Jack’s Blog

In other Halls of Fame, in order for a coach to be inducted, I believe a coach needs to have been retired for a period of time.  Yet in college hoops, not only is there no mandatory waiting period, they seem to find it necessary to induct active coaches.  I’ve never understood why there is such a hurry to anoint coaches with such a distinction so early.  Each of the leaders who are being selected will be certainly be chosen when their careers have come to a close.  Unless the electors worry a coach is going to die “on the bench” as so many coaches claim they’re going to do because of their love of the profession or, in some instances, because (admittedly) coaching is all they know how to do.

With all the scandals we’ve been made privy to, a wiser choice would seem to be to wait so as not to remove someone who does something illegal, unethical or worse while he or she is still an active coaching member.  By no means is this blog aimed at Rick Pitino who, coincidentally, was inducted in the 2013 class.  Both Jim Boeheim and Jim Calhoun were inducted while they were active coaches (Boeheim still is - and nearly tacked on another national championship to his lengthy resume).

My point is, why take away a spot on the ballot from an “old-timer” (for lack of a better term) or detract from the retired coach who’s entering?  For the older coach it’s a chance to reminisce some and thank others who also may be later on in years.  Right now, Pitino has to try not to forget his past teams while, naturally, the guys who just gave Louisville another banner are those who are freshest on his mind.  Besides, of his recent honors, wouldn’t it stand to reason that winning a national championship (or even a Final Four appearance had the Cards not won it), having a horse qualify to run in the Kentucky Derby and getting selected in the Hall of Fame have to rank 1,2,3 - in that order?  For someone to say no, they must really love horses.

Obviously, Rick Pitino (and Jim Boeheim and Jim Calhoun) would have been voted into the Hall following their retirement.  Maybe even at a time they’d appreciate it more or at a time the spotlight had gone away for a while, so having it return would have made it a sweeter tribute.  If there was anything any coach could do in between retirement and getting selected that would preclude him or her from induction, it would have to be some heinous crime.  The way things are run now, the title would have to be vacated, bringing additional shame on the coach and the sport.

There should be a mandatory 3-5 year waiting period for coaches to get elected in the Hall of Fame (of course with exceptions for catastrophies, e.g. Jim Valvano).  The Hall needs to show some of what coaches continually preach:

“Patience!”

After a meeting at Stanford increasing meds, followed by a session at physical therapy at SPOC (Fresno residents will know), I don’t have the energy for an original blog - or at least my two cents on the NFL replacement refs.  Here’s a blog from 1/29/08 that still makes sense:

Which is better?  Just like in ordering food, buying clothes or selecting (or choosing not to select) a fitness program, it all depends on the individual.  What makes a person feel most comfortable is usually the right choice.  However, how that choice affects others is of major concern.  People who keep their outlook to themselves seldom hurt (or influence) others, but when someone goes public, whether to a large group or a single individual, the remark or speech can brighten or dampen the mood of the receiver(s).

I’m a bit of a satirist (the way I describe my humor) or sarcastic (the way some others, especially those lacking a similar disposition to mine, describe it).  I make comments that some (or most, as I like to think) people find ranging from rather amusing to downright hilarious (because I try to direct my humor in at a general situation as opposed to at specific individual - although I must admit there are some blatantly easy and, seemingly willing, targets out there) .  Anyone with a quick wit will, over the course of a lifetime, relationship, school year, etc., say something that might offend someone (especially if that person prides themselves on how serious they take life). Many of those times the offender wishes the quip hadn’t come out that way (or, simply, hadn’t come out at all), but as Bob Haldeman said to John Dean, “Once the toothpaste is out of the tube, it’s tough to get it back in.”  It’s the risk a satirist (I’ll choose that term) takes, rather than to allow a meeting, discussion or conversation to wallow in interminable, yet serious, boredom.

