Football coaches lie.

Not all of them, but many of them. Most of them — in one way or another, in one circumstance or another. They are self-appointed guardians and gatekeepers of what’s real, and dispensers of what’s not real, as they see fit.

This happens with people from many walks of life who either are or presume to be in positions of power. Anybody come to mind?

Yeah, I know.

Kalani Sitake is a man who doesn’t cavalierly mess around with the truth. He hides it sometimes, say, after a game when it’s become clear that one or two or three or more of his players made mistakes that hurt the team and adversely affected the outcome.

He doesn’t always duck away from the obvious, but doesn’t make a habit of ripping into individual players out in front of everybody. He may feel like saying something specific, and, on occasion, he does. But he’d just as soon leave the business of correction in a private space where improvement can be made without teeing up that whole process under the brightest of lights.

Sitake’s not perfect, and he himself goofs up sometimes, mishandles a play or a player, makes the wrong call or the wrong move. He’s ultra-competitive and can let that get the best of him, now and again. He also stretches veracity, at times to the point of comedy, when it comes to giving pregame thoughts about and evaluations of a coming opponent that is almost sure to be overwhelmed by his Cougars. He tends to make even a winless team sound like the Pittsburgh Steelers.

But unlike some prominent head coaches, he usually shies away from the bald-faced lies. That’s why when he recently indicated, in so many words — and we’ll shade in words here that were left unspoken — that certain powers at BYU were falling short of what was promised to him when he was considering heading off to Penn State to get a bigger paycheck and lead a more prestigious and accomplished football program, you have to ask: What the hell’s going on down there?

In fact, I asked Sitake that very question a day or two ago in a text message sent directly to his private cell phone. I almost never do that because I honor his privacy. But on this occasion, because he’s literally the one who typed that number into my phone and instructed me to call him whenever I wanted to talk (or text), I made the call to make the call, seeking the inside story regarding his now-infamous spat with athletic director Brian Santiago or Santiago’s bosses, whoever’s reneging on the promises extended to him. Who is it, exactly, who’s shirking in putting their shoulder to the wheel and living up to the deal?

That’s what I wanted to know.

I’m still waiting for Sitake’s reply.

Yeah, this whole thing is about him and the guys who run BYU. Not about me, that much is clear. But we’re talking about an unusual coach who just a few weeks ago sat for a nearly two-hour, one-on-one interview with me in which he talked about his love for God and family, for the school he coaches at, for his players and his former coach, LaVell Edwards, and at one point, he broke down and cried. Really cried. In 48 years of interviewing sports figures, I’d never had any of them do that before. Not like that. His words were doused in sincerity, and he was unafraid to reveal all that heart and emotion to a columnist who had been asking him questions of various kinds for the better part of 30 years, since he was a player at BYU.

So, he hasn’t responded.

And he probably never will, not on that topic.

Why?

Because he doesn’t want to lie.

There are many things I do not believe when coaches talk or don’t talk. Fans want to take them at their word. That can be a fool’s stance. It often is.

But not with Sitake, not here, not now.

On the eve of a new season, a devoted, sincere leader of a program let slip enough of what he’s really thinking in his inner reaches, bemoaning the gap between the resources available to him and those that were pledged. He knows what’s necessary for BYU football to compete at the highest level, and he knows what he’s getting. And he’s bothered, he’s confused, he’s ticked. Somebody or somebodies at BYU — or at least around or above the administrators there — is blowing it. They’re committing the worst kind of fumble.

It’s pretty simple. Give Sitake what he was told he would get during those negotiations, whatever it is. If it’s his own money, hand it over. If it’s money for his assistants, same. If it’s resources for players or facilities or opportunities, pony up what was promised.

A bad look it is for a religious institution to play fast and loose with a commitment, with the truth, especially as it pertains to one of the school’s most devout disciples. If they do this to Sitake, who wouldn’t they do it to?

It’s one thing for coaches to lie. It’s another for the self-declared Lord’s University, those who operate and represent it, to garble the truth they claim to own.