Hard Work

by Roy Williams

  We finished the year 30–5. We averaged more points than any other team I have ever coached and finished second in the conference regular season standings. Not bad for a team picked to finish last in our league.

  WE STARTED THE 1990–91 season with two losses in the conference, but we bounced back to win our first regular season conference championship. Then we lost to Nebraska in the semifinals of the Big 8 Tournament. After that game I thought my team needed a pep talk. I said, “Guys, we still have the NCAAs, we can still accomplish a lot—”

  Mark Randall interrupted me. “Coach, can I say something?”

  I nodded and Mark stood up and said, “We’re too good to do what we just did today. If everybody in this room would do what this man says and everybody in this room would pull together, we can make a run and we can win the whole thing.” Mark wasn’t emotional at all. He said it very matter-of-factly.

  We beat New Orleans in the first round of the NCAA Tournament and beat Pittsburgh in the second round. Then we went to Charlotte to play Indiana and they were ranked No. 3 in the country. Two timeouts into the game, we were ahead 26–6, and the referees stopped the game because a bolt had come loose on the court and it was sticking up about a quarter inch. One of the referees, John Clougherty, called me and Bobby Knight out there, and John said, “I think we should wait a second until we get a maintenance guy to see if we can get this bolt hammered down.”

  Bobby Knight said, “If we’re going to do that, can we start the damn game over?”

  We dominated the game inside, including 15 offensive rebounds in the first half, and we won 83–65. Then we played Arkansas, which was ranked No. 2 in the country. Kevin Stallings prepared the scouting report for that game, and at our staff meeting, I said, “All right, give me a quick thought about Arkansas that I can share with the team.”

  Kevin said, “We have no chance. Their top seven guys are better at every position than we are. We have no chance.”

  “Kevin, don’t say that. We can win the game.”

  “Coach, we have no chance.”

  “All right. I’m going to tell the team we’re going to win the frickin’ game.”

  “Coach, you know, that’s worked in the past, but that ain’t working this time.”

  “You just keep that to yourself.”

  And so we went into the team meeting that night, and I said. “Guys, we’re in a great situation. We’ve already beaten the No. 3 team in the country, and now we’re playing the No. 2 team, and we’re going to win the game.”

  The players left and Kevin Stallings said, “You’re crazy. We have no chance.”

  We played two days later, and with five minutes to go in the first half, the score was tied. Then Arkansas scored the next 13 points and we wound up trailing by 12 at the half. At halftime I was talking to the staff outside our locker room, and I told Kevin, “You don’t say a word, because we’re still going to win this frickin’ game.”

  I told the players, “This is what’s going to happen. It’s our ball to start the half. Let’s get a great shot and knock it in and then we need one stop. Then let’s get another great shot and get another stop. I’m only asking for two stops. Then let’s come down and let’s make sure we get a good look again and let’s knock that in, and by then the lead falls from 12 to six and they’ll probably call a timeout and then we’ll see them bickering at each other.”

  We came out, moved the ball around and Terry Brown got a layup. Then we went down and got a stop. We came back down and Terry hit another layup. We went down and got that second stop, and then we came down and Mark Randall got fouled and made one of two free throws. We got a third stop and Alonzo Jamison hit a three-pointer to cut the lead down to four. Their coach, Nolan Richardson, called a timeout. As they were walking off the court, two of their guys, Ron Huery and Oliver Miller, were yapping at each other, and I grabbed one of our players and said, “See?”

  We outscored Arkansas by 24 in the second half. It was a great win and we were going to the Final Four. The neatest part of the game came afterward. My son, Scott, sneaked down on the court, came running up to me, and said, “Dad, you’ve got to let me go to the Final Four.”

  I said, “The whole family will go to the Final Four.”

  At the Final Four, we were playing North Carolina. Coach Smith and I spoke on the phone during the week a few times, and we decided that we didn’t want to talk to the media about ourselves and our history together, but it was difficult because that’s all anybody wanted to talk about.

