Jack’s Blog

Finally out of that intense Las Vegas heat and back to Fresno - where, just to remind us of the fun we had in Sin City, the thermometer is well over 100.

Younger son, Alex, and the undermanned AAU team of kids from Central Cali (Organized Chaos), represented the Valley well, going undefeated (3-0) in their pool and winning two games in the “Championship” bracket (including a 77-51 trouncing of D-1 Sports of NC, led by Quincy Miller, rated by most as the #2 rising senior prospect in the nation) before dropping a two-point decision to Urban DFW in a contest in which OC led most of the way.

Other than getting a chance for my wife and I to watch our son and agonize over every missed shot and turnover, cheer every basket and assist and “help” the officials (some parents more than others - they know who they are), the trip gave me a chance to catch up with some old coaching friends I haven’t seen in a decade or longer.  NCAA rules preclude coaches from talking to parents of prospects at such an event but, because I have what’s referred to as a “pre-existing relationship” with so many of these guys, I enjoyed speaking, without fear of them getting in trouble, with many of the coaches whose profession I used to call my own.  Heck, I’ve known these guys a whole lot longer than I’ve known my son!

To paint a picture of what last Wed-Mon was like, there were three or four tournaments in Las Vegas involving high school prospects.  The one our kids played in (the adidas Super 64) had 40 pools of 4 teams in each pool.  160 teams!  Following pool play, teams were placed in “championship,” “gold,” “silver” or “bronze” divisions, depending on their record against the other three teams in their respective pool.  Then, single elimination tournaments began.  The other events were similar, although their numbers weren’t quite so high, more like 30-60 teams. 

One day, I received a call from a friend and former colleague who I had actually helped get into the business.  He’s currently an assistant coach at a school in a league that would be referred to as mid-major.  He called while travelling from one of the 20 or so sites.  The pace is hectic, as coaching staffs try to see (and be seen by) as many of their “top-line” prospects as they can, evaluate those players they’ve heard about or received interest from (but have yet to see play) and, especially in the case of low-to-mid-majors, maybe find an as yet unknown player whom they’d have a shot at successfully recruiting.

This coach remarked to me that he was fully aware his job was to get players, players who, in coaching parlance, “could play,” i.e. make their team better, win more games and get his team into the NCAA tournament - or get fired.  For the most part, that’s the prevailing attitude that exists in Division I now.  Why?

I posted a blog on 11/28/07 entitled The Biggest Problem in College Basketball Today.  My number one answer?  Colleges are paying coaches too much money.  Whether you agree or not, the blog is well worth reading and I suggest you check it out, keeping in mind I wrote it nearly three years ago.  The game - and profession - have progressed but, often, with progress comes problems.  Or in the case of today’s college basketball scene, increased pressure.  While what Gonzaga has done, i.e. seeing them in a Top 10 poll is no longer shocking, is remarkable, the presidents and athletics directors of the other seven teams in the WCC (Gonzaga’s conference) adopt a feeling of “If they can do it, why can’t we?” 

The WCC is a league of eight church-schools, six in California and the University of Portland, in addition to the Zags, so resources would seem to have been relatively equal throughout the league when Gonzaga began its ascent.  Don’t think the prez’s and AD’s don’t have egos.  When their counterparts from Gonzaga walk into WCC meetings, the “have-nots” begin to wonder, “Why not us?”  Changing the coach often becomes the answer.  So, while my friend’s statement about “get players or else” might have seemed a little dramatic, it’s become reality.

Yet, coaches love their profession.  Some for different reasons than others, but working long hours - and many days on the road - is just part of the job.  Consumed is the word that’s used when the coaching profession is discussed.  As a sort of personal experiment, I asked my friend if he knew who Shirley Sherrod was.  Although hers was the lead story in nearly every paper in the nation, he told me he didn’t.  In fact, when he called, he was in the car with an assistant coach from a high-major program (BCS) and he asked him if he knew about Shirley Sherrod.  Same response. 

I am not including this story to disparage nor criticize my friend and his associate.  It’s mentioned because, when I was an assistant (between 1972-2002), I wouldn’t have known about a front-page story like Shirley Sherrod either.  I don’t mean to infer that every coach on the Division I level is ignorant of the Shirley Sherrod story.  It’s just that, because of the consuming aspect of the job, there’s a feeling that nothing else matters other than what you ought to be doing to make your team better and advance your career (or keep from derailing it).  In addition, you get the (absurd) feeling that while you’re reading about that A-1 story, you could be calling a prospect or seeing another game.

