Jack’s Blog

As television programs go, there are many that aren’t as captivating as Inside the NBA.  The show is so entertaining that I know people who don’t watch the NBA game that’s televised that night yet will tune into Ernie & the ex-NBA stars.  The word that’s used when people try to explain why it wins awards is chemistry.

Ernie Johnson is the moderator and, maybe because he understands which guys the viewers want to hear, or maybe because he wants to keep getting paid large dollars, or maybe because it’s what his bosses tell him to do, he relinquishes the stage to Charles Barkley, Kenny Smith and Shaquille O’Neal.  Since everyone has an opinion (and they all stink - the punchline of an old adage) and this is my blog, I’ll let you know mine.  I feel the best the show was was either when it started and it was only a three-man operation, or when they added Greg Anthony.  Maybe I like guards better, but I didn’t think Chris Webber added anything to the show and I think Shaq takes away from it.

For my (cable subscription) money, I don’t see where a fourth person is necessary.  In the beginning (not to compare the show to The Bible, it’s not that good), Ernie provided the knowledge that a television pro needs to know - plus he’d throw in a witticism every so often.  Kenny’s opinion was gleaned from a guard’s point of view, as well as that of a player who not only was a member of, but was a major contributor to the championship team.  Charles gave commentary from a big man’s perspective, and also that of a Hall of Famer.  Plus, he’d say blurt out statements like, “There’s a fight I wouldn’t break up,” when player-enforcers David West and Kenyon Martin started to scuffle.  That combination was enough.  And perfect.  Why the producers or directors or Ted Turner or whoever thought the show needed anyone else is as shocking as why they continue to allow Shaq overdo whatever schtick comes to his mind.

What the fans get to see is how varied opinions, based on their experiences, can be - whether you hear analysis from a guard (Kenny or Greg), “The guards need to establish tempo” or from the big guys (Charles, C Webb or Shaq), “They need to get the ball inside.”  The fans also get - or have to put up with - depending on the reason a viewer is tuning in, the tomfoolery among the combatants.  Often it is hilarious, sometimes with the on-air banter, sometimes with the vignettes the producers put together to tease the guys in the studio.  Charles has been an amazingly good sport as the other guys, including those not on camera, continually poke fun at him for various mistakes he’s made, things he’s said or . . . pretty much anything from his life.  However, his attitude might just be a case of a healthy salary because the Chuckster once said on-air “I can be bought.  If they paid me enough, I’d work for the Klan.”  Make no mistake about that, however.  On that, he was joking.

Kenny is the perfect foil to Charles (or maybe it’s the other way around).  Charles knows the bond the two of them have is such that anytime Kenny’s embarrassing him, it’s only for the sake of good TV.  Kenny does a great job when he’s explaining video, illustrating his point so that someone who’s not that into the hoops can understand the point he’s trying to make.

Shaq seems to have been added more to capture the interest of a different demographic of basketball fan with his references to today’s music, dance and lingo.  The issue with him is he overdoes it.  His stuff becomes old and tired - and he refuses to let up.  He either doesn’t know he’s annoying or doesn’t care.  Or enjoys it!  I mean wasn’t there anybody in the studio telling him “Birdman, Birdman” was getting old?  I’m not sure how many times he said it last night but, then again, I can’t count to infinity.

The show has obvious off-camera, inside jokes among the four of them, but those are almost funny in a teasing sort of way.  The show can have it’s serious moments as well (apart from the obvious basketball talk).  Although Charles can learn from Shaq about overdoing something (enough already with the “Only God’s an expert,”), Chuck has made several poignant statements.  It’s apparent when he’s passionate about a topic, e.g. remarking on not taking being an NBA player as seriously as those of the five other professions he mentioned (teacher, policeman, fireman, doctor, military) - although plumbers, electricians, maintenance workers, auto mechanics and others working in fields outside the five he mentioned might be offended.  His sincerity does show through.  As it did when he remarked:

“The great thing about sports is that it takes you away from reality.”