  At that point, in my mind I was still Coach Smith’s assistant, but I was also the head coach at Kansas. I never called him by his first name; it was always “Coach Smith.” There was still a sense of awe and I felt somewhat intimidated coaching against him. Meanwhile, Coach Smith saw me as an equal, a peer.

  Preparing for the game was odd because Coach Smith and I had talked on the phone about once a week beginning the first day of practice that season about our teams’ strengths and weaknesses, so we weren’t going to surprise each other. Otherwise, I tried to treat North Carolina like any other opponent, except that I told our guys we couldn’t call our plays verbally because we used the same terminology that they did.

  Once the game started it felt exactly like every other game I’ve coached. North Carolina jumped out to a 24–15 lead, but our defense sparked a 17–1 run toward the end of the first half. We moved the ball well and we beat their pressure defenses. Mark Randall and Adonis Jordan each scored 16 points and Richard Scott had 14 off the bench. Our defense held one of UNC’s primary scorers, Rick Fox, to just 5-of-22 shooting. We were in control the whole second half and we won 79–73, but our victory was overshadowed because Coach Smith was ejected at the end of the game. He had gotten a ridiculous technical foul for leaving the coach’s box while there was a timeout for a substitution and then another in the final minute when the game was already decided. As he left the court, Coach Smith shook hands with me and all of my players. I felt bad for him because he didn’t deserve that, but I also felt bad for our guys because Coach Smith’s situation took the spotlight off of a great win for us.

  I went back out to the court and watched Duke play UNLV in the other semifinal, and I was so mad at the Kansas fans because they were pulling for Duke to win. It was nothing against Duke; it was just that I felt we’d have a better chance to beat UNLV because we’d beaten them the year before, and I could tell my team, “Nobody thinks we can beat them again, but we know we can.”

  Duke upset UNLV and we struggled against the Blue Devils in the final. Alonzo Jamison, who had been the MVP of our regional and shot 60 percent from the floor for us the whole year, was 1-for-10 and Bobby Hurley made a terrible pass that Grant Hill turned into one of the greatest lob dunks in college history and we lost, 72–65.

  My mother was at the game, and someone in the media came up to her afterward and asked, “How do you feel? Are you still proud of your son?”

  She said, “I’ve always been proud of him, but this is one of the happiest moments of my life.”

  IN 1992 WE MADE a tremendous run through the regular season led by Adonis Jordan and a transfer from Northwestern named Rex Walters in our backcourt. We were a No. 1 seed in the NCAA Tournament, but we got upset in the second round by Don Haskins and Texas-El Paso. They were quicker than we were, so Haskins had decided to use a version of the “Four Corners” offense, which he hadn’t used all season, to control the tempo of the game, and they beat us 66–60. I remember making some statements to the press after the game about how I was sad for our team, but I was happy for Coach Haskins, who was a coaching pioneer. He’d helped integrate the sport when he started five African-American players and beat Kentucky in the 1966 NCAA title game. I left the press conference, and this lady stopped me in the hallway and said, “Coach, hold on one second.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I just want you to know that I’ve never seen a young coach hold his poise and his composure and be able to handle the pr
ess like that at such a tough time. But I also want you to know I truly appreciate what you said about Coach Haskins.”

  Then she held out her hand and said, “That’s my husband.”

  “Ma’am, I said that because I meant it. This is a hard time for us, but I’m really happy for you guys.”

  The next year we beat Jason Kidd’s California team in the round of 16 and then we were playing Indiana in the round of eight to go to the Final Four again. What I remember most about that game is when they introduced the head coaches and I left our huddle to shake Bobby Knight’s hand. Bobby wasn’t there, so I walked all the way down to Indiana’s bench. Bobby was huddled up with his team. One of their coaches told him I was there and Bobby turned around and said, “Oh, Roy, I’m sorry.”

