Early on, Coach made a simple comment: “I hope you’re in shape.” She dropped it out there in front of us like it was a spare dime that had fallen out of her purse. Of course, it wasn’t casual or carelessly spoken. It was completely intentional on her part. Only, we freshmen didn’t know that.
What we did know was from Kyra Elzy, a returning sophomore, who had played with us at the Junior Nationals in the summer. She had talked about the grueling nature of Pat Summitt’s practices—the endless wind sprints and six a.m. runs around the track. We were told conditioning was the name of her game and that she was relentless about it.
What we heard scared us. We had visions of Coach Summitt practices that were so exhausting we’d wind up puking in the corners of the gym. And so, to avoid that humiliation, the four of us freshmen started conditioning ourselves before we got to practice.
What we didn’t know was that there was a tradition among upperclassmen on the team to do their best to terrify the freshmen. And I’m not so sure Pat didn’t put Kyra up to that.
It worked. We freshmen were doing our own conditioning before conditioning started.
I’m sure Pat had counted on that. She wanted your all. Everything about her said, “I want to make you better.” Everything we did had a purpose—to make us all better.
I remember how tough it was, but it was tough in a good way. I loved it. I don’t think you go to a top school like the University of Tennessee and a top program with a top coach without knowing four demands:
You’re gonna have to work really, really hard.
You’re gonna have to make certain sacrifices.
You’re gonna have a learning curve, jumping you up to a new level.
You’re gonna have to work really, really hard.
And so, having gotten ourselves conditioned to endure a Pat Summitt practice, we practiced hard. Coach sometimes had us practicing against a squad consisting of all men, knowing that their height and strength on the court would condition us well.
One-on-one with each other, there was no telling what might happen. It was very competitive between us. After all, for many of us, especially us freshmen, we were excited to be there, but not so sure we were going to fit. And how would we be able to shine with so much talent on the court? So we fought and battled and competed hard. There was blood shed every day in practice. And it was emotional too. Lots of competition, wanting to prove ourselves against someone else.
Sometimes that emotional competition would get carried off the court. Women tend to hold on to stuff. But Coach Summitt wouldn’t allow that. She tried to make sure nothing interpersonal festered and stewed between us.
When we got off the court, we were family.
And at the end of the days of practice, we had worked so hard, built up our stamina so high, fought so intensely, that when we got to games, in terms of conditioning, they were relatively easy.
And, again, I’m pretty sure Pat had counted on that.
Part 3
Music
The rhythm . . . the flow . . . the beat . . .
Every note becomes a bar
Every bar forms into a song
As the orchestra flows, I see the ball move . . .
Effortless
One pass. Two pass. Three pass goes . . .
Swish, swish, swish it’s like a melody that flows.
Getting ready to attack
Sitting back and being blessed
God’s choices of who gets what
Displayed throughout the game.
This is the skill that’s been select
All I do is focus on what’s next
Shoot, drive, pass, slide . . .
Decisions to be made
At a drop of a dime.
Hearts racing
Hands flailing
Drops falling from my face.
Shirts soaking
Shoes squeaking
Love’s captured in my veins.
I’m ready . . .
9
Perfect
Four freshmen and a sophomore, Kyra Elzy, were leading our comeback over the best team in the country. No sooner had the thought occurred to me than Tamika Catchings paused from three-point range. She squared up. Then she floated upwards and launched a long bomb. It fluttered through the net, and the arena erupted.
Pat Summitt, Raise the Roof
The Thompson-Boling Arena was built in 1987 specifically for basketball. Designed as an octagon, it rises impressively right along the Tennessee River. Seating some twenty-five thousand people, it’s the biggest arena in Tennessee and one of the largest in the South.
It was a twelve-minute walk from our dorm.
I remember my first time entering the place. I had played in a lot of arenas and wasn’t usually affected much by the size of a venue. A basketball court is always the same size, wherever you play. But Thompson-Boling was really something. I don’t think I was overwhelmed by it or that I had doubts about my being there, but it made me catch my breath. Made me think about where I’d come from. What, with God’s help, I had been able to achieve so far.
Early polls had us ranked number one or number two, alongside frequent Tennessee nemesis Louisiana Tech. When the season opened, Sports Illustrated had picked Tech to win the national championship, but everyone knew we were a close number two.
After weeks of practice, we were ready to play. Or so we thought. In a way, every team is just a collection of statistics before its first game. We had some of the best talent in the country, stars from every region of the United States, now living and practicing together in Knoxville, Tennessee. On paper, we were terrific. We had so much talent. But, of course, four of us had yet to play a single minute in college. You never know how it will come together. If it will come together. What we were on paper didn’t count. As someone once said, “That’s why you have to play the games.”
We’d had an early exhibition game against the U.S. Armed Forces team. It wasn’t much of a competition—we won 111–54. I’m sure Pat was glad she could get all of us playing time and that we got through it without any injuries.
Well, sort of.
