Well, sure. Urban Meyer may have won only two football games during his brief 13-game cameo as head coach of the Jacksonville Jaguars.

He might have been caught on video grinding in a bar with a woman who was decidedly not Mrs. Meyer, a venial sin compared to the fact he was in the bar in Ohio at all, rather than locked in his office back in Florida dissecting a difficult loss as every other professional coach extant would have been.

He might have thought it a splendid idea to belittle coaches — coaches he hired, by the way. He may have kicked his kicker, somehow thinking this was 1947 and coaches could do just about anything they wanted to short of manslaughter. He might have shown a stunning lack of awareness for things happening on his own team, and an almost hilarious disregard for all things truthful.

On the bright side, at least he never wrote a fight song.

Oh yes. Surely you know about the fight song. Before Meyer, there were other college-to-the-pros transitions that didn’t go, shall we say, smoothly. Steve Spurrier, the Ol’ Ball Coach, never could get things rolling in Washington. Chip Kelly had some early speed in Philadelphia but wound up fleeing back to the Pac-12. Bobby Petrino lasted 13 games with the 2007 Falcons before motoring off to Arkansas. There have been others.

But the gold standard has always been the Jets (where so many delightfully futile gold standards tend to belong), who in 1976 hired Lou Holtz off the campus of N.C. State to succeed Charley Winner. You could write a book about Holtz’s 13 games with the Jets (or at least fill a few hilarious chapters of one, as Gerald Eskenazi did in his must-read 1998 book, “Gang Green”).

We can summarize the Holtz era in one day: Aug. 21, 1976. Holtz had already expressed misgivings about pro football and the Jets had yet to win any of their preseason games. But they won this one, 27-24 against the Oilers, though after rookie Richard Todd fumbled a few kneel-down snaps Holtz sent Joe Namath — who’d already removed his knee pads and shoulder pads — back into the game.

As Namath all but crawled to the line of scrimmage, he told the Oilers on the other side: “Fellas, I’m going down on one knee. Let’s not get anybody hurt.”

Amazingly, that wasn’t the most humiliating part of that hour for Namath, entering his last year as a Jet. A few minutes later a jubilant/relieved/manic Holtz asked for silence and announced that after every victory henceforth, they would sing the New York Jets Fight Song, authored by L. Holtz. To the tune of “The Caissons Go Rolling Along” it went something like this:

“Win the game, fight like men

We’re together win or lose

New York Jets go rolling along …

When behind don’t despair

Because we will win if you care

New York Jets go rolling along …”

Namath — ever a team man — was one of the few Jets who actually sang along, however reluctantly. And, well … yeah. That was the Lou Holtz Era. He lasted only 13 games too before beating his own path back to Arkansas, which is apparently the home office for beaten-down pro coaches.

(No such luck for Meyer. Razorbacks fans like Sam Pittman just fine.)

So, no, unless Meyer ever tried to incorporate “Crocodile Rock” or something into some easy-listening Jaguars Jazz, he probably won’t seize the title away from Holtz. But, man, did he ever try.

And it is a reminder that the old way of doing things, especially in Meyer’s chosen profession, has forever vanished. It should have long ago anyway; why it ever seemed normal for coaches to blow a gasket and endlessly curse at top volume because of a missed layup, blown assignment or interception, we’ll never really know.

Meyer was one of the last of a dying breed. There are still those coaches who convey their message with gravitas and intimidation. But it is inconceivable that for the very best of them — Bill Belichick, Nick Saban, Mike Krzyzewski — it would ever even occur to them to grab a face mask, or kick a player, or humiliate his staff.

It’s a different world now. It’s a world where Wednesday, the No. 1-ranked high school football player, Travis Hunter, spurned the Power Five and signed with Jackson State. Urban Meyer probably doesn’t recognize that world. It’s back to the TV studio for him, for his own sake. And probably for coaching’s sake, too.