My late, brilliant mentor, John Savage, used to say there were some people at opposite ends of the spectrum.  Most coaches were the latter in his statement:

“Some people are a mile wide and an inch deep, while others are an inch wide and a mile deep.”Â

Our younger son, Alex, finished out his summer basketball competition by playing with an AAU travel team composed of kids from the San Joaquin Valley.  Usually, when basketball aficionados talk about the highly talented travel teams from California, they’re speaking of teams from either the Los Angeles or Oakland areas.  But the group of guys put together by Chris Stahowski of San Joaquin Memorial (Fresno) HS represented themselves - and the state of CA - magnificently.

They called themselves Organized Chaos and competed in tourneys locally, in the Bay Area and in Long Beach before the finale in the mecca of summer hoops, Las Vegas.  Anyone who’s ever read this blog undoubtedly knows of the back problems I’ve encountered the past two decades (plus).  They just don’t seem to want to stop and the latest episode precluded me from making the Vegas trip, which at first didn’t bother me since it’s as hot in Sin City as it is in Fresno.  In addition, I don’t gamble and am not much for shows (or sitting for long periods of time for anything) and since our guys played one game/day for the first three days, that’s an awful lot of down time away from the comforts of home.

Through Alex, and even moreso one of the fathers of another of the players, I got updates when the games concluded.  The first one ended 81-67 with our guys on the wrong end.  As soon as I heard the opponents, a team from New York, had three guys windmill dunking in warmups, I knew how high school age kids can get psychologically overwhelmed at such a display.  “OC” hung tough, but with only seven players on the trip (two more would join them in a couple days), the squad wore down and ultimately went down.  It was the last time all tournament they would lose.

Going 2-1 in their “pool,” placed them in the Gold Bracket, not the top (Platinum), but only one shy - and in a group with plenty of talent.  Teams from Nevada, California, Washington, Louisiana, Arizona, Nebraska and I’m sure I’m missing somebody else all tasted defeat at the hands of the Central Cali boys, some of the contests blowouts, most not.  As the guys kept winning, I found myself getting more and more anxious to find out how they fared.  Being at the games, as I have for both our sons (not as much Andy because I was coaching - either on the college or high school level - when he was playing), it’s nerve-wracking - which is why I’ll correct math tests or do a sudoku during the game. Anything to keep from getting overly involved as I see altogether too many parents do, making fools of themselves by (mainly) screaming at the officials.  When I coached, I frowned on that behavior, not because I didn’t want the parents to look bad.  They’re grown people (most of them) and can act however they desire.  What bothered me was the message it sent to the kids.  You didn’t play poorly or make mistakes, it was the officials who caused the team to lose, giving the kids exactly what the parents (truly) wanted - and I, as coach, reviled - a false sense of self-aggrandizement. 

What was more disturbing were the kids on the team who knew they hadn’t played well and were actually embarrassed by their parent’(s’) juvenile behavior.  That’s not easy to tell parents - and I never did.  Number one, I didn’t think it was my place, secondly, they wouldn’t have believed me and finally, it wouldn’t have changed anything.

So it was (partially) because of this (threat of) asinine behavior I chose to forego attending this tournament.  My back was really the reason and, to be honest, had I known how they were going to play - and how frazzled I’d be waiting to hear the latest result - I probably would have made the (brutal, 6-hour) trip.  It’s special to see your son, as a member of a team, win a championship.  Rather than experiencing the joy of seeing the Gold Division Champs, I settled for talking to Alex after each game, about each game, and then, giving fatherly advise on things outside basketball (”sure a $25 all-day, all-you-can-eat pass at one of the hotels sounds good, but what if you’re with one of your buddies who didn’t get one of those passes and wants to go to McD’s?” - he got it anyway, or “don’t fall for those cheap knock-offs you find on every corner” - he’s the proud owner of some sweet $10 sunglasses).

As Harry S Truman, someone who most likely wouldn’t have pulled any punches with referees (if he and Bess had boys who played), once said:  

“I have found the best way to give advice to your children is to find out what they want and then advise them to do it.”

We’re back - and getting home from St. Louis was a heckuva lot easier than going there was.  Read on about our trip to St. Louis. 

Our (my wife, Jane and son, Alex, and I) journey to St. Louis (Alex had been invited to the NIKE Hoop Jamboree, a 4-day competition for the Top 100 freshmen and sophomore high school basketball players in the country) began without incident.  The check-in for the flight from Fresno to Las Vegas was smooth and the flight was on time and uneventful.  The remainder of the trip could have been a great deal easier than it was, but at the time, who was to know?