Early in November, Kristen Clement hurt her foot. At first it was just a sore foot, but later, while running wind sprints, Ace felt some pain. Later an MRI revealed it was a stress fracture. While it wasn’t so serious as to keep her out for a long time, she would certainly miss the first game against Mississippi. What was more concerning was our second game—an early head-to-head against our top competition—Louisiana Tech. And that was only three days after the Mississippi game. Was there any chance Ace would be back by then?
We would have to start our season without our new point guard. The much-hyped “reveal” of the Fab 4 freshman class—Semeka, Tree, Ace, and me—would not happen. Not yet.
Coach Summitt started four of her veterans and me in the game against Ole Miss. Kellie Jolly, a junior, started at point guard.
We started slowly. I don’t know why—first-game nerves, still-developing chemistry?—but after four minutes, the score was 4–2. It wasn’t supposed to start this way.
Pat put Semeka Randall in the game. Semeka’s game is one of intense energy and enthusiasm, which we really needed. In a short time, defensive phenom Semeka, “the Glove,” grabbed two steals and drove repeatedly for layups. Six minutes later, we had gone on a 15–0 run, with Ole Miss scoring zero points.
In the end, that first game wasn’t even close. We won 92–54. In retrospect, it wasn’t a game that proved much; Mississippi finished last in the SEC that year and wasn’t strong competition for us. But we still needed to play the games, and as our first game, it proved some things.
Pat learned that when she played the three Meeks—Semeka, Chamique, and me—some remarkable things happened. She learned, as she substituted like crazy in the second half to try to not run up the score, that whatever new players she put in, there was a burst of new energy and scoring and tough defense.
She learned she didn’t jus
t have a collection of prima donnas.
She had a team.
Pat used a set of principles to build teamwork. She called them the Definite Dozen:
Respect Yourself and Others
Take Full Responsibility
Develop and Demonstrate Loyalty
Learn to Be a Great Communicator
Discipline Yourself So No One Else Has To
Make Hard Work Your Passion
Don’t Just Work Hard, Work Smart
Put the Team Before Yourself
Make Winning an Attitude
Be a Competitor
Change Is a Must
Handle Success Like You Handle Failure
I don’t remember if back then I truly understood the importance and deeper significance of these principles. But I know in my later career I have come on my own terms to embrace the ideas behind some of these principles, in particular those that talk about hard work.
It’s one thing to talk about your passion and to think that’s what you’re going to excel in. I believe and say all the time that “it’s good to pursue your passion.” But just because it’s your passion doesn’t automatically mean you’re going to be good at it.
If you look at the people who are really good at something—brilliant musicians, great writers, or those who play a mean game of basketball—you learn pretty quickly that, yes, they have talent in an area and, yes, they have a passion in that area. But they didn’t get great just because of talent or passion. Lots of people have talent they never actually develop. Many pursue passions that never amount to much. Those people you admire are great in some area because they work hard to be great. They practice, they stay disciplined, and they doggedly push themselves to get better.
I have to say I kind of resent it when people make the comments that I’m “so talented” in basketball. Oh, I appreciate the compliment, but in saying that, there’s a suggestion that it’s all come naturally to me. That it’s been easy. No. Not really. I’m good at what I do because I’ve worked hard, really hard, all my life to get good. I’ve practiced hard, disciplined myself, and pushed myself beyond measure.
If you want to achieve something in life, you have to work for it. Your talent will give you ability, and your passion will give you drive. But it’s your hard work that will make you great.
And that’s why, in November 1997, Pat Summitt was discovering something about our team that was really special. It was different, even from the other great teams she had coached. She was discovering, as we all were, that this team had a level of relentlessness about it, a drive to push harder and work harder, than any team she’d coached before. As she once wrote, “In the 1997–98 Lady Vols I finally met a group of players more driven than I am. They were harder on themselves than I ever could have been. That was clear the moment they stepped on campus.”1
Yeah, we were driven. We worked hard. But we were about to face our toughest competition of the year in just our second game: with Louisiana Tech.
Tech was favored to win the game.
Their starting five were all veterans who had gotten the team into the tournament semifinals the year before. Amanda Wilson, Tamicha Jackson, Alisa Burras, LaQuan Stallworth, and Monica Maxwell had achieved significant honors already and would achieve more again later this season. This same lineup had beaten the Tennessee Lady Vols twice the year before.
We were a team composed mostly of underclassmen. Three of us would be playing in just our second college game. And our point guard, Ace, was iffy to play, still nursing a bum foot.
Their center, Burras, was a real threat. Not that she was taller than our centers, LaShonda Stephens or Tree, but she was muscled and solid. She would easily score in the double digits. Their point guard, Tamicha Jackson, was quick and elusive. Monica Maxwell, one of their forwards, could score buckets in a bunch real quick.
This being just our second game, we had no sense yet about what was at stake. Even if we lost, we’d have a measure of where we stood, as LA Tech was clearly the best competition we would likely see all year.
We knew how good they were. We just didn’t know ourselves very well yet.
The game didn’t start out well. Four minutes in, the Lady Techsters had scored eleven and we had only managed two baskets. Sure enough, Burras was having her way on the low post, while Maxwell sped around the perimeter feeding the ball to others.