After an 82 games (not including those always exciting preseason tilts), the NBA moves into the “games that really count” portion of the schedule.  The first round used to be best-of-five but they were changed to best-of-seven for two (really one) reason(s).  The first was that best-of-seven add more games (even though it may only be one game per match up) and more games mean more money.  The other (as in redundant) reason is that, on occasion, the lower seed would win - which usually translated into fewer games - meaning less money.  And, as we’ve all come to know, if there’s one thing owners desperately care about it’s the health and well-being of the players money.

Way back when I was a youngster (as in 50 or so years ago), we knew what season it was by what professional sport was playing its games.  Baseball’s guys were called “the men of summer.”  Football was played when the leaves were turning colors, i.e. fall.  Basketball was indoors because it was in the winter.  Spring was for baseball’s spring training unless you lived in the south (or Texas or Oklahoma), in which case it was reserved for college’s spring football.

All the best bowl games were New Year’s Day and a week or so later the championship game in pro football, which became known as the Super Bowl, was played.  Now, the Super Bowl is in February (which only has 28 days so it could be in jeopardy of losing its showpiece television program).  The World Series has ended in November which means the new baseball fan will wonder if Reggie Jackson is known as Mr. October because he couldn’t deliver in the biggest games.  And while it used to be that basketball’s end meant baseball was about to begin, the NBA Finals may have to be scheduled around the major league all-star game.

Since it’s finally here, let the youngsters make believe they’re hitting the game-winner while we reflect on having done the same in our youth.  Beyond the memories, let’s just sit back and watch the world’s greatest athletes perform acts that would be difficult for viewers a foot shorter or a light year slower.  Basketball has become a combination of ballet and MMA in which there needs to be a strong emphasis of teamwork.  I’m not sure Dr. Naismith would be proud or utterly confused.

While NBA players are usually the most confident bunch in the world (next to boxers), this year (at least so far) there haven’t been too many outlandish quotes.  I saw one attributed to the Grizzlies’ Tony Allen which, undoubtedly, will be repeated thousands of times by countless others:

“We just want to take it one game at a time.”

The intent of the NBA draft was to give the poorest (as in record) team a chance to make itself better.  Then the next, the next, and so on.  The worse a team did, the earlier it got to select from the draft-eligible players. But then teams got slick.  They figured, heck, we’re pretty bad this year, but with Player X (usually the best collegiate player) on our squad, we could dominate.  For years.  Why not lose a few on purpose so we can get his draft rights?  Since that logic isn’t exactly out of the Einstein School of Thought, the idea crossed the minds of the collective braintrusts of other bad teams and, well, you can see how convoluted things got when only a few games remained in the season and two or three teams were falling all over themselves to finish first.  In the Player X sweepstakes.  Or last in the NBA.  Beyond just screwing the ticket-paying public, it kinda messed with something that’s called the integrity of the game.The NBA powers-that-be came up with a lottery system which gave ping pong balls to the lottery teams, i.e. the bottom 14 of the 30 NBA teams that don’t make the playoffs.  The number of chances to win were given in reverse order of how the teams finished.  Different methods of deciding who got what have occurred throughout the years from 1985 until the present.  In 1993, real smart guys were called in to decide the “fairest” way to decide how the selection should be for the ‘94 draft.  When real smart guys and basketball guys get together, worlds collide.  Basketball guys score in ones, twos and threes (and it took a reeeeeal long time before threes were allowed.  If smart guys were in charge of scoring, there would be square roots and decimal points involved and it would be a week after the game was played before we’d know who won.  Suffice to say this lottery system gives the team with the worst record a greater chance to win it than any other team.  25%.  That is technically true.  But while the last place team has a better chance to win than any other team, it has a much less chance to win the lottery!

Without going into all the permutations and combinations (I was a math major in college but definitely not one of the “smart guys”), the team with the worst record has the greatest opportunity to “win” the lottery.  It’s just that those odds aren’t very good.  For example, last year’s worst team was the Charlotte Bobcats.  They had the best chance to win the #1 pick who, even the youngest of NBA fans knew, was going to be Kentucky’s Anthony Davis.  Whoever got Davis was getting a franchise player.  The Bobcats faithful had suffered through a dismal season but that would be old news if they could only start fresh with AD.  Then, the lottery came and they lost again.  And the reason was that, although Charlotte had a better chance of winning the lottery than any other NBA team, they still had a 75% chance of NOT winning it!