Our plane arrived at the Sin City airport and we immediately went to our departing gate for the Denver portion of the trip (Fresno isn’t one of the easiest places to get in and out of), where we were then to catch a plane to St. Louis.  As we were about to sit down, we heard an announcement that there was ground fog in Denver which was causing delays for all planes going in and out of the Mile High City (no wonder there was ground fog -normally, fog a mile high doesn’t affect travel). 

We inquired about our flight in particular, and was told it would be 45 minutes late.  Since our connection was only an hour, that left us only 15 minutes to make our next flight (and, the gate agent informed us, we needed to keep in mind that the doors closed 10 minutes prior to departure).  In addition, our plane arrived at Gate 33 and the St. Louis plane departed from Gate 71.  Armed with this bit of pleasant news, Jane asked the agent if, perhaps, the plane coming into Denver that would be taking us to St. Louis would also be late, giving us a little more wiggle room (than the five minutes we were currently staring at).

“No, I’m sorry,” the gate agent said.  “That aircraft is originating out of Denver.”  Lucky us.  I asked the agent, who, at that time, wasn’t in the running for the most popular person in the airport (even though he had no control over the weather in Denver) if there was a plane from Las Vegas to St. Louis, even if it meant taking a red-eye, or if there was another flight to Denver.  No direct St. Lou flight and, naturally, our flight was the last one out of Vegas to Denver. 

“I can get you on a flight to St. Louis tomorrow morning that gets in at 11:20 am,” he told me.  That meant we’d have to wait for our luggage, get a rental car and drive directly to the registration site on the campus of St. Louis U.  Since the camp wasn’t going to be a breeze for Alex to begin with, I was trying to find a way to give him the best chance to perform well, knowing that stepping off of a plane and onto the court wasn’t it.  Participants had to be checked in by 12 Noon CST on Thursday (which is why we had to leave on Wednesday) and activities started promptly at 3:00 pm.  So, we were going to be late for check-in and he’d have to rush to get his dorm room, gear, get dressed and back to the rec center - not to mention that we’d have to either get a hotel room and get up really early to make it back to the airport, or sleep at the gate, neither option sounding too good to me.  It turned out it didn’t matter as that flight was way overbooked.  This was just the beginning.

“There’s a flight to Chicago (from Denver) that leaves a little later than your original flight to St. Louis, which would then connect to a flight to St. Louis, . . . oh, but it’s oversold, too.” That situation sounded as good to me as we could hope for at this time so I asked if there was any possible way he could put us on standby and let us take our chances.  “I’m sorry, but since you have baggage checked and it’s too late to take it off the plane it’s on, that would be impossible. 

“Don’t worry about the baggage” (Alex had carried his bag on so, technically, we had all the bags we absolutely needed; Jane and I could handle the inconvenience of a day with the same clothes and we could always get toiletries at the hotel).

“Well, sir, you’re not allowed to fly on one plane and have your baggage on another.” 

“Why not?” I asked him.  “Look, we got on our original flight with the luggage, and there’s no way we would have known that ground fog in Denver would ruin our plans to get to St. Louis for a basketball event, so” (here’s where you have to be really careful with what you say, because with airport security having been ratcheted up since 9/11/01 - when terrorists who’d been known to have taken flying lessons, but weren’t interested in how to land a plane, and all the other obvious oversights that occurred before that fateful and horrific day - they never know when an overweight, nearly bald, 60-year-old Jewish guy, who’s had eight back surgeries and is with his wife and 15-year-old son, . . . never mind), “what else ya got?”

Ignoring my frustration, he continued, “The next best thing I can get you is a flight from  Denver that leaves at 9 and gets to Chicago at about one in the morning, then a flight at 8 am that gets into St. Louis at 9:20 am.”  As completely absurd as it sounds, I was actually considering this.  I mean, what other choice did I have?  I told him to reserve three seats on the Las Vegas-Denver, Denver-Chicago and Chicago-St. Louis flights.  Then, I called my buddy, Dave Severns (the assistant coach for player development for the Chicago Bulls and the guy who worked out Alex numerous times when he still lived in Fresno) to tell him of this SNAFU. 

He had mentioned, depending on his schedule, he might be coming down to watch a day of camp.  “How long a drive is it from Chicago to St. Louis?” I asked.

“About five hours.  Why, is that what you’re thinking of doing?  Driving?”