  I said, “Coach, I have such respect for you that it doesn’t bother me to walk all the way down to your bench.”

  He thanked me and patted me on the head and I turned around and walked back to my bench, and when I got there I turned around and Bobby had followed me all the way down to our bench. He said, “I just wanted you to know that I have enough respect for you to walk all the way down to your bench, too.”

  That was a cool deal. Then we played great and won the game to go to the Final Four again, in New Orleans.

  In the semifinals we met up with North Carolina again. Donald Williams was sensational for them from the perimeter with 25 points and Eric Montross was more than we could handle inside with his 23 points. Rex Walters and Adonis Jordan each scored 19 points for us to keep it close, but UNC’s defense caused us to take a lot of poor shots and they beat us 78–68. When the game ended I remember seeing Coach Smith clap his hands with satisfaction, and then he suddenly realized, “Oh my gosh, we beat Roy.” I saw an instant 180-degree turn in his emotions from exhilaration to compassion. I saw pain in his face. I saw hurt. When we shook hands it was hard to speak because of the strong emotions we were both feeling.

  I sent my team home, but Wanda and I decided to stay in New Orleans to watch North Carolina play Michigan in the final. I became a fan. North Carolina was my favorite team other than the one I coached, and so I was in the stands waving a Carolina Blue pom-pom as the Tar Heels won the national championship.

  After the game I told Wanda I wanted to go see Coach Smith. I knew the hotel where North Carolina was staying, so I walked over there and called one of their team managers, who told me which room Coach Smith was in. When he answered the phone, I said, “Coach, I was just coming to say congratulations.”

  He said, “Well, come on up.”

  I went up to Coach Smith’s room and we watched the first half of the championship game on tape. I could tell he was proud of what his team had done, but we watched the tape like two coaches breaking down a game film. That was a thrill for me, but then I got out of there to let him enjoy the second half by himself.

  BEFORE WE PLAYED California in the third round of the 1993 tournament, our coaching staff had watched tape of their team. I said, “Jason Kidd is special, but that other guard is pretty doggone good, too. I love his competitiveness. Who is that?”

  Kevin Stallings said, “Well, that’s the other freshman guard. That’s Jerod Haase.”

  After we beat Cal the next day, I noticed that one of their players was in our locker room talking to Rex and Adonis, and I wondered what was going on. Then, right after the Final Four, we got a call from a guy who was a friend of Jerod Haase’s. He wanted to know if we’d be interested in Jerod transferring to Kansas. We said we’d love to have him.

  For the 1997 season we had one of the best teams I have ever seen. Our starting lineup included four guys who ended up being first-round draft choices in the NBA. We started Jerod and Jacque Vaughn in the backcourt, Paul Pierce at small forward, and Scot Pollard and Raef LaFrentz as our post players.

  Before the start of the season, Sports Illustrated picked us No. 1. Everybody thought we were the big-time favorites to win the national championship. We won our first 22 games and nobody came close to us. Then we lost a game at Missouri when we had a one-point lead. Jacque knocked the ball away from one of their guys in the lane, and it bounced through his legs and into the hands of another Missouri player, who made the game-winning shot. We didn’t lose another game in the regular season or the conference tournament and we spent the final 15 weeks of the season ranked No. 1 in the country.

  But in the first game of that season against Santa Clara, Jerod had fallen on his shooting wrist, and it started bothering him more and more as the season went along. In the first two rounds of the NCAA Tournament, his wrist was so painful that he basically couldn’t play. The doctors decided to give him a cortisone shot and he suffered an allergic reaction. At dinner the night before the third-round game, Jerod’s wrist felt awful. We went to the shootaround the next day and he was in pain. At the end of the shootaround, I said, “Shoot a free throw for me.”

  His shot fell four feet short. I said, “Big fella, I don’t know.”

  He looked back at me, and I’ll never forget it. He said, “Coach, I would just like to try. My whole life I’ve been dreaming about this kind of team and this kind of moment.”