There’s a story the late Jim Valvano told about being invited to the White House after he coached N.C. State to the National Championship.  He told his mother about the invitation and, not being a big sports fan, she said, “Why, what did you do wrong?”  Jim said, “No, ma, it’s an honor because we won,” to which she warned him, “Just don’t do anything to embarrass our family.” 

The day of the meeting arrived and as they were waiting for the photo op, then-President Ronald Reagan turns to Jim and asks, “By the way, coach, is your name pronounced Val-vaa-no or Val-vay-no?”  “V” says, it’s “Val-vaa-no, Mr. President.”  After a pause, he looks at the president and says,  “And is yours Ree-gan or Ray-gan.”  As soon as he said it, he screamed out, “I’m sorry, ma!“  Probably apocryphal, but still vintage Valvano and, in the case of his mom, a lady who knew her son, i.e. a realist. 

Also, two people can make the same statement, but it may be viewed it in an entirely different manner.  If Eli Manning says the Giants will win the Super Bowl, people will call him an optimist (or some other terms my wife refuses to allow me to print here).  If Tom Brady makes the same statement regarding his team, people think he’s just being realistic.  (Remember, this blog is 4 years old).

So, when it comes to optimism versus pessimism, James Cabell made a statement that captures the essence of the debate perfectly:

“The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all possible worlds.  The pessimist fears that this is true.”

Last year Pat Hill was the head football coach at Fresno State.  When he came to FSU 15 years ago, he talked about the community buying into his football team and his vision.  He told everyone who would listen that Fresno was more like a Midwest town than a California city.  He likened it to Green Bay and challenged the good people of the ‘No - as well as the rest of the San Joaquin Valley - to get behind his guys with their money and presence at games.

As for his vision, although the Bulldogs were members of the Western Athletic Conference (WAC), he wanted to mix it up with the big boys.  So he scheduled every BCS school who would have him.  Usually that meant have him at their place.  Occasionally he’d find a two-(or three-)for one or maybe a made-for-TV type match up so his clubs would get to play at home or at a neutral site.

Fresno State was no fodder either.  Hill and his boys pulled off several upsets, catching the attention of the national media.  Early on, it was a love affair.  After all, the fans felt part of the team and, on a national basis, they were part of the squad who could hang with the “famous” teams.  The program prospered and so did Hill - making upwards of a million.  But all was not bliss in Fresno.  While the guys became known around the country as giant-killers, each year they would slip up within the WAC.  The locals didn’t mind at first.

What hurt Hill and his mission the most was that his dream was actually being realized, just that it was being played out at conference foe, Boise State.  So Pat Hill was right.  It could be done.  Just wasn’t happening in Fresno.  The years would march on and more and more fans began acting . . . like fans, i.e. jumping off the bandwagon.  Last year was the final straw.  The team had a 4-9 record and, naturally, no bowl appearance.  “The offense is too predictable; the defense not aggressive enough,” was the mantra - as if the average fan on the street knows the difference between a nickel package and a Christmas package.

With the strength in numbers mentality raising its ugly head, there was pressure on the administration, not the one that hired Hill by the way.  Other than getting in trouble with the law, surprisingly, the easiest way for a coach to lose his job is not losing too many games, but losing too many fans.  There were a small chorus of blow-hard fans who made statements that until Hill was removed, they would refuse to buy season tickets.  Or single game tickets.  Or pony up donations.  The administration made a change.

So a new staff came in.  Its philosophy is a high octane offense (just what the people said they were craving for) and a change from Hill’s 4-3 to a more attacking 3-4 (like anybody knew the difference).  The news coverage remained as it is in a “small” town - at least one story a day, every day.  Players and coaches were front and center.

Finally, it was game day.  Guess how the fans of Fresno reacted?  On game day, there had been 24,000 tickets sold and if the athletic department didn’t sell 9,000 walk up tickets, the attendance at the game would be the worst opening day crowd since the 33,114 in Hill’s initial contest in 1997 (Note: the reported attendance yesterday was 28,000).  When asked, an athletic department official said he thought the fans were “taking a wait-and-see approach.  They want to see what the offense and defense will look like and how good this team will be before they come on board. . . If we start winning, the fan base will grow.”