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made - which I now realize that, even thinking for a moment it made sense (flying from Fresno-Las Vegas, Las Vegas-Denver, Denver-Chicago and then, on whatever sleep I got on the plane, renting a car and driving five hours to St. Louis) showed how screwed up my reasoning was.  Yet, I called the St. Louis Courtyard Marriott (one of the hotels Nike had recommended because of its proximity to SLU) and told them we’d not be coming in that night, but would be there as early as 6-7 am the following morning and we’d need a room, so please do not cancel it, we’d pay for the night but would need immediate check-in that next morning. 

I next made my way to the counter to tell the gate agent my plans and that I needed to have my ticket terminated in Chicago so I could retrieve my bags.  He told me that wouldn’t be a problem, to tell them in Denver.  He was getting less helpful by the request.

 My next call was to Alamo Rent-a-Car to cancel the car in St. Louis (4 days with AAA discount was to cost $109.50) and reserve a car in Chicago that I’d need for the same time, but dropping at the same place (St. Louis airport).  Did they have a car that possibly had been driven from St. Louis and dropped in Chicago?

“Let’s see,” the Alamo salesperson (speaking to me from India or some place “overseas,” which he told me when I asked what his location was), “I can get you one for $185″ (I’m thinking, “OK, that’s not too bad”) per day, for a total of …” and then all I remember is a number that started with eight hundred.  This whole trip was beginning to have a major impact on my blood pressure.  My yoga instructor would be so thrilled at how much practice I was getting using my breathing techniques. 

We decided to get something to eat and when we got back to the gate, our new flight to Denver had been delayed so we were going to miss our connection to Chicago anyway.  Of course, the gate agent who had “helped” me with this new flight itinerary had gone home (by car, bus, bike or longboard) and I went to a new face and tried a different tactic.

“Do you have any kids?”  I asked the gentleman, who I was certain, did.

“Yes, I do,” he replied.

“My son over there” (by this time, Alex was sprawled out on the floor, against the wall) “was selected as one of the Top 100 freshmen and sophomore basketball players in the country.”

“Wow, that’s quite an honor.”

“Yeah, it sure is, thanks.  Let me ask you, if he were your son, wouldn’t you try your best to get him there and give him the best possible opportunity to succeed?”  By now, I was close to, if not actually, begging.

“Look,” he said.  “We’re trying to get everybody on your flight” (the first one to Denver) “on the flight over there” (he pointed a couple gates away where a line of about 100 people were standing).  “I’ll get you three tickets on that one.”

“What about these boarding passes to Denver, Chicago and St. Louis?”  I asked, not sure why, since this guy was doing us the biggest favor we’d asked for in Vegas (including, “no bacon” on my turkey sandwich).  He told us that we might need them in Denver.

So, we got on the Denver flight and made it there about an hour later (9:35) than we were supposed to originally arrive (8:31).  We checked the “Departures” and saw the flight for Chicago was delayed until 10:36.  Wait!!!  The flight to St. Louis was scheduled to leave at 10:04.  Next to the departure time were the words “delayed - weather.”  Uh-oh.  Major problem!  We didn’t have tickets on that flight anymore.  I remembered how the Vegas gate agent had assured me there was no way we could make the connection because the plane originated out of Denver.  It turned out the plane did originate in Denver but the pilot and crew were delayed on their way to Denver.

The Chicago flight was to depart from Gate 27 (sure enough, we had arrived at Gate 33) and I used the “Do you have any kids?” routine again.  The gate agent did (aren’t children wonderful?) and said, although he couldn’t call Gate 71, that Jane and Alex ought to start heading that way - pronto! because they were boarding - while he printed out new tickets.  I did the best I could to “run” (something I haven’t done since I had a morphine pump implanted in my abdomen) - with my over-the-shoulder brief case, James Patterson novel and purse (man bag, for those who don’t like to use the term “purse” for something a male carries). 

Out of breath and experiencing a pain level of, on a scale from 1-10 (which nurses and doctors are fond of asking people who are hurting) - infinity, I made it to Gate 71.  No one, other than Jane, Alex and a solitary agent, were there.  Turns out they boarded downstairs and they were holding the door for us.  Hallelujah! 

We got on the plane and got into St. Louis at 1:30 am (exactly one hour later than the itinerary said).  All that angst, worry and stress for - an hour!  It’s like Mark Twain said:

“I’ve had many problems in my life - most of which never happened.”