It’s easy to say something’s broken without giving a way to fix it but the lottery needs a different formula, mainly because the worst team hardly ever gets the pick.  Face it, last year the Bobcats were so bad that if they had tried to throw a game, they would have missed. The season was dreadful and then they get sand kicked in their face when they got third in the lottery.

This year, whoever has the worst record (Charlotte or Orlando) will have that same 25% chance of winning.  Except the lottery will be composed of guys who, other than foreign players, are looked down upon by NBA scouts.  Then why would they leave college?  Three reasons: 1) it’s supposedly a weak lottery field and 2) next year’s draft is supposedly better.  Combining 1) and 2) we get 3) somebody has to get selected. And going in the first round means guaranteed money.

To steal a memorable line from the late, great Jim Murray (who did not direct it toward the NBA draft), the description this year’s lottery could be:

“Never have so many done so little for so much.”

This past weekend I was listening to sports talk radio when I heard a familiar voice.  It was Bobby Cremins.  Although Bobby and I are both east coast guys, I didn’t get to know him until we were working in the Southern Conference, Bobby as the head coach at Appalachian State and me as an assistant at Western Carolina.  We became pretty good friends.  Aside from enjoying a career as a highly successful coach, Bobby is one of the most genuine guys in the business and loved by everybody in - and out -of it.  The following story is from my book, Life’s A Joke.  It is pure Bobby.

With all the stops I’ve made, I’ve witnessed some pretty great rivalries: Washington State vs. Washington, Oregon vs. Oregon State, Tennessee vs. Kentucky, Toledo vs. Bowling Green and USC vs. UCLA.  While those are certainly intense, possibly the most heated rivalry is the one between Western Carolina and Appalachian State.  Each is in the Southern Conference - Western Carolina located in the valley of the Smoky Mountains, Appy State at the very top, about a 2 1/2 hour drive from one to the other.  Each (at that time) played in cracker box gymnasiums and every game was hotly contested.

While I was there in the late ’70s, the coach at Appalachian State was Bobby Cremins who later went on to have a highly successful coaching career at Georgia Tech.  Bobby is a native New Yorker and, as had his college coach, Frank McGuire, established a New York pipeline down to Boone, NC where Appalachian State is located.  There’s a major difference between people from the east and those from the south - and this certainly holds true for the student-athletes as well.

One night in Cullowhee, where Western is located, the game was very close until ASU started to pull away at the end.  The crowning blow was a dunk by one of the Appalachian players who hailed from NYC.  As he ran by the capacity crowd of 4400 in a building designed to seat about 3400, he gave the fans the one finger salute.  The chancellor at Western Carolina at that time was, as they say Down South, “a good ol’ boy” and one of the best university administrators I’ve ever been around.  His name was Dr. H.F. “Cotton” Robinson.  Dr. Robinson was an absolutely huge sports fan, not only attending every contest on campus, but really getting involved in the game.

Because Cullowhee was the type of town it was, e.g. unincorporated, no population, no mayor, no Main Street, there weren’t too many jacket-and-tie people coming to games.  This included Dr. Robinson who always sat in the first row, opposite the visiting team’s bench, usually in corduroy pants and a plaid shirt.  Once the game ended and the coaches and players had shaken hands, Dr. Robinson made a beeline for Bobby and said how embarrassed he should be that a player who acted in such a rude manner would be representing his school.  Bobby, being from New York, said what most New Yorkers like him would say.  “Get the bleep outta here!”

Dr. Robinson replied, “Young man, I’ll have you know I’m the chancellor at this university, and I don’t appreciate you talking to me like that.”

To which, Bobby, after checking the corduroy pants and plaid shirt, and realizing that he’d never seen a person of authority dress in such a manner, said, “Get outta my face.  You’re no bleeping chancellor.”

You can only imagine how shocked and embarrassed Bobby was when his media relations director asked him what he and Western Carolina’s chancellor were talking about.

“Better to reserve judgment until you’ve accumulated ALL the facts.”