Fan is supposed to be short for fanatic but with the economy and lack of big-time tradition, that’s how it will be in Fresno - and at many places around the country.  College athletics has become so big that much can be learned from the title of one of Jim Valvano’s books:

“They gave me a lifetime contract - and then declared me dead.”

When people are faced with major decisions in life, one strategy that’s suggested is to take a piece of paper and write down two columns.  One of the columns is the positive side, the other the negative.

Although I spent 30 years in college basketball and got to know Tom Izzo pretty well, I am not privy to whether he used this method or not.  If he did, however, I am sure he made the right call in turning down the offer to coach the Cavs.  My only wonder is why it took him so long to decide.

In the positive column, that one being to take the job, there would be, of course, the money - reportedly $6 million/year for five years (forgive me for intruding for just a moment, but he makes $3 mil now - so how much more would his and his family’s life style improve - even with his salary doubling)?  Therefore, the only other positive I can think of would be: “If when I get fired, they owe me a whole bunch of dough.”  Imagine getting canned after year two and him coming home and saying, “Lupe, I’ve got good news and bad news.  The bad news is I got fired” (because getting fired is usually considered bad news).  “The good news is I have the next three years off and we have $18 million to spend” (which kinda takes the edge off of the bad news, don’t ya think)?   

Seriously, other than a new challenge (as if trying to win a national championship in college basketball isn’t enough of a challenge), what other possible positive could there be?  Winning an NBA title?  Even if LeBron told Izzo that not only was he going to stay in Cleveland, but his boys promised to join him (and I’m not using those words to describe the high school buddies he claims as dependents every April 15th), there still might not be sufficient reason to start planning the parade.

When moving is entered into the equation, no offense to the Rock ‘N Roll Hall of Fame and now, Betty White, but changing your address from East Lansing to Cleveland (or even Shaker Heights) isn’t considered that much of an upgrade.  Especially when you’re a legend in the former.  Sure it’s Magic’s hometown, but he doesn’t walk down those streets much anymore, so as far as “owning” a town, that one is definitely Izzo’s.

As far as “enjoying the job,” why would the NBA’s Eastern Conference grind be more fun than the Big Ten - independent of how many teams they put in it?  Certainly, the addition of Nebraska isn’t so frightening he’d consider packing his bags.  Tom is a self-described grunt and, to date, no one’s ever pinned that label on LeBron James so a marriage of Beauty and the Beast (as far as innate ability goes), might not have a fairy tale ending.  And remember, Tom, which of you is the native son.

When I first heard the Cavs were offering the job to Izzo, my first thought was, “I wonder how those guys will react the first time Tom tells them to put on the shoulder pads for a rebounding drill?”  He’d better have some serious front office backing or what could ensue would make what the French soccer team just did look like a group of guys heading for the john. 

Plus, Tom’s an emotional guy.  Sure, there are a lot of hugs when the Spartans cut down the nets after winning a regional, but prior to those embraces is a good deal of “in your face” (constructive) criticism.  Reflect on the recent NBA playoffs (I’d say the regular season, but I wanted more than two readers to be able to participate in the reflection).  Stan Van Gundy might be a screamer (but his tirades more to the team than directly at a specific player) and while Gregg Popvich did call his guys “dogs,” that was after a loss (and was said to the media).  How many NBA head coaches get right up in the players’ mugs and chew them out?  Naturally, I’m talking about serious rotation guys, not the ones who, if they chirped back, the coach could have released the following day.  And don’t start with Phil yelling at Kobe as he comes off the floor.  That’s more to show the rest of the guys what they all know - that he realizes Kobe is trying to do too much.  You’ll also notice when Phil’s barking at him, he’s never so close that he violates Kobe’s space.  Add to that scenario that Kobe’s come out publicly stating total support for his coach.  In LeBron’s case, John Calipari as coach would be more like Kobe-Phil, and the jury’s out on how that relationship would survive in the NBA.  