   Â

Yesterday’s blog spoke of the laser-like focus that Kobe Bryant displayed in Game 1 of the NBA Finals against the Orlando Magic - and of how Kobe intends on maintaining that focus until his personal goal of bringing another NBA World Championship to the City of Angels.

Last night I was the emcee at an event in Fresno (the Central California Nikeii Foundation’s Yoshino Memorial Golf Tournament - the 10th year in a row I’ve been requested to do the honors at the gala dinner following the golfing).  Jerry Tarkanian is as loyal as anyone could possibly be and for nine of those ten years (one year he had a family engagement he absolutely could not break) but he’s been in attendance at the dinner, repaying the CCNF for the enormous support they had given him when he was coaching at Fresno State.

Following the festivities, I sat and talked with Jerry.  He’s a long-time friend as well as my former boss at Fresno State (I served in the capacity of Director of Basketball Operations during each of the seven years he was the head coach - and we recently completed our fourth season as host and star of The Jerry Tarkanian Radio Show - I’ll let the reader figure who’s the host and who’s the star). 

Naturally, the NBA Playoffs was one of the major topics of conversation.  I told him what I had blogged about yesterday and then, reminded him of the stories he said he used to tell the UNLV players - of how he’d let them know when there was a big-time, televised heavyweight boxing championship in Vegas and how they should watch the fighters as they entered the ring.  His point was for them to watch the fighters’ “corner people” first (you know, their posses, troupes, whatever they’re called) as the fighter entered the arena and began walking to the ring.  These hangers-on would be yelling, semi-dancing, gesturing, attempting to lather up the crowd for their man.  Jerry’s main advice to his UNLV players (since many of them had seen the boxers around town) was to check out the faces of the boxers.

His description of this phenomenon was that, during the mayhem going on as each fighter moved toward their respective corners, if you just zeroed your attention in on the boxers themselves, you saw guys, hoods of their robes up, acting as blinders for peripherals, staring straight ahead, thinking of nothing other than the impending fight.

In my book, Life’s A Joke, I related a story which made people realize how much focus is a part of a coach’s preparation (a great coach, not the one who’s going to use any tube time he can get as a recruiting tool - or as an interview for another job).  The story was about a  Bulldog booster club lunch meeting and concerned one of the FSU players.

Each week during the season, the booster club at Fresno State would hold a luncheon in which head coach Jerry Tarkanian would speak about the games we’d just completed, and give a brief scouting report on the ones coming up.  Then, the luncheon would end with a Q&A period for him.  One question to Jerry was how he felt about one of the players and the armband he was wearing.

Jerry said, “What armband?”

The guy said, “You know, the black armband that he wears.”

“He does?” Jerry asked.

To which the booster said, “I can’t believe you haven’t noticed that he wears a black armband on his bicep.”

Jerry simply said, “You know, I was married to Lois for 34 years before I knew what color her eyes were.”

I could guarantee you he knew how many turnovers the kid had.  

One of the coaches whom Jerry greatly admires (and, if you’d ever heard this gentleman speak, he’ll claim the feeling is mutual) is none other than the great, John Wooden.  One of the reasons Tark was so successful is because he also subscribed to the same philosphy of Coach Wooden:

“You can’t do anything about yesterday and the only way to improve tomorrow is by what you do right now.”

A couple years ago, I posted a blog about regrets I had in my life.  “Regrets I’ve had a few, but then again, too few to mention” is a refrain from one of my favorite songs, My Way, by Frank Sinatra, but in no way, does it represent my first 60 years on this planet.  I have had many regrets and most of them are of my own doing - or lack of doing.  Many times, in life, a regret’s true cause is “lack of action.”

When I was on the staff at Western Carolina, our head coach, a native of North Carolina, used to talk about him and his wife going to see Elvis in concert.  I had read an article entitled, I think (after all, it was over 30 years ago), “You gotta see these performers live before you die.”  It was about whom the top three acts were.  In no particular order, they were Elvis, Wayne Newton and Liberace.  Each performance was spectacularly done, no expense spared.

It was during the first of my three years (1977-80) at Western when Elvis died.  I can still remember where I was standing when I heard the news.  Strangely, my first thought was, “Man, I’d better hurry because I don’t want to miss seeing him perform live.”  Of course, it soon struck me that I was already too late.  The funny thing was the real reason I wanted to go was just to say I saw the great Elvis in concert.  In 1980, I left WCU to become an assistant coach at Tennessee, and if you think there was any controversy about who the king of rock ‘n roll was, just live in Tennessee for a couple of days - or a couple of minutes, if you ask the first five people you meet, “Who do you think was the King of Rock ‘n Roll?”