Recently we had our floors redone.  In the four bedrooms and on our steps (leading up to the loft bedroom), we got new carpeting.  In the family and dining rooms, the (old) carpet was replaced with laminate floors.  Naturally, all the furniture had to be moved.  After the projects were completed, decisions had to be made as to what went where.  My wife and I made those decisions, meaning she asked what I thought of (whatever) and my response was, “Well, what do you think?”  Then, I’d agree with her decision, pro or con.  She has a taste for style; I have a taste for wives.

Some of the furniture we’d had for quite a while.  Like before we were married.  One piece I noticed was an end table from my early dynasty.  It was actually part of a coffee table/end table set, the coffee table so long gone, neither of us remembered who, where or when it left our family.  Honestly, if we had the time (which is weird to say considering we’re both retired), we would get a replacement end table that she we would really love.

Last night, I looked inside this relic for a “lost” item when I discovered something that gave us both a laugh.  On the bottom ledge of this end table was something I saw that at first I couldn’t decipher.  At the time I made the purchase (early-mid 80s), citizens were being directed by the police to aid them in identifying items of this size, e.g. televisions, VCRs (yeah, really) and lamps.  These were prime targets for thieves.  What I saw carved into the bottom of the table was . . . my social security number.

Nowadays, your social security number is one of the most precious possession you have and you need to make sure you give it to no one.  Isn’t progress wonderful?  It used to be law enforcement helped you by returning stolen merchandise because your SSN was there to identify its owner.  Today, people will call and give you a free DVD (I guess that’s called progress) if you’ll fill out some information, part of it being your SSN.

“Sometimes, it’s hard to tell who the good guys are.”

It doesn’t surprise anybody when I tell them the pull I have with the NCAA and the NBA is equal to the juice I have with the White House.  That doesn’t mean I don’t have a better idea when it comes to the (admitted) problem of the NCAA’s one-and-done student-athlete.  While the following post (which, by the way, I first blogged on 5/3/2010 and altered a little here) certainly could use further tweaking, it’s exponentially superior to whatever has been proposed thus far.  Plus, it’s not illegal nor does it break any NBAPA rule.  Read and let me know what you think.  Better yet, contact the NBA office.  Especially if you have clout.

So many people are up in arms regarding the NBA rule that forces a high school player to attend college for at least a year before heading to the big league.  Of course, there are alternatives, but many are pretty radical, e.g. playing overseas ala Brandon Jennings.  While it (ultimately) worked out for Jennings (keep in mind he had a terrible experience over there), others have tried and haven’t been as successful as the Bucks’ star.

If memory serves me correctly (and at this age, that being true is a toss up), David Stern said the rule is in place due to some “legalese,” i.e. he’s not too thrilled about it either, but it’s the best of all evils.  With that in mind, it means that the “road most traveled” will be to enter college for at least (and for some, at most) one year.  My claim is that the current situation can be changed for the betterment of . . . everybody.

The why are we whining about it?  Let’s deal with it.  How?  Make college more relevant to these guys.  If they are as talented as they think they are (and as influential outsiders are telling them they are), then the school’s goal should be to help them - just like colleges are helping all other students.  As I initially blogged on 5/6/07 (and have reprinted that post at least once), the reason kids go to college is not for an education, but to improve their station in life.

The one-and-dones are going to college because they have to - and once the sand runs out of that year-long hour glass, color them gone - for the big money.  If that actually is the reality - and for the great ones, it is - why not give them a curriculum to prepare them for the life they’re about to enter, e.g. show them there is relevance for them to attend college!  Why not create a major in the field.  Put off the general education classes temporarily and offer them (and any other student at the university for that matter) courses in 1) money management (including the value of philanthropy for those who really hit the jackpot), 2) how to select advisers (mentors, agents, and, although, it could be a sensitive area, friends), 3) how to deal with the media and use it to their advantage, 4) women’s rights, including “no means no” (this should be mandatory for many students in the wake of today’s front page stories), 5) nutrition, 6) maintaining physical fitness, 7) accepting (embracing) the responsibility of being a role model and acting appropriately (whether they want to or not, athletes are role models) and 8 since NBA players don’t have normal 8-hour work days, nor do they play year-round, a course in how to productively use “down-time” (from doing crosswords and sudokus to keep the mind active, to reading up on a topic of interest, to tennis and golf, to . . . whatever)?  Many other course possibilities exist if people at the top (maybe create a mastermind group) would put their heads together.  For the kid who doesn’t get drafted or realizes he’s not yet ready, or better yet, realizes a college degree might be a necessity, and at the very least, certainly wouldn’t hurt, the sophomore year can be devoted to catching up on general ed classes.