Tom Izzo and the Cleveland Cavaliers (or any team in the NBA) is as wrong a match as Tom and Michigan State is the perfect one.  Besides - and I know I’ve used this Jim Valvano quote before - but I also know this would be V’s advice to Tom just as it was to all those successful coaches who flirted with leaving a place they’d built and loved:

“Don’t mess with happy.”

Kendrick Perkins should have read my blog yesterday.  For those you who haven’t - and thank you to the many who contacted me by posting a comment, emailing me with kind words or calling my cell phone (I’m starting to figure out this “power of the Internet” thing everybody’s always talking about), the blog was about NBA players complaining - about every call - and even some of the non-calls too.

In this case, while Perkins does need to maintain better control over his emotions (after all, the game is about more than just him), the subsequent technical foul called by veteran official Eddie F. Rush was flat-out wrong.  While Perkins displayed disagreement, he was walking away from the action - and Rush.  There was absolutely no reason, other than Rush’s ego, for him to make that call.  And because it’s Perkins’ seventh technical of the post-season (who said Rasheed Wallace doesn’t have influence over the Celtics?), he, by rule, merits an automatic one game suspension.

The way the series has made a turnaround, the likes of which haven’t been seen since . . . yesterday, when the Phoenix Suns tied their series with the Lakers, the Celtics look like Friday’s game in Boston, although they still lead 3-2, is a must game.  Consider that they lost Game Four and then got hammered last night.  That means should they go down in Game Six, the deciding game will be in Orlando.  Don’t think that after winning three in a row and heading home the Magic won’t be a prohibitive favorite.  In a game of Friday’s magnitude, Boston had better have everyone on its roster.  Which definitely includes their starting center.

Doc Rivers (have you ever seen a calmer guy in such a stressful situation?) mentioned that, had Rush known the call would have automatically disqualified Perkins from Game Six, he probably wouldn’t have made it.  Slick move.  Why antagonize a league that holds in their hands the decision as to whether Doc’s club has to go into a pressure-packed game short-handed?  Plus, if he complains, he 1) gives his guys a reason to justify losing (it was the referee’s fault) and 2) gets hit with a fine which, in the current state of affairs, just adds insult to injury (to his bank account).

What Eddie Rush did reminds me of a story the late Jim Valvano used to tell.  In an NC State game in which V was coaching, he complained to an official about a call.  The ref hit him with a technical foul.  When Jim asked the guy why what he said deserved a tech, the zebra turned to him and said, “Jim, you showed me up.”

Valvano said to the guy (and this line should be retold at every officials’ meeting):

“Showed you up?  Who the hell do you think came to watch YOU!” �

As I’ve told my former colleague (we were members of the University of Oregon staff in 1975-76), Jim Haney, currently the executive director of the National Association of Basketball Coaches (NABC), one of the biggest problems in college basketball today is coaches make too much money.  (See my blog from way back - 11/28/07).  I’m not saying this because I am bitter because I coached at a time when coaches’ salaries were lower because I’m perfectly happy with what I’m doing - and with what I did - and what I made (OK, sure, who couldn’t use a few extra bucks)?

I can’t think of anybody who got into coaching when I did (the early ’70s) who did so because they wanted to make a ton of money - because there wasn’t any.  Not that we were pure as the driven snow.  There were a great many who entered the profession for the “glamor” of the job.  But most guys wanted to be a college coach because we wanted to do just that - coach. 

Don’t get me wrong.  Coaches in that era were upwardly mobile too, but the moves were usually made because a bigger job gave the coach a better chance to get into or advance further in the NCAA Tournament, maybe win it all.  Today, the almighty dollar has become, possibly, the greater reason for changing employers.  Which the same reason professional players don’t stay with teams like they used to.

