Dead To Me

      College basketball season started 32 days ago.  So far, around 3,500 Division-I games have been played, most of which have been televised or streamed.  And I have not watched one of them. Or one minute of one of them.  For most of my life, the anticipation of the start of college basketball began once the calendar hit October.  It was something akin to the excitement children feel waiting for Christmas morning, with all its wonderment and special gifts.  When it wasn't college basketball season, I'd fill my entertainment needs by playing or watching lacrosse, hiking, beaching, going to the theater or a comedy show, and attending a few Springsteen concerts if he was on tour.  All of that was a filler of time and space, however. Like the coming attractions before a movie, or the opening act before a favorite band takes stage.  Once Autumn's cool air ended the summer's heat, the countdown began, like December 1st began the countdown to Christmas and Santa Claus.  But this year, there's been no countdown, no anticipation, no Christmas morning.  College basketball is dead to me now.  My five-month long season of joy and dedication, spanning four decades, has come to an end.

     I was six years old when Mom drove me to the former Westfield High School on a cold, snowy morning for basketball sign-ups for YMCA's Biddy Basketball League.  I didn't want to go and I cried the entire ride there.  My best friend wasn't going, and I wouldn't know any of the other kids that would be there.  Plus, I had no clue about, or interest in, this sport called basketball.  I and a hundred other strange faces did dribbling, passing, and shooting drills, and played a few 5-on-5 scrimmages, which looked more like that old electronic football game where the plastic player pieces just moved in clumps when the metal vibrating floor was turned on.  After the two-hour tryout and selection of teams, my tears had long dried, and it seemed like this new sport was something I might enjoy after all.  I was selected to play on the "Specials", no doubt the worst team name in the league. There wasn't much I remember about that first season of playing, other than the scoring totals for games were around the 10-6 and 8-4 mark.  This was before youth size basketballs and seven-foot baskets were a thing. Regular size basketballs in the small hands of six and seven-year-olds, being heaved up at a 10-foot hoop, wasn't conducive to a whole lot scoring.  I'm not sure if I converted on any of my shot attempts that first year, but I do remember Davey, the son of our coach, Mr. Ralph, did most of our scoring.  Mostly because of him, I took home my first trophy, for a third-place finish in the league.  The collectible memento I still have today.

     After that first Biddy Basketball season, I spent a lot of my free time playing basketball, mostly by myself, until the next season rolled around.  I didn't have a basketball hoop at home, so much of my practicing was dribbling downstairs in the basement or in the driveway.  I made a square with chalk on the outside chimney to shoot at. During school recess I was on the playground shooting almost every day.  The following December, I was selected to play on the T-Birds, a team name marginally better than Specials, but an upgrade nonetheless.  It was this second season when I noticed my skills had upgraded as well.  My ball-handling and shooting had improved a lot, and I first became aware I had some athletic ability, thanks to Dad's genetic hand-me-downs.  Davey Ralph had graduated to the 4th & 5th grade division, and now I was the best player on my team, averaging around 6 points per game and being selected to the All-Star team.  Making a basket, during practice or a game, was the most exhilarating feeling I had felt in my young life. That instant gratification and endorphin pop of watching the ball go through the net tens of thousands of times over the next couple decades never waned.   I quickly fell in love with the sport.  Walking into that cold gym with the hard tile floor every Saturday morning, hearing the pre-game sounds of dozens of basketballs and the squeaking of sneakers echoing off the concrete walls was a symphony to my ears.  From those early days to the present, walking into any basketball gymnasium always brings about a feeling of belonging and escape. Whether it be the thousands of times entering the high school gyms where I coached, an elementary school gym with 7-foot baskets, or the majestic 17,000-seat Assembly Hall at Indiana University, the basketball court and gym always felt like a sanctuary to me.

        I can trace the start of my interest in college basketball specifically to the days when Channel 3 out of Hartford, Connecticut televised the UConn home games in the late 1970's. I'd watch on our family's 19" black & white television set, sitting on our living room floor.  Huskies 5'8" point guard Karl Hobbs (1980-84) became my first favorite college player.  I admired his quickness, his fundamental and effective dribbling and shooting skills, and how he confidently quarterbacked his team, even as a freshman.  That prototype became the type of player I enjoyed watching the most, and the type I aspired to become as a high school player.  It was always the smaller player that attracted me, being of small size myself.  Mark Price of Georgia Tech and Chris Corchiani of North Carolina State, both 6'0" (small in basketball standards) were favorites of mine during the '80's.

