The college football world lost one of its most colorful and beloved characters this week with the passing of Lynn Amedee, a longtime coach, offensive mastermind, and proud Cajun spirit. Amedee, who died at the age of 83, left behind a legacy woven into the fabric of southern football. For many, including those of us fortunate enough to work with him, his passing is more than the end of an era—it’s the loss of a voice, a personality, and a presence that made the sport richer and more fun.
I had the distinct pleasure of getting to know Coach Amedee during his time as offensive coordinator at the University of Texas. It was early in my tenure with the Longhorn Radio Network, and Lynn was not only making headlines with his football IQ, but also carving out a place in the hearts of fans across Austin. During the unforgettable 1990 season—known to many as the “Shock the Nation” tour—Coach Amedee was a weekly guest on my Monday night sports talk show on KLBJ AM, which served as the flagship station for Texas football at the time. What started as a segment meant to bring fans closer to the action became something much more meaningful, thanks to Coach Amedee’s charm, wit, and sheer love for the game.
Each Monday night during that fall, we hosted the show live from the Lakeview Café, a quaint spot with just the right kind of character for our little football conclave. The place would be packed wall to wall by 6:45 p.m., people ordering burgers, beers, and iced teas as they waited for Coach Amedee to arrive. And when he did, the room seemed to breathe a little easier. His Cajun drawl was unmistakable, and so was his energy. Whether Texas had won by 30 or struggled the week before, Lynn brought levity, insight, and an infectious laugh that could make even the harshest critic soften.
Those radio shows weren’t just about football. Sure, we dove into the Longhorn offense—breaking down plays, recapping the highs and lows, forecasting what was ahead—but the real draw was Coach Amedee himself. He brought stories from the bayou, quips about life on the road, and a kind of Southern wisdom you couldn’t script. People came for football, but they stayed for Lynn. There was something grounding about him. He knew the pressure that came with coaching at a major university like Texas, but he never let it rob him of his joy. He could coach with intensity and then joke about it over a plate of fried catfish and sweet tea. That was Lynn.
The 1990 season itself holds a special place in the hearts of Longhorn fans. Dubbed the “Shock the Nation” tour, it was a rallying cry for a Texas program looking to restore its dominance and remind the college football world of what it meant to wear burnt orange. Under the leadership of head coach David McWilliams and with Amedee calling the plays, the Longhorns captured the imagination of the fanbase. The offense came alive, and a new swagger returned to Austin.
Coach Amedee was more than just the man behind the playbook—he was a motivator, a teacher, and someone the players looked up to. He knew how to get the best out of his athletes, but he also knew how to connect with them on a human level. That ability translated over the airwaves too. Every Monday night, fans could hear the heart behind the headset. It wasn’t an act. He was authentic, and that’s what made him unforgettable.
Before his time in Austin, Amedee had already carved out an impressive career across the college football landscape. A native of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, he had played quarterback at LSU before entering the coaching ranks. His journey took him across the South and beyond—stints at Tennessee, Texas A&M, Mississippi State, New Mexico, Florida, and more. No matter the school colors, he brought the same fire, the same commitment, and the same sense of humor. He never stayed in one place too long, which seemed to suit him. Lynn had the soul of a traveler and the heart of a storyteller. Every stop gave him new anecdotes, new characters to recall, and new lessons to share. By the time he got to Texas, he had already lived a dozen football lives.
But that fall of 1990 was something special. There was momentum in the air, a belief that Texas football was back. And Coach Amedee was a big reason for that belief. The players trusted him, the fans adored him, and the media respected him. Week after week, the team delivered on the field—and Lynn delivered on the mic. We’d sit down at the Lakeview Café, the crowd buzzing, and Coach would lean in with that twinkle in his eye and say, “Alright, let’s tell ‘em what really happened out there.” That was the cue for 90 minutes of football talk, laughter, and the kind of chemistry that only comes from genuine admiration.
To say that I hadn’t spoken to Lynn in a while would be an understatement. Life moves fast, and the years pass quicker than we realize. But that doesn’t diminish the memories. In fact, it makes them more important. It reminds me why I started in this business in the first place. You meet people like Coach Amedee—people who make the job more than a job, who turn Monday nights into must-listen radio, who remind you that sports are supposed to be fun. He made it fun.
And it wasn’t just for me. The fans who packed into that café every week knew they were witnessing something unique. Not every team gets a season like 1990. Not every station gets a guest like Lynn Amedee. And not every city gets to call someone like him their own, even if just for a few seasons.
The older I get, the more I realize how rare it is to meet people who are both excellent at what they do and unforgettable as human beings. Lynn Amedee was both. He could break down a zone blitz like a professor, then turn around and make you laugh so hard you’d forget your question. He understood the game in a way few did, but he also understood people. That’s what made him a great coach—and an even better friend.
As news of his passing spreads, I’ve heard from others who crossed paths with him—former players, fellow coaches, media members, and fans. The common thread in every story is joy. He brought it with him wherever he went. He didn’t take himself too seriously, even when the stakes were high. He had that rare gift of perspective. Football mattered, sure. But so did people. So did relationships. So did a good laugh after a long day.
That’s the Lynn Amedee I’ll remember. The man who made Monday nights special. The man who brought Cajun warmth to Austin. The man who helped Shock the Nation.
As we say goodbye to a coach, a mentor, and a dear friend, I find myself smiling through the sadness. Because even though he’s gone, those memories remain vivid. The crowded café. The roar of the fans. The laughter in between play breakdowns. And Coach Amedee, leaning into the mic, ready to talk ball and crack a joke.
Rest easy, Coach. You gave us something we’ll never forget.
And somewhere up there, I’d like to think you’ve already drawn up a play or two.