  “All right, we’ll wait and see what it’s like in warm-ups.”

  I was not feeling very good about it, to say the least, but as we went out to warm up, I said to Jerod, “All right, let me see you shoot a free throw.”

  This time he made it, but he doubled over in pain. Then he said again, “Coach, I would just like to try.”

  What could I say? I was almost crying. I had to let him play.

  We were playing against a great Arizona team that had Mike Bibby, Jason Terry, Miles Simon, and Mike Dickerson. They had the most speed of any team I’d ever coached against. The first play of the game, Mike Bibby passed the ball over to the right wing, and Jerod knocked it away and went down for a layup. After he scored, he grabbed his wrist and grimaced in pain. He could barely dribble the ball. He couldn’t shoot. He couldn’t play, but I played him for 14 minutes anyway. When I finally took him out for good, everybody on our bench was so sad, because Jerod was a great teammate.

  Without Jerod, we didn’t play with the same confidence that we’d had all season and we couldn’t match up against the quickness of the Arizona backcourt. We committed 20 turnovers and Bibby scored 21 points. We still had three shots in the final seconds to tie the game, but we lost 85–82. We finished that season 34–2.

  We might have won that game if I had benched Jerod and prepared the team to play without him. But if someone had told me beforehand, “Roy, if you let Jerod Haase try to play, you’re going to lose the game,” I’d still do it the same way. I would still have played Jerod because he is the only kid I’ve ever coached who I thought cared as much about winning as I did. I was not going to deny that kid the chance to try.

  That game was the most crushing loss I’d ever experienced as a head coach. It’s hard to explain the sorrow that I felt for those kids. It was complete dejection. Until the day I die, I’ll be trying to figure out how I couldn’t get that bunch to the Final Four, and to this day I still apologize to them. If I coach for 50 more years, it will still be one of the biggest disappointments, if not the biggest disappointment, that I’ve ever had.

  BEFORE THAT 1997 SEASON, I used a word that I probably shouldn’t have used. I would say that I “desperately” wanted to win the national championship. We had the best team. We lost just two games, but we didn’t win a national championship. We didn’t even get to the Final Four. And it just crushed me. After that, I decided that I wasn’t going to use the word desperately anymore.

  I decided that my dream was to live long enough to someday coach my grandchildren in Little League baseball and basketball. That took the idea of winning a national championship and put it in the right perspective. It was still the most important thing in my professional career, but it wasn’t everything. It wasn’t going to dominate my life anymore.

  In 1998 we had lost Jacque, Jerod, and Scot,
but we still had Raef and Paul, so we knew we still were going to be pretty good. At the end of the season, we had won the conference again and then we won the conference tournament to climb to No. 2 in the country.

  In the second round of the NCAA Tournament we faced Rhode Island, which had two very quick guards, Tyson Wheeler and Cuttino Mobley, and defense in the backcourt was not our strength. Mobley scored 27 points and Wheeler had 20 points, including five three-pointers, and they were the first opponent to shoot better than 50 percent against us in our last 26 games. They beat us 80–75.

  Once again I was crushed. Wanda and the kids said all the right things to support me, but they knew that I had to get through it myself. I really felt like I’d failed my team again. Raef was a senior and Paul Pierce ended up going to the NBA after that season. That senior class had won more games in their four years than any other in Kansas history, but we hadn’t even gone to a Final Four.

  During that 1998 season, we were recruiting a really talented kid named JaRon Rush. He had committed to us, but there were a lot of weird things going on around him. There were articles in the news about how he was receiving gifts from a Kansas booster. Finally, I told our staff, “One more thing happens, and I’m not going to take him. I’m going to release him.”

  During the 100th-year celebration of Kansas basketball, we played a game against Missouri. We had a reunion and lots of our greatest players came back to visit. We played a great game and beat Missouri, and afterward JaRon was interviewed and he referred to me as “Roy” and questioned my substitution patterns.