     My passion for college basketball really began during the 1983-84 season.  I didn't know it at the time, but this would be the start of my transition from enjoying watching individual players to watching the strategies of the game at work.  It was because of one player: Steve Alford.  Steve was a scrawny, 6'2" sharpshooting freshman who played for Indiana University.  I was a scrawny, 5'10" semi-sharpshooting freshman, playing intramural ball at a small college after a mediocre high school career.  He wasn't fast (like me), he wasn't a great ball-handler (like me), He wasn't a great defender (like me), but he was a great shooter (like I considered myself to be).  I mean, a GREAT shooter.  Perfect balance, perfect release, perfect backspin, perfect follow-through.  I was in awe over how consistent and effortless he made shots, from all distances on the court.  ESPN was only a few years old at the time, and its niche was televising college basketball games seven days a week, compared to the few weekend games televised by the major networks.  I was able to watch IU games usually once, sometimes twice per week, and watch my new favorite player.  Unlike Hobbs, Price, and Corchiani, Steve didn't have the ball in his hands all that much on offense.  In order to get the ball and get off his shot, he instead had to be in constant motion.  I learned this "motion offense" involved all five players on the team passing, cutting, and screening to free up a teammate for a good shot.  And Indiana's first option was always Steve.  It was poetry in constant motion watching how this team ran its offense.  As I learned more and more about this style of play, I quickly learned the concept that "the whole is greater than the sum of its parts".  This was the core principle of Indiana's coach, Bob Knight.  Winning isn't about the individual talents of five players on a basketball team, but rather how well they can play together as a unit.  I watched this Indiana team, sometimes with lesser talent than the opposition, often beat those opponents.  And the reason for this was how well they were coached in order to maximize their collective talent, or lack thereof.    

               

     I may have heard the name Bob Knight before Steve Alford.  Maybe because he was known to be the college coach of new NBA sensation Isiah Thomas of the Detroit Pistons.  But now I was interested in who was responsible for these Hoosier chess pieces moving about on the court, and how Alford got open so often for his picturesque jump shot.  When the Hoosiers upset #1 ranked North Carolina that season in the second round of the NCAA tournament, Knight's coaching was the reason.  Loaded with future NBA superstars Kenny Smith, Sam Perkins, Brad Daugherty, and a guy named Michael Jordan, Knight proved that the most talented team in the country could be beaten by the right "whole" team.  Jordan had 13 points, one rebound, one assist, one steal, four turnovers, and five fouls.  Freshman Alford scored 27 points, had six rebounds, three assists, and two steals in the 72-68 victory. My favorite player outperformed the future greatest player in basketball history in the GOAT's last collegiate game.

     

     During the 1986-87 season, my fanship of both Alford and Knight was at an all-time high thanks to John Feinstein's book, Season On The Brink, which came out on January 1, 1987.  It was an all-access look into Coach Knight and the Indiana team's 1985-86 season - access given to Feinstein with Knight's permission.  Regrettable permission as it turns out.  Knight's critics launched a full press assault against him, citing the book's depictions of a profane and abusive coach, one who was an out-of-control tyrant who should be fired immediately.  What I and what most players, former players, and coaches took from the book was a different emphasis.  We saw a flawed man, yes, but more importantly we saw a coach who was incredibly smart, demanding, and highly principled.  We saw a guy who cared enough for his players to do everything possible to maximize their talents, and to mold successful men to be admired, off the court and after graduation.  The profanity in the book didn't bother me at all, nor did Knight's tough-love approach.  And based on the successes of his teams, and the overwhelming loyalty and support from his former players, they not only understood his methods, but appreciated them.  And no one more than Steve. I read the book three times during that month, enjoying it more each time.  When the Hoosiers won the National Championship that 1987 season, I went from a Bob Knight fan to a full-fledged disciple.  I became a high school basketball coach of 27 years because of Coach Knight's influence upon the game, upon his players, and upon me.  (That 300-page story has yet to be written).

     My love for college basketball began with those 80's players and teams, but my appreciation for the college game and how it was played was a never-ending study in endless strategies and philosophies. I was totally consumed five months out of the year.  Every free moment I had was watching college basketball on TV, or going to a game in person.  Division I, II, or III, it didn't matter.  The NBA game lacks the coaching aspect of the college game for me. The talent level makes the NBA more of a "players league", whereas college coaches have much more of an influence on the teams' success.  I rarely watch the NBA because of this. Another reason is the professional vs. amateur factor.  Playing basketball for a paycheck inherently takes something away from playing primarily for the love of the game.  College athletics had the purity of sport, untainted by the almighty dollar.  

     No doubt, college basketball has had its share of programs that broke the NCAA rules of amateurism: paying players and family members, giving gifts, etc. It has also long been an enterprise where winning championships was emphasized and educating and graduating student-athletes was not.  But there were enough college coaches that did things "the right way", and that kept me interested.  First and foremost was Coach Knight, who ran a scrupulously clean program and had a near 100% graduation rate for his four-year players.  And when the Hoosiers would play a pay-for-play team like Kentucky, nothing was more satisfying than cheering for the "good guys" to beat the team that did things the wrong way.