That same feeling came over me tonight as I sat down to watch a CNN program about the 100 Most Influential People this year.  In the middle of it was mention that Danny Gans had died.  Since I worked for Jerry Tarkanian for his entire seven year tenure at Fresno State, I got to meet many people from Las Vegas, especially when FSU and UNLV were in the same conference (the WAC).  On one trip to Sin City, I’d seen many billboards and bumper stickers touting a sensational act, Danny Gans.

I asked my Vegas friends who this Danny Gans guy was and each and every person said, “Are you kidding?  He’s far and away the most popular act in Vegas.”  After asking what exactly it was he did, many of the people I questioned said, simply, “Everything.”  I found out that everything meant - singing, dancing, comedy, impersonations, you name it.  I also found out that he was an actor (he was performing in a one-man play on Broadway prior to making the move to Vegas so he could spend more time with his wife and three kids).  Oh yeah, and he was an All-American in baseball at Cal Poly SLO and had played in the minor leagues before a career ending injury (which simultaneously turned out to be a career beginning injury - in show business).  Naturally, someone this good would, in addition to all else, become a leader in the world of philanthopy.  Was he this good?

Remembering my days prior to Western Carolina, I figured I’d go see this show that was getting rave reviews from everybody who’d lived in Vegas and I asked a friend who was in the business of finding tickets and “deals” for shows, meals and hotels how much tickets to a Danny Gans’ show was.  I nearly collapsed when I heard the price, but my friend softened the blow when he said, “Don’t worry; you won’t have to pay that price.”

Beautiful!  Another perk of working for and knowing Jerry Tarkanian.  Except that wasn’t exactly the case.  My friend said to me, “Like I was saying, you don’t have to worry about getting tickets to see him.  You’re only here for three days and he’s sold out for over a week!”

“What?!?!?!”  You mean he’s that good?”

My friend just laughed.  Gans had been voted “Entertainer Of The Year” that year.  And wouldn’t you know it?  He’s been voted that honor every year since.  Yup, 11 years in a row, Danny Gans had been voted Las Vegas’ Entertainer of the Year.

What kind of guy was he?  In an interview with one of his closest friends, Larry King, Gans told a story of a painting his daughter drew when he was performing in a one-man play on Broadway.  She’d drawn everyone in the family, pets included, but no Danny.  When he asked his little girl, “Why is there a picture of our family, but daddy isn’t in it?”, she replied, “Oh, you’re in it daddy.  There you are - at the top.”

At the top of the sheet he saw a picture of an airplane with a likeness of Danny’s face in one of the windows.  That’s the day he knew, “If that’s my daughter’s perception of her dad, I’m working too hard and am away from my wife and kids entirely too much.”  The move to Las Vegas really paid off when he hooked up with Steve Wynn and the dollars starting rolling in faster than they could count them.  Until yesterday.  After he was found dead in his bedroom, apparently dying in his sleep.

Of all the entertainers mentioned in this blog, I’ve only made it to see, in person, Wayne Newton.  And his show is . . . breathtaking.  Danny Gans was only 52 when he died, but he seemed to squeeze every last drop out of most of those years.  He could be the person A. Sachs was talking about when he said:

“Death is more universal than life.  Everyone dies, but not everyone lives.”

The book on OJ Simpson, at least the one deciding his future, is now complete.  It ended tragically, with a jury and a judge deciding the former Heisman Trophy winner should spend up until his 70th birthday (at a minimum) in an orange jump suit with others just like him - and nothing at all like him.  Here is a guy whose life was full of winning moments and meeting dignitaries, now reduced to one final defeat and a life of meeting people at the opposite end of the human spectrum - or worse, not meeting anybody, but rather spending up to 23 hours a day by himself.  He was a star on TV, now he won’t even own one; has gone from being idolized to being vilified; people used to argue vehemently he was one of, if not the best, running backs in the history of intercollegiate and professional football, now the argument has turned, with equal vehemence, to whether he is one of, if not the slimiest, creatures in history (if, in fact, he did murder two people, one of them his ex-wife and mother of two of his children - and displayed more remorse for himself and what happened to him in Las Vegas than he did over the death of his ex-wife and kids’ mom), basically experiencing a life style change that could be described as moving from alpha to omega.

Is it my imagination or has his public perception swung to the point where a far greater percentage of people today think he is guilty of double homicide than did shortly after those grisly murders took place?  Or is it that his supporters still believe, but have simply stopped talking publicly about it?