What this does is give an extremely talented (in the sport of basketball) young man something that he can actually see will help him in his life after basketball.  Although Charles Barkley is a one-of-a-kind, e.g. an out-of-shape kid who eschewed attending classes, he became one of the 50 best players in the NBA and has been inducted into both the intercollegiate and NBA Halls of Fame.  He has managed to make a great life for himself, currently serving as a studio analyst for both the NCAA and NBA as well as a pitchman for several products.  That is, he’s making a lot of money.  However, for every Charles Barkley, there are hundreds, maybe even thousands, of kids who never played a second of pro ball, nor cashed an NBA paycheck.

One night a few years ago, the guys on the set of TNT’s NBA game night studio show were giving Sir Charles a hard time about the (lack of an) Auburn education he got and leaving the school without a degree.  Charles had a pretty good comeback (which may only apply to him):

“I don’t have a degree - but a lot of people who work for me do.”

In yesterday’s blog, I mentioned CoachGeorgeRaveling.com as a website that is well worth visiting.  One area of George’s site is a Q&A in which I ask him questions about himself - information that very few people are aware of - in order for people who don’t know him (as well as those who do) to better understand this complex individual.  To date there are somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty such segments.

A week or so ago George and I had lunch when he told me he wanted to video another set of vignettes in the near future.  As sort of a scoop for those of you who read this blog, I’ll let everyone in on one questions I plan to ask him during our next recording session.  It’s no secret that there are infinitely more people interested in coaching on the college level than there are positions.  Ask any head coach and he (or she) will tell you that on a seemingly daily basis they’re getting letters, phone calls, emails, recommendations - whatever type of communication available - from or about candidates for coaching positions.

Something I’ve noticed since I began in college coaching 40 years ago is that while coaching is such a coveted profession, an overwhelming majority who earn their living in the coaching business (on the Division I college level) are bitter when  their careers end - especially those who ascend to the position of head coach.  One would think that someone who finally reached the pinnacle, who got to grasp the brass ring, would be elated when their careers ended.  One would be wrong.  By a lot.

For example, of the ten head coaches for whom I worked, I’d say eight of them didn’t leave on their own terms.  While some get over it, others never do.  Bump into them - I’m talking about all former coaches now, not just my ten bosses - and when the conversation gets around to their career, they’ll either start to reminisce about when times were better or tell you (for the nth time) how such-and-such administrator/booster/player/assistant/you-name-it stabbed them in the back or didn’t give them enough time or didn’t understand how difficult the job was.

George wasn’t one of them, although his departure from coaching came after a retired professor ran a red light on the outskirts of USC’s campus and broadsided his car, not only forcing him into retirement but nearly ending his life.  How many more years George would have coached is unknown but with multiple broken ribs, a broken pelvis, broken back, punctured lung and numerous other injuries coaching took a backseat to . . . living.

A couple of former coaches with whom I’ve been reunited - if only via Sirius FM radio - are part of the small minority of D-I head coaches who got out of coaching on their own volition and are loving life.  It shows in their radio personalities and in their voices.  One is Bobby Cremins whom I first met when he was the head coach at Appalachian State and I was an assistant at Western Carolina.  For those of you who are unaware (meaning nearly everybody), these two schools are bitter rivals, Appie State on top of the mountain and WCU in the valley.  It’s like the Hatfields and the McCoys.  We had some epic battles in the Southern Conference.  We got the better of them; they go the better of us.  Bobby did well enough to land the Georgia Tech job.  He did so well there, they ultimately named the floor at Alexander Coliseum after him, but not before firing him first.  He said he was going to take a year off before coaching again. That year became six - before he took the reigns at the College of Charleston where he led them back to the glory days of legendary coach John Kresse before retiring to a life of radio and golf.

