Pat McAfee whiffed on a couple of gimme field goals.

Outplayed and outcoached, West Virginia lost 13-9.

Fans silently filed out of the stadium with their hearts broken like they'd never been broken before, which is saying a lot when it comes to WVU football over the years.

Meantime, the tiny band of yinzers in attendance hung around to savor the sight of Pitt players and coaches hugging each other and crying tears of joy.

Just about then, Rich Rod evidently went into shock.

He was a guy who married a WVU cheerleader.

As a boy from Marion County, he went to WVU without a football scholarship, tried out for and made the team, and wound up making a critical interception in the historic 1984 win over Penn State.

He came home 17 years later to accept his dream job.

The town where he grew up and his parents still live is only 18 miles from Morgantown.

By 2007, because of his outstanding record of accomplishment, he was earning $2 million a year.

Two weeks after the Pitt debacle, he walked away.

He whined that fans and administrators did not appreciate him.

RICH Rodriguez arguably presided over the biggest choke job in college football history.

On Dec. 1, the Mountaineers faced hated Pitt in the regular season finale.

The bookies believed West Virginia was 28 points better than the 4-7 Panthers, who decided to bus down I-79 and show up for the game anyway.

All that No. 2-ranked West Virginia needed was to beat Pitt to go on and play Ohio State for the national title, a game that not only Mountaineer diehards but also objective observers believe WVU could have won.

Imagine that. Let's bring on your national champion West Virginia Mountaineers.

On that chilly Saturday night that will live in infamy, the team stormed through Rich Rod's stupid-looking gigantic inflatable smoking helmet and onto the field as a crowd of 60,000 whooped and hollered.

At the coach's request, fans wore gold, which made a pretty sight for the ESPN audience.

Not so impressive were the new canary yellow uniforms that Rich liked to break out for big games.

They made our team look like Peeps.

An omen, perhaps.

From the West Virginia standpoint, of course, everything that could go wrong did go wrong.

Pat White, the best player in the country for my money, got hurt. Talented kicker Pat McAfee whiffed on a couple of gimme field goals.

Outplayed and outcoached, West Virginia lost 13-9.

Fans silently filed out of the stadium with their hearts broken like they'd never been broken before, which is saying a lot when it comes to WVU football over the years.

Meantime, the tiny band of yinzers in attendance hung around to savor the sight of Pitt players and coaches hugging each other and crying tears of joy.

Just about then, Rich Rod evidently went into shock.

He was a guy who married a WVU cheerleader.

As a boy from Marion County, he went to WVU without a football scholarship, tried out for and made the team, and wound up making a critical interception in the historic 1984 win over Penn State.

He came home 17 years later to accept his dream job.

The town where he grew up and his parents still live is only 18 miles from Morgantown.

By 2007, because of his outstanding record of accomplishment, he was earning $2 million a year.

Two weeks after the Pitt debacle, he walked away.

He whined that fans and administrators did not appreciate him.

He contended that fans threatened his family, although there is no evidence to indicate that anyone felt sufficiently threatened to tell the police.

As the Mountaineers prepared to play Oklahoma in the Fiesta Bowl, Rodriguez abruptly left.

He had been trying to entice the top high school player in the nation to come to WVU. He called the kid on Dec. 16 and told him he had decided to go to Michigan.

Hours later, he was kind enough to let his own team in on the secret.

Hold the rope.

That afternoon, evidently lacking the gumption or class to do it himself, he had a graduate assistant deliver his letter of resignation to his boss.

He's still trying to weasel out of the contract he signed that says he would pay $4 million to WVU if ever he left.

After announcing his departure, he kept using his WVU-issued cell phone to call and reassure Michigan recruits.

He briefly returned from Ann Arbor to clean out his Morgantown office.

It is not in dispute that a whole lot of shredding was going on. Rodriguez denies that he destroyed anything that might have been of value to his successor, but others think not.

What we do know is that Rodriguez has never bothered to pick up the phone and congratulate his successor - a man with whom he worked closely for six years - on the team's huge win over Oklahoma.

Some time before the bowl game, however, Rodriguez did manage to find time to call and share his thoughts with the Oklahoma coach.

On the night before Rodriguez quit, WVU President Mike Garrison tried to persuade him to stay by pointing out the unusual and wonderful hold that West Virginia tends to have on West Virginians.

Rodriguez responded that he did not feel West Virginia was "so f--king special," according to Garrison's deposition.

Rodriguez and one of his minions insist he said nothing of the kind.

 He probably did say it, but if he didn't, he has certainly acted over the past seven months as if he believes it.

Times change.

Twenty-five years ago, the idea of Russia abandoning communism could not be conceived.

Today, a Russian company is taking over what remains of Wheeling-Pittsburgh steel.

If the Michigan high rollers come through with the $4 million that belongs to WVU, I suppose it's possible that attitudes toward Rich Rod could soften.

A couple of decades from now, he could be regarded in West Virginia as someone who left for a better job elsewhere after doing great things here.

Except for the Pitt debacle.

Kelly is managing editor of the Daily Mail. He may be reached at 348-1703 or by e-mail at bobke...@dailymail.com.