Pat called a time-out. She sent in Ace to replace Kellie Jolly at point guard. It was a risky move, as Ace had yet to see any action in a college game and she was tentative on her injured foot. And, as it turned out, the move would cost the team later.
But the lineup change worked for the time being. We clawed back, although slowly, and we narrowed the gap by halftime, trailing by just a point, 36–35.
Pat lit into us at halftime. We were playing without confidence—uncertain, tentative. Pat used a phrase that proved to be a lightbulb turning on for us, not only for that game but for the season. “Let your defense be your offense,” she said.
Sometimes you look for the one thing that will turn the game around—the magic phrase, the motivational speech, the daring strategy—and occasionally that works. But often it’s not that one thing. Often it’s simply hard work. Playing tough. Scratching and clawing out a win. Winning isn’t always decisive or dramatic.
But sometimes it is.
In the second half, the Lady Techsters came out on fire. We held on as best we could, but after a few minutes we were down six points. Coach Summitt started trying some things.
She motioned Tree to get into the game. And in the next play, as LA Tech marched down the floor, Alisa Burras got the ball and drove big and hard toward the basket, stopping and shooting at point blank. Here we go again, we all thought.
But then, out of nowhere it seemed, Tree rose up, climbed some kind of invisible ladder, and swatted the shot away in a totally clean, legitimate block. It was like everyone in the arena paused at what they’d just seen. Then everyone on the Tennessee bench jumped up and all of Thompson-Boling erupted.
Next time down the court, Burras got the ball again and shot. And once again Tree rose up, climbed the air, and blocked the shot away. It was like in a matter of just halftime minutes, Tree had figured it out.
The Tennessee crowd went wild.
Coach then motioned Semeka into the game, followed by Ace on her aching foot. I was playing, and eventually Kyra Elzy as well.
With Tree playing lights out against Burras, the rest of us had a chance. And we went on a 12–0 run.
The Fab 4 had come to play.
At that point, just as Louisiana Tech was reeling, Pat brought back in her star, the best player in college basketball, Chamique Holdsclaw. Our knockout punch. And soon our lead rose to eight, then ten.
We went on to win the game, 75–61.
The Louisiana Tech game was the first of five games in nine days. A few of the games were against easier opponents, but one was top-ranked. It was no accident we were pushed hard to perform well in the midst of extreme fatigue.
Pat was counting on that.
She always planned the playing schedule year in, year out, and was known for intentionally creating a tough road through the season for her teams. She knew she coached the best teams, and she wanted us to be challenged at the highest level. What’s more, she wasn’t coaching for the regular season; she was coaching for the tournament and ultimately the championship, which meant a lot of games played in short periods of time.
The 1997–1998 schedule was one of the toughest she’d ever created.
After Louisiana Tech, we beat the Skyhawks at Tennessee-Martin, UT’s sister school. They had named their basketball court after Pat Summitt, who had played there in her college career.
However, the game, although a handy win, proved to also be a loss for us. Semeka went up for a rebound and fell hard on her shoulder. On a subsequent play, she fought for another rebound and felt something in her arm. She grabbed it, and the pain was so great she couldn’t s
tand up. The early prognosis was surgery and a two-month rehab, but the next morning doctors determined it was a minor separation and surgery wasn’t needed.
We were already dealing with Ace’s foot injury. As it turned out, Ace would miss five games.
We traveled to Vermont, winning there by forty points. But our big challenge was coming up. We would face Stanford just days later. Stanford was a tough foe and ranked eleventh.
We started slowly, and Stanford led us at halftime by a point. Our problem was defense.
Like, we weren’t playing any.
Pat was steamed. At halftime she lit into us. “Is anyone going to guard anybody?” Her laser-blues were boring holes into every one of us.
Kyra Elzy came out the second half on a mission. She was draped all over their guards, and it disrupted the Stanford shooting. Kellie Jolly, playing full time without Ace in the game, was solid. Semeka played with her sore shoulder, and though frustrated by her shooting, still scored seventeen. The three of us Meeks would end the game with a total of sixty-two points. It was my best game of my college career so far. We wound up beating Stanford 88– 70.
It’s hard to know at what point during this becoming-remarkable season anyone had a sense of what was possible. We were good, we all knew, but any basketball season is long, prone to lulls, let-downs, adversity, and fatigue. Sometimes you just run into a really hot team. You’re bound to lose some games along the way. The question is whether you can survive the season physically and mentally to be a force in the tournament. We were already dealing with injuries.
So while there was some sense that we were discovering who we could be as a team, and that was turning out to be something really special, there was always an awareness that we were just playing each game as it came, trying to learn life and basketball at the college level.
Pat tells the story of an encounter with an old friend and former coach of hers after that Stanford game. Billie Moore had had an illustrious career as a coach. Retired by then, she had been the coach of the U.S. Olympic team in 1976 and would be admitted to the Women’s Basketball Hall of Fame a few years later.
Catch a Star Page 9