I worked as associate head basketball coach at USC from 1991-95 so I was working for the Trojans when the dastardly event took place.  Boy, did I ever experience a different perspective!  If I heard one person who worked or went to school when the Juice was playing for SC, tell how he or she couldn’t believe he could have done something that horrific because of how hard he cultivated his image shortly after his NFL career (TV broadcasting, commercials, acting), I heard twenty.  People just refused to believe it.

They’d cling to every scrap of evidence that may have shown his innocence - the main one being, if the victims had their carotid arteries slashed, there would be blood everywhere, that OJ would have to be drenched in blood, not a droplet here or there.  This man was an honest-to-goodness icon.  

And now he’s just a con.

He’s a case of his own success overtaking the reality that, no matter how big you get, there are still societal rules we all have to live by.  He certainly could have used Norman Vincent Peale’s belief that:

“The man who lives for himself is a failure.  The man who lives for others has achieved true success.”

I’M BACK!!!  After ten days and two sessions of the Michael Jordan Flight School in Santa Barbara, it’s back to the 100+ degree (but it’s a dry heat) weather of Fresno and time to continue blogging.  Here’s part of how I spent my last ten days.

George Raveling has always been a “people person.”  The former star player at Villanova and basketball coach at Washington State, Iowa and USC has a way about him that attracts people.  There are probably over a hundred people who have George in their “Fave Five” and another hundred who would if they had a Fave Five.  A 6′5″ black man, George has never discriminated when it comes to his selection of friends.

I had the good fortune to meet up with “Rav” in 1973 when I worked at WSU as a graduate assistant (however, it definitely didn’t seem like “good fortune” during in those 18 hour days - although what I learned in those two years as a GA I’ve put to use many times over).  George was so much more than a basketball coach.  A true Renaissance Man, George had his mind in many areas, which, at that time, probably hurt his overall record because coaches back then were so singleminded toward their profession (which became abundantly apparent when they either lost their jobs or retired).

George’s many interests might have hurt his immediate record (which turned out to be extremely respectable), but no one is more admired now - nearly 40 years later - for all he’s been able to accomplish.  One amazing trait of Rav’s is that he is always thinking and on the lookout for opportunities (tomorrow’s blog will be about his expanding on the ideas of others - and I guarantee it will be incredibly thought provoking).

Athletes always talk about them taking advantage of what the sport offers and not letting the sport take advantage of them.  Certainly, one of the leaders in that field is Big George.  Asked by Bob Knight to be one of his assistants for the 1984 Olympic team, George got to know and develop a relationship with Michael Jordan.  George’s personality, intelligence (it doesn’t take long after speaking with him that he is in no way defined by or limited to basketball), and general “likeability” wins over people - especially people who have a great deal of substance to them.  Michael and George were mutually attracted to each other and therein a friendship was born that flourishes to this day.  George says each year in his initial address to the camp staff how amazed he is at the amount of trust Michael bestows upon him.  Those who know Michael realize the confidence he must have in George to allow him such freedom.

Michael Jordan is (barely) arguably the best basketball player who ever played, but he, also, is in no way defined by basketball.  He exudes charisma, has as great a confidence in himself in any arena (athletic or corporate) and is, to the envy of most everyone, a guy who looks like a million - no matter what he’s wearing.  It’s also apparent he is a man who’s quite conscious of his image - and acts appropriately.

After George and Mike hit it off, the wheels started turning in George’s mind.  He has the remarkable ability to see an opportunity, but make certain it’s a win-win, i.e. in no way is he ever looking to capitalize on someone else without their being justly rewarded.  A native Easterner, Rav took to LA and now is West Coast all the way.  It’s my understanding that he approached Michael about having a basketball camp in Santa Barbara.  George, though, was insistent that Michael be fully involved in the camp.  He knew of Mike’s love of golf and the gorgeous courses in the Santa Barbara area, as well as a first class hotel which was used to hosting famous clientele (meaning the management would assure MJ he would be able to come and go without being hassled - something that’s hard for common folk to grasp - until they see the rock star status Jordan commands).

And so,… the MJ Flight School was established.  The camp is basically four days of instruction, competitions (individual and team) and games, but, make no mistake about it, this camp cannot be duplicated due to the celebrity of Michael Jordan.  He’s there every day, usually lecturing to campers in the morning and conducting competitions or answering their questions at night.  Days are free for golf.  Hey, with a schedule that frenetic, a guy’s got to unwind.