The major problem with chasing the buck is guys leave their comfort zones.  Exhibit A: Todd Lickliter is an alum of Butler University.  After coaching at the high school ranks, he eventually became an assistant at his alma mater, rising to the head coaching job in 2001.  Success was immediate (granted, he took over a solid program, but he was a major reason it was solid) and in six years he won three league championships, went to the postseason four of those years and compiled an overall record of 131-61.  He won 53 games in his first two years, third best mark for any coach in his first two years.

He left to take the job at Iowa, replacing Steve Alford, another coach who had great success at Manchester College and Southwest Missouri State - where he went 74-48 and got to a Sweet Sixteen.  Iowa lured him with a big contract, only to show him the door eight years later.  Maybe because Lickliter’s name didn’t carry the cachet that Alford’s did, he was pink-slipped after only three years.  Alford resurfaced at New Mexico and has found success.  Lickliter is 54 years old and looking for a job, a good coach at a tough age.

It also happened to Jerry Wainwright who had great success at the University of North Carolina-Wilmington, after being an assistant at Wake Forest.  He moved to Richmond where he won, but not as much.  It was hard to blame Jerry, as fine an individual and as tough a guy (he nearly died in a car accident, but came back stronger than ever) as you’ll find, for taking the DePaul job (he’s a native of Chicago).  He lost his job this year - not because he forgot how to coach, but mainly because DePaul isn’t what it was when Ray Meyer was there.  It’s just that the people at DePaul don’t want to face reality.

The “show me the money” game nearly did in Dan Monson, who inherited the Gonzaga job from the late Dan Fitzgerald, took it to never-before-been-experienced-heights, only to bolt for the mega-cash at Minnesota.  He got the boot at UM and, after a brief hiatus, wound up at Long Beach State - while his assistant at Gonzaga, Mark Few, elevated the Zag program even higher.  Possibly due to what he saw happen to his friend, Mons, Few has stayed in Spokane despite being wooed year after year.

I’ve used it before but the most poignant quote regarding changing jobs came from Jim Valvano (who himself moved from Johns Hopkins to Bucknell to Iona to NC State).  He’d mention this to every coach who asked him about whether or not to move from one job to another.  His only question to the coach was, “Are you happy?”  Most would reply in the affirmative.  His response was:

“Don’t mess with happy.”

In an exciting game that went down to the final seconds, undefeated Boise State prevailed over previously undefeated TCU in the Tostitos Fiesta Bowl.  Boise didn’t make it quite so dramatic as the last time they won in Tempe, but the powers-that-be had made sure of that when they came out with their BCS pairings.

Don’t think for a minute the BCS people didn’t intentionally match those two non-BCS teams in order to avoid potential major embarrassment.  I’m not sure that, had each of them played a BCS school, the “little guys” would have won either or both of the contests.  But, other than Texas, Alabama and Florida, I think Boise and TCU could give any BCS team a battle.  And anything but a blowout by the big boys would make a BCS official look bad, and those guys do not like to look bad.

So the game was close.  What does that mean?  Nothing.  Are both great, both good, or are they simply competitive with each other because they’re just a notch below the big guys? As we all know, things that are out of the ordinary happen during bowl games and last night’s Fiesta Bowl was no exception, with it being the only game TCU’s highly efficient QB Andy Dalton threw more than one interception (he threw three). 

What else can happen, and when Boise State plays, it usually does, is some trick play to captivate the audience (as if something was really needed - after all, it was the only football game in the land).  Inspector Gadget, aka Chris Peterson, pulled out a fake punt/pass by kicker Kyle Brotzman to a (naturally) wide open Kyle Efaw on fourth down, which turned out to be the key play in the game.

Does this mean we need a playoff?  Like I’ve posted on numerous occasions, a playoff does not give the fans a true number one team in the country.  Does anybody think Jimmy V’s NC State team was the best team in the nation in ‘83 when they beat Houston?  It was great drama - but they were no more number one than the ‘85 Villanova Wildcats.  Yet each of those teams wound up National Champions.