Another guy who had a nice run in the profession was Tom Brennan.  Tom led the University of Vermont into the NCAA tournament, a feat similar to climbing Mount Everest.  With mittens.  Barefoot.  I began my 30-year journey through nine D-I institutions at UVM and while I realize the situation was better for Tom than it was for us, it’s only because . . . it had to be.  In 1972 I went there as a grad assistant for $1,000 plus graduate school tuition.  Oh yeah, I was the only assistant.  Our head coach, Peter Salzburg, was in his first year and was hauling in $12,500.  Our entire budget, not including salaries and scholarships was $9,975.  I don’t care what kind of improvements they made, there should be a statue of Tom Brennan outside Roy L. Patrick Gymnasium.

When Bobby or Tom are on the radio, each has a wonderful sense of humor - usually the self-deprecating kind.  When they are pointing out interesting and insightful information, neither takes himself too seriously.  They enjoyed their head coaching successes, endured their failures (which were numerous since each took over absolutely dreadful jobs) and exited gracefully, moving on to where they are thoroughly enjoying their current gigs.  The other ex-coaches (whose agents got them radio and TV jobs) sound like they’re interviewing for their next job every time they express an opinion. Because they are.

Brennan, however, after hearing of lavish gifts heaped upon someone when he announced his retirement (I can’t recall the name now), joked that when he left Vermont, they gave him a barbeque.  “And I was thrilled!”

Since nothing good comes from stress - and no one’s getting out of life alive - probably the best way to view what’s going on in the tournament is to use the line retired Texas Tech football coach Sonny Dykes said:

“We are fixin’ to have more fun than a little.”

Some people are uncomfortable doing the “single dating game thing.”  Where are you supposed to go that doesn’t make it look obvious, e.g. that a guy is looking to pick up a girl or that a girl is hoping to get picked up (by someone like her dad who will wind up being her lifelong partner)?  When I was in my 20s and 30s, there were folks who loved the dating scene - both men and women.  Many, however, would go only if others accompanied them.  I hated it because back then, bars were filled with smoke, and the whole schtick seemed so phony.  Most everybody worth dating would have their guards up.  It was nearly impossible to get to know anybody.

My own personal dating strategy was to get fixed up, i.e. the old “blind date.”  It was usually dinner and a movie.  I can’t ever recall being at a loss of words but all I had to do was chat it up during dinner because there’s no talking during a movie.  To many, the only thing worse than barhopping was the infamous blind date.  My philosophy, however, was “If a girl can stand me for an evening, I certainly ought to be able to get through it.”

Whether my formula is the right way to go or not, last year my wife, Jane and I celebrated 25 years of marriage.  Throw in our two sons, who are each currently thriving, and our model can stand up against anyone’s.  Then again, I was a month away from my 40th birthday before I decided it was time to make the leap.  I didn’t have a handbook or a mentor showing me the way.  Today, the “hook up” routine has been revamped.

Anytime I want to know something, I’m always told, “Google it.”  Therefore it comes as no surprise that the computer has become the source of guidance for America’s (or, the world’s, for all I know) singles.  Allegedly, there are over one thousand dating service sites.  Another example of the computer solving problems for society.  There are sites for baby boomers, Christians, Jews, Indians, Latinos, Asians and gays.  Googling “online dating service,” I noticed in Wikipedia one section entitled “Problems.”  Believe it or not, one subsection was “Lies.”  Really?  You mean people are going to lie about their online profile to somebody they don’t even know but want to date, or maybe even, marry?  Kinda starts off the relationship on a downer.

These dating services (not to be confused with escort services, although I imagine there are at least a few out there who feel the former could be like the latter - just without the monetary exchange) take care of all kinds.  I will not make any ethnic remarks - however funny readers might find them - but there are a couple observations I’ve made.  When I heard the ad for ChristianMingle.com say, “Sometime we wait for God to make the next move when God is saying it’s your time to act.  The next move is yours.”  Wow!  Do they know really know God said that?  I didn’t put quotation marks inside the last sentence and a half of the above quote because I don’t think they were actually quoting God.  Although it is something they’d like you to think.