     The 1995 movie Blue Chips tells the story of a fictional college basketball program mired by scandal.  Paying players and lavishing them with gifts to ensure their letter-of-intent and to keep them happy, was a script based in collegiate sports reality.  In one scene, Coach Pete Bell (Nick Nolte) of the Western University basketball team confronts one of his players about being paid by crooked alumni for shaving points during a game. "You took the purist thing in your life and you corrupted it" the coach says.  "And for what?".  What was once kept secret and considered the most corrupt thing happening in collegiate sports - paying athletes - has now gone mainstream and is legal.       

     

     In 2021, The NCAA adopted the NIL provision, which stands for Name Image & Likeness.  This allows student athletes to profit off their personal brand through marketing and promotional endeavors such as autograph signings, product endorsements, and social media posts.  The college athlete is no longer an amateur.  NIL has turned college players into marketable commodities, open to the highest bidder for their services.  Transfer rates have exploded for this reason.  Eighteen-year-olds are hiring sports agents out of high school to sift through the monetary benefits available, based on the marketing tentacles of prospective schools. A university's rich history, athletic tradition, and academic excellence is all but an afterthought.  Pitches of playing time, championship aspirations, and a college degree has when recruiting high school and transfer-portal players, has been replaced with coaches having to sell student-athletes on how much money they can make. Coach Knight is certainly rolling over in his grave over this.

     Since Knight retired from coaching in 2008 after an eight-year stint at Texas Tech University, my passion for college basketball diminished a little bit. How could it not? My mentor had walked away from the game after 42 years as a head coach.  I remained a TTU fan when his son Pat took over for him, and I was still glued to the game as a high school coach.  Eventually, I shifted my allegiance to two other college program favorites, The University of Wisconsin and the University of Virginia.  The reason was Bob Knight-influenced:  Both teams and their respective coaches emphasized what Coach Knight did: minimizing mistakes, tough defense, and fundamental offensive efficiency.  

     

     Weeks after I had made my decision to quit on college basketball, Virginia coach Tony Bennett abruptly retired.  The National Championship coach, a Team USA assistant, and the winningest coach in the powerhouse ACC over the last ten years, called it quits at the young age of 55. Bennett found himself unable and ultimately unwilling to change with the times.  Not unlike the majority of coaches I'm sure, Bennett felt the integrity of college ball was being compromised by the NIL and transfer portal era.  Instead of young men being rewarded for their talents and hard work with a college scholarship and a myriad of other opportunities that come along with that, it wasn't enough.  It's not enough for coaches to dedicate themselves to coaching young men, create a winning program, and be ambassadors and money makers for their schools.  Now they also have to pander to teens and twenty-year-olds about how they can help them make a buck.  Coach Bennett couldn't reconcile all that, so he followed his conscience and left.  The purity of the college game is gone, and the root of all evil is responsible.

     Wisconsin also saw significant losses this year thanks to NIL.  After a 22-14 season last year, the Badgers had a promising outlook for 2024-25.  But better offers led to three key players transferring to other schools, including their leading scorer, A.J. Storr, and their three-year starting point guard, Chucky Hepburn.  This is Storr's third school in three years.  Thanks to transfer portal rules, players can transfer multiple times without restriction.  It's like an NBA free agent signing one-year deals every year.  The rosters on my two favorite teams look like they were filled with glorified travel-team players, randomly chosen to play for a year with the option to leave at anytime.

     At the end of Blue Chips, Coach Pete Bell quits as coach because of his own cheating - approving illegal payments to players - and the guilt it brought him.  The final scene has Bell walking by a kids' playground pick-up game when he notices a talented 10-year-old with a flaw in his shot.  He stops, compliments the kid, then corrects him on his shooting mechanics.  The movie ends with Coach Bell navigating the young players into positions to resume their game - his attempt at revisiting the purity of the game he himself had corrupted.  

    

      I often think back on my Biddy Basketball days up through my high school coaching years. I reflect fondly on the countless hours I spent over thirty-plus years, watching and studying the game.  Out of sheer enjoyment, certainly, but also with the hope of learning something new that I could use myself as a coach. I'm grateful for how much basketball has positively influenced my personality, intellect, moral compass, and perspective - on and off the court.  I'm grateful that my experience with basketball has had a purity to it, for as long as it has.  When I see a kid shooting hoops in his driveway, or pass by a playground pick-up game, or go to a high school game, I always feel a surge of heart-warming nostalgia.  And if the situation lends itself, I offer my instruction, like Coach Pete Bell did in that last scene.  Because that's what love of basketball does - it brings about a connection between people that is truly genuine and pure.  Unfortunately, the connection I had thanks to Division-I college basketball, is now gone forever.