And Stuart Scott!  C’mon, dawg (you have no idea how much it pains me to type that lingo), you must have been concussed from your beloved Tarheels’ loss to the College of Charleston when you said you thought the winner of the game Thursday night ought to play Boise State for the National Championship.  If there were a playoff (which Stu advocates), that would be matching #1 vs. #2 in the semi-finals against the winner of #? vs. #?

Besides, if there were an eight team playoff (how many more could there be without cutting regular season games - hurting about 115 of the D-I’s, or whatever the BCS people call them now), do you really think both TCU and Boise would have been invited?  Let’s see, there are six BCS conferences.  Does anyone out there really think the champs of each of those wouldn’t be in the mix of eight?  So, then, who gets left out this year - Florida?  A playoff without the University of Florida would be a bigger joke than one without the Broncs or Frogs.

So what, put all the undefeateds in (Ala, Tex, Cin, Boise, TCU), plus Florida - and pick two of the remaining three BCS champs (ACC, Big 10, Pac-10)?  If you think a BCS champ will be left out of a playoff, you’re as naive as the BCS bigwigs are arrogant.  And that’s about as extreme a statement as could be made.  An Arabian proverb of three words says about arrogance all that needs to be said about it:

“Arrogance diminishes wisdom.”�

After yesterday’s blog about Nick Satan Saban, I was flooded with emails, texts and phone calls, some roasting me, most criticizing him.  I’m realistic enough to understand if he had written a blog about it (not that he would; in fact, he probably doesn’t even remember the encounters, he’s orchestrated so many of them throughout the years), he would be the one receiving the overwhelming support.  That’s just human nature. 

Some people wrote “Let it go already!  It’s not healthy” and “Don’t you know the best way to deal with it is to forgive him?  That’s what would be best for your mental health.”  Most of what I received regarding his behavior was done in much more colorful language.  Possibly by others who had a similar experience with the coach.  

To the first bit of helpful advice, let me say, “I am over it.  It doesn’t bother me in the slightest.  He is who he is and, since meeting him, I am fully aware of it.  I just needed to blog something and, since he’s the man of the hour, I thought it would be a timely post.”  As to the other, I’ve heard about forgiving someone who’s offended you, but 1) I don’t think it would matter to him if he received a letter from me and 2) I can find no reason to forgive him, especially if doing so is supposed to make me feel unburdened or better.  So, it was a blog and leave it at that.

As far as a coach who has also won a National Championship, but was one of the classiest people - at least in the way he treated me -  Jim Valvano epitomized everything Nick Saban doesn’t.  I considered myself a friend of Jimmy’s, but that was the thing about “V” - everybody considered themself a friend of his.  Here’s a blog I did on 7/8/07 and it’s worth reprinting, what with this being “Jimmy V” week.

With the ESPYs on TV and the constant mention of the V Foundation, I thought this blog ought to be about an encounter I had with the late Jim Valvano.

The story is taken from my book, Life’s A Joke.  It took place in the mid-80s when I was an assistant at the University of Tennessee and Jim had won the most improbable of NCAA Championships, a last second victory over the Phi Slamma Jamma Houston Cougars.

USA Today had done a story on, among other things, how much money he was making in the years following that dream tournament run.  V was quoted as saying the numbers were greatly inflated and he wasn’t making nearly the amount of money that was being reported.

We were both East Coast guys and had known each other since his playing days at Rutgers.  I was playing at Highland Park High School at the same time, just a mile from the RU campus.  So, I knew he’d appreciate my note in which I placed a $1 bill, along with the message, “V, Just read the USA Today article.  Had no idea things were so bad. Hope this helps. Jack”  About a week or two later, I received a letter with a North Carolina State return address.  I was prepared for anything because I knew V wouldn’t ever let anyone get one up on him.