The ad I saw and heard today while riding the stationary bike at the gym is the one that propelled me into blogging on the topic.  It was for FarmersOnly.com.  Apparently, this site is for someone looking for a “farmer, rancher, cowboy, cowgirl or animal lover,” i.e. a dating site “meant for down to earth folks.”  So, any y’all down to earth folks interested in, uh, well, you know, check us on out, ya hear?  What did down to earth folks do before FarmersOnly.com?

All of this is, I guess, exactly what I was looking for 35 years ago.  Have friends introduce me to someone they thought would be a good match for me.  As J.B. Priestly said:

“Many a man is praised for his reserve and so-called shyness when he is simply too proud to risk making a fool of himself.”

Commentators and talking heads remind fans again and again during conference and NCAA tournaments: “This is the most exciting time of the year!”  “Win or go home.”  “Survive and advance.”  “There’s no tomorrow for one of these teams.”  While all of these statements are true for the teams, they also apply for a certain group of individuals on each club.

For every senior, it’s one and done time, meaning lose this one game and your college career is done.  From the guys who are on losing squads that need some kind of monster performance to get into the Big Dance (or at least some post season dance), to those whose teams need another win or two to boost their resume, all the way to the two clubs who’ll battle for the ultimate trophy, eventually, that college uniform comes off for the very last time.

Depending on how much advantage the student-athlete took of the entire college experience, i.e. beyond simply basketball, the conclusion of his (this is written about the male player, but applies to women as well) career can hit pretty hard.  Disregarding that (which shouldn’t be done), what about the basketball part?  The end hits many players unmercifully right between the eyes.

Kindly allow me a personal experience, one that is so inconsequential that . . . it might just stick in your memory.  In high school I was on the naive side - and that’s an understatement.  My high school prepared us as well academically to move on to college as any public high school anywhere.  That is, obviously, a biased statement, based on a miniscule sample size but, nonetheless, true.

It was the last game of the football season of my senior year.  Our team had lost once (during my three-year varsity career, we’d lost only twice) and I was a somewhat typical Highland Park High School football player.  Wait your turn as a soph, letter as a junior, start - both ways - as a senior and carry on the incredible winning tradition that went back to the 1950s.  My graduating year was ‘66.

In our area the tradition was that each team would play the last game of the season on Thanksgiving Day against its biggest rival.  With about 3-4 minutes left in the game, and our guys ahead comfortably 28-0, our coach began substituting.  I simply ran off the field when the sophomore backup came in for me, like I’d done in many other similar games.  It didn’t strike me until my fellow seniors came over to shake my hand and say how much fun it had been playing together.  Then, some of the younger guys - who’d looked up to me just as I looked up to the upperclassmen when I was a soph - congratulated me.  Finally, a couple assistant coaches came over and told me how much they’d appreciated my effort.  Wait a minute.

My high school football career was actually over!  I couldn’t believe there wouldn’t be any more hard work, camaraderie, games, winning and fun.  Recruiting was different in those days.  As dense as I must sound, I never understood why those college football assistant coaches were calling me.  First of all, it wasn’t like it was a regular occurrence.  As far as how many stars I was rated, well, suffice to say I was a household name.  In my house.  Yet, recruiting then was so different.  I made a recruiting trip with our big tackle (6′5″, 255, built like Adonis) to Albright College one weekend.  Naivete struck again on the trip as I couldn’t figure out why the head coach spent so much time with him on the visit while I just hung around with the players.  Among my other choices were Bates, Lebanon Valley and my eventual choice, Upsala.  Since our tackle, as I, had eliminated Albright, he had to choose between Penn State (their assistant, Joe Paterno, was taking over as head coach the following season) and West Point (who was a power at that time).  He wanted Penn State.  His father wanted West Point.  What a terrific plebe he made the following year.