Attendance is expensive, but it’s also one-of-a-kind.  Each camper gets one MJ autograph (anything they want - and there have been some very creative items go through the line) and a picture with their team and Michael.  It’s incredible how one person can smile that many times and every picture comes out great - of him, at least.  Some lucky campers are selected to compete against him - occasionally one-on-one, but usually in a shooting contest.  Prizes are plentiful.  Sometimes one camper can win a pair of shoes for his entire team, just for making two free throws in a row.  On other occasions, a team can win a pair of shoes for each of its members - if one of their parents can make one free throw.

The camp’s just completed its thirteenth year and still draws upwards of 700 kids, ages 8-18.  Many years there are waiting lists.  I’ve worked the camp for the past seven summers and each year, more and more parents mention to me how organized and well-run the camp is (much of the credit goes to one of George’s - really and truly - best friends, the former long-time coach at Stetson University, Glenn Wilkes, and his son, the current, highly successful women’s basketball coach at Rollins College, Glenn, Jr. - as well as George’s son, Mark, who has the unenviable task of hiring exactly the right number of coaches - try doing that some day - and also has to deal with mailing all the free shoes, and other items, they give away to the numerous winners).

It was, and is, a marvelous concept - and I have yet to mention the fantasy camp Rav and MJ run in Las Vegas for guys over 35.  That will be for another day.  As far as these ideas go, the line Victor Hugo made famous has never applied more than to these ventures:

“An invasion of armies can be resisted, but not an idea whose time has come.”     ¼/p>

*The following is an excerpt from the article I wrote for the latest (July/August 08) issue of HIS magazine.  The article, in its entirety, can be seen by obtaining a copy at a local news stand or in many of the fine establishments that display HIS.

Of all the vacation spots there are in the world, the most enigmatic is Las Vegas.  In some ways, “Lost Wages” represents all that’s wrong in America, the ultimate of a “something-for-nothing” mentality and a propensity for bad decision-making.  It’s all too common to see a man with a cardboard sign on the street - the day after he blew the rent money on “23 red.”  Someone once told me, “You see those magnificent structures?  They didn’t build ‘em on winners.”

Although anyone can get into trouble, when professional athletes embark on the city to do some serious partying, all too often, bad news and, occasionally, tragedy follows.  The combination of excess cash and irresponsible behavior is a surefire recipe for disaster.  The most notorious case is of Adam (Don’t call me “Pacman”) Jones, a member of the Dallas Cowboys.  The summary of the Jones’ story is: he went to a strip club, threw thousands of dollars at the dancers and a shooting ensued which caused devastating injuries.  His explanation was he only went to the establishment to dine (which equates to saying the reason you went to a brothel was for the exercise).  This only illustrates that not only can someone lose their money in Las Vegas, but their mind as well.

Yet, with Las Vegas being the major resort destination that it is, there must be positives - and there are - in abundance.  It is the ultimate entertainment location as far as quality, quantity and diversity of attractions - anywhere in the world.  When the name Las Vegas is mentioned, the first thought that comes to mind is gambling - all of which is legal.

Right after gambling, the shows are probably the greatest attraction.  Folies Bergere, the best plays on Broadway, singers, dancers, comedians, animal acts and magic shows - all are advertised as breathtakingly spectacular and never disappoint. 

If it’s food you live for (and there are many of us in that category), you can find both fine dining (if you can afford it) and inexpensive, all-you-can-eat specials (if you can’t).  Should your love be golf, some of the most luxurious courses in the country can be found here.   Also, as is the case with many families, while one member might favor the links, another is more inclined for some intense shopping.  From the Forum Shops at Caeser’s to the outlet malls and every price range in between, Las Vegas is a shopper’s delight.  If there weren’t all these attractions, why do you think so many conventions, events, rodeos and basketball tournaments (including the NBA All-Star Game) would be held in Las Vegas?

Most amazingly of all is what the Chamber of Commerce has done in promoting the city.  In the early days, the mob allegedly ran it (but you didn’t hear that from me).  Then, commercials about Las Vegas were advertised as a fun family experience, and roller coasters and mega-game rooms were built all over the Strip.  Now, it’s “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”  I think they’re trying to attract the same folks: it just depends on whether dad - or mom - go with the kids - or alone.

If you’re thinking about making the trip to “Sin City,” here’s some unsolicited advice.  Don’t bet more than you can afford to lose and go for the right reasons, whatever right means to you.  But remember:

“If you sell your soul to the devil, the devil owns it.”