Jim had incorporated himself and his corporation was called JTV Enterprises.  His letter read, “Jack, Got your money and invested it in JTV Enterprises.  Enclosed is your return.  Too bad you didn’t invest more. V”  Inside the letter were two $1 bills. 

Nobody ever got the better of Jim Valvano.

When V was stricken with cancer, he told his closest friends that he wanted to make a difference.  He felt a cure for cancer might not be discovered in time to help him, but that, in time, with enough money and research poured into the cause, cancer could be conquered.

The learned rabbi, Harold Kushner, wrote in several of his books that he’d spent time with people in the last moments of their life.  What he discovered is:                               

“People don’t fear death.  They fear insignificance.”

V, you can rest in peace having no fear of that.  �

If you read today’s (brief) post, you’d know that some “Force” swallowed up the blog I wrote last night (my last act before going to bed is to type the following day’s blog) just as I hit the “Publish” button, resulting in NOTHING for today’s entry.

So, this morning (after I turned on the computer, hoping the thief put the blog back, but realized that hadn’t happened), I hastily put together a summary of the masterpiece I had posted the previous night.  Since no one will ever know, it’s easy to say how good the original was - but, after you’ve done about 800 of these, you get a different feeling when you think you’ve put out a winner - and that’s how I felt when I finished last night.  So what could be worse than losing 2-3 hours of my work?  I was about to find out. 

This morning, not only did I have back-to-back appointments with the place I’ve reluctantly called my second home since 2005 (the Stanford Pain Management Clinic), but my wife decided, although by no choice of her own, to relinquish her heretofore “I’m with him” label and had a couple of meetings of her own scheduled at Stanford Hospital.  Since our first two meetings (9:30 am for a refill of my morphine pump, followed by a consultation with my “pain” doctor an hour later), we left our house at 6:15 am, armed with, among other things, a portfolio of about 50 baby gift pictures the artists have done (see www.CuteBabyNameGifts.com).  I pitch them every chance I get (within reason - I mean I don’t walk into patients’ rooms showing them off).  But receptionists, doctors and nurses all know people who have babies, so . . . 

Hitting minimal traffic along the way, Jane and I arrived promptly at 9:15 and I checked in.  All went well with the refill (which doesn’t always happen) but when my doctor and I discussed my current situation, she decided a new course of action was necessary, meaning for the second straight year, I will begin my Thanksgiving week by checking into the hospital for a “trial,” hoping the results will lessen my amount of pain - without creating any side effects.  This was necessary due to changes in how I’ve been feeling.  Suffice to say, I hadn’t hoped to start my “vacation” (our school district gives us the whole week of Thanksgiving off) in a hospital room in Palo Alto.

At least we finished relatively quickly and had time to stop at The Creamery (in the Stanford Mall), our favorite place to eat breakfast or lunch.  As I pulled into the parking lot, my cell phone rang, the call coming from a number I recognized - my classroom at Buchanan High School.  I always leave my number for the substitute teacher, but this was the first time any sub had actually called me.

It turned out the teacher who had agreed to take my afternoon class (1:00-2:45 pm) had called in sick herself, so the sub had to teach, not only my morning classes, but this one as well.  She was calling to make sure it was the same lesson plan (Algebra 1) as the two morning classes she’d taught (it was).  When I asked her how it was going, she said the first class she taught was wonderful, but the second was much more difficult. 

This came as no surprise to me as the first one is full of kids (with the exception of two or three) who are really interested in learning the material, work hard at it and understand that doing so will help them 1) pass with a minimum of C (required to move on to geometry next year, 2) gain knowledge of the basic concepts of algebra so they can make it (easily, if they really pay attention) through Algebra 2 - which most plan on taking since, in order to go to a four-year school directly from high school, a student needs geometry and both algebra classes and 3) do well on the state test (STAR) which all algebra 1 students in California must take and on the SAT’s (college entrance exams, one of the three parts being exclusively math).  The other class (with the exception of two or three) were much more immature and didn’t take instruction nearly as seriously.  Now, it was my turn to hand out some bad news, and by no means did I relish it.  Although I fully understand the idea of “self-fulfilling prophecy,” I felt compelled nonetheless to warn her the afternoon class was worse than the one she just taught.