The reason for this stroll down memory lane is usually this identical feeling happens to every kid who plays.  When I entered the world of intercollegiate basketball, the stakes were higher.  Many a student-athlete would come up to me at some time following his final game and, for those who weren’t getting drafted, ask my opinion as to whether they should try to continue playing hoops.  I would give every one of them the exact same bit of advice:

“As long as you can make a living playing a game” (which does NOT include local ball at $50/game), “do it.  Do it until you get it out of your system.  And you won’t need anyone to tell you exactly when that time is.”

As a post script, my time to give it up came right before practice one day near the end of my sophomore year in college.  For starters, our coach was the polar opposite of my high school coach - whom I idolized.  I was pulling up my socks and it just hit me: “I can’t stand this anymore.”  If somehow, you can take my personal, small-time story and connect it to the topic of this blog, I succeeded in getting my point across.  If not, come back tomorrow.  I’ll be back to “normal.”

Survey after survey claimed fans wanted instant replay.  Now, I’m not so sure it’s such a good idea.  Granted, more incorrect calls are being overturned (yeah, I know, every now and then, a correct call will be overturned), but at what cost?  Flow and momentum are two vital pieces in football and basketball.

With every stoppage of play, the flow of the game is interrupted.  I’ve heard some people say the answer is to put a clock on the referees for their decision, but that’s counterintuitive to the purpose of instant replay.  It appears to the viewer that the referees want to make absolutely certain they get the call right - which, with instant replay, they ought to.  In the past, if an official kicked a call, announcers, coaches (after a brief cooling off period - briefer for the winning coach), fans (and even refs themselves) would say, “Hey, they’re (we’re) only human.”

Therein lies the problem.  Instant replay takes out the human element.  Now the officials are expected to get the call right.  If they miss one, there’s always the complaint - “why didn’t you check the monitor?”  Unlike football with coaches’ challenges, in basketball referees stop the action, on their own, to check, for example, whether a shot was a two or a three.  Unless it’s the last two minutes, can’t the extra ref sitting at the scorer’s table look at the monitor and determine whether the call was correct before the next dead ball?  Coaches would be pleading with the alternate ref rather than one of the three working the game.  Then, if the call was correct, the game continues and no one’s the wiser.  If incorrect, then announce to the crowd (as well as separately inform a representative of each team) that the shot was whatever it was, and that the score is being corrected.  The reason someone from each team must be told is, believe it or not, coaches and players occasionally get so wrapped up in the game, they fail to hear a PA announcement, no matter how loud.

I saw a game a few days ago in which the referee who was supposed to make the call stop the game because he was unsure whether the shot was a two or three.  The delay lasted entirely too long and when they showed the best angle, it could only have been known for sure if the camera zoomed as close to the court as possible.  As it was, play was continued, with the opposite call that I, and the announcers, thought was as it should have been. In that case, the old method of having the referee make the call and, then, commenting on how he missed it!

Now, irrefutable evidence comes into play.  There are so many times, especially in football, where the call that was made on the field was upheld because of lack of irrefutable evidence.  Yet, had the opposite call been made, it also would have been upheld.  How can that be?  Irrefutable evidence has to be irrefutable.  It sounds just like “beyond a reasonable doubt.”  There’s an idea.  Maybe we should have juries determine calls during games.

Interrupting flow is annoying, especially to coaches and basketball purists because the game (at least, a well-played one) has such a beautiful, natural rhythm to it.  But, interrupting momentum is, or ought to be, a sin.  Anyone who has taken in a game in which one team is way ahead and the other team comes storming back, scoring and getting stops, independent of the winning team changing strategies, substituting, calling time out, whatever! understands momentum.  It’s something people in the arena, watching on TV or listening on radio can feel.  Stopping a game at such a point is nothing short of ruining it.  There are many other examples of momentum that are more subtle but, nevertheless, stopping it is a major advantage to one team while being disadvantageous to its opponent.  In football, stopping play in a game played in inclement weather is infuriating to coaches and players (and the fans who are freezing their butts off waiting for action to resume).  In basketball, it’s during the mini-runs that can break a game open.  Too many times this is occurring in today’s games although good referees are aware of these instances and are hesitant to stop the action, unless absolutely necessary.

The bigger problem, though, is the seemingly interminable delay in games.  As awkwardly as it sounds, the problem is:

“The replay may happen at the instant but not for an instant.”