Following lunch, it was on to Stanford Hospital for the first of what was supposed to be Jane’s two appointments, but, as we were informed, would soon morph into three.  The surgeon who was to perform her procedure was called to the ER and we’d have to come back and see him - a few hours later.  Instead, his “Fellow” (or who the rest of the world would call his assistant) came in and described how everything would go (including risk).  He was part of her “team,” for all intents and purposes, a mastermind group who decided how the surgery would be done.  Naturally, there were questions, followed by his answers, triggering more questions.  One thing about being at Stanford: they are thorough and they are competent (something the average person  would expect from anyone dealing in their expertise, yet a trait that’s sorely lacking in today’s world of medicine, business, you name it).

Next stop: the anesthesiologist.  There was a bit of surprise when the anesthesiologist walked in, looking for a female patient, and saw me lying on the table.  My back was acting up and I was tired from having stayed up too late, working on (what turned out to be) today’s (abortive) blog.  Jane cleared up the confusion, assuring the doc that, yes, she was the patient.  I slept through this one, possibly because being in the anesthesiology part of the building put me out.  It turned out to be the best part of my day.

Jane’s final meeting (which was supposed to be her first one), with her surgeon had to be postphoned because he was still in surgery.  We were told it would be at least another hour.  Did we want to go and have Jane talk to him on the phone?  In unison, Jane and I said we’d be back.  When someone is going to perform a surgical procedure on you - independent of how minor it is - discussing it over the phone is not the preferred means of communication. 

We had another task anyway.  Just to make sure she wasn’t missing something, my pain doc requested I get a chest X-ray, showing her all four views (I told you they were thorough), so we trudged out of the hospital, through the parking structure and across to the building where I was told to go for the X-ray.  I must have looked about as good as I felt, judging from the greeting I received from the girl at the check-in desk.

“Are you OK?”  Oh yeah, they’re concerned too.  I explained how the day had started, what we’d been through and that we were far from being done, since our trip home would now be at rush hour (on a Friday), usually adding 30 minutes to an hour to the normal three-hour trip.  I could tell by the look in her eyes, she felt particularly bad about what she was about to lay on me.  

“You need to go to the hospital to get this done.”  As in - back from whence we came.  So, . . .  reverse trudge.  There, the X-ray technician took only two views of my chest, so I had them page my doctor but said she didn’t answer the page.  Luckily, I had her cell phone number (I don’t like bothering my doctors - and as a matter of fact, today was the first time I called her) but I’ve found out it’s a good idea to get their cell numbers. 

We went to meet Jane’s physician, finally, and were shown to a waiting room, but after 15 minutes, the nurse came by and said they were closing the clinic and it would be better for us to wait in the hallway - so we wouldn’t get locked in for the weekend.  I seconded that motion and we waited in the hallway until, 30 minutes later, here he came.  Long day for him too.  Yet, he explained the procedure, much of it echoing his “fellow” and answered all of our questions - of which there were many.  We can be thorough too.

Finally, we left for Fresno and got home at 10:15 pm or 16 hours after we started.  The more I go to Stanford, the more I’m reminded of an event that happened around a quarter of a century ago when I was an assistant coach at the University of Tennessee.

The prestigious Nike summer basketball camp was held on to the campus at Princeton University.  The feeling you get walking on Stanford’s campus is identical to that of stepping foot on Princeton’s campus.  One year, I happened to be next to (the late) Jimmy Valvano (at the time, the head coach at N.C. State) who had a brilliantly imaginative mind. As we strolled on the campus at PU, “V” looked at me, then gazed around and said:

“This place is incredible.  You can FEEL THE ANSWERS here!”