Mr. Speaker, I would like to submit the following article in my remembrance of Dean Smith. Carolina Athletics: The Stories Are True (By Adam Lucas, 2-8-15) I have been sitting here staring at this screen for 30 minutes. And what I have…
Mr. Speaker, I would like to submit the following article in my remembrance of Dean Smith.
Carolina Athletics: The Stories Are True
(By Adam Lucas, 2-8-15)
I have been sitting here staring at this screen for 30
minutes. And what I have finally decided I want you to know
the most about Dean Smith is this: it's true.
In the next few hours and days, as the tributes to the
legendary man pour in, you are going to hear all of the
incredible stories again. Some you may hear for the first
time. Some you may hear for the hundredth time.
These stories are true, and you should remember all of them,
because now it's our job to pass them down. Don't embellish
them. They don't need it. They are good enough with just the
facts.
You will hear basketball stories. You will hear former
players talk about how Smith would tell them exactly what was
going to happen in a game. He would tell them what the
opponent would do, how the Tar Heels would react, and how the
opponent would react to that reaction. Then it would happen,
all of it, just as he described.
These stories are true. We know this because we sat in
Carmichael in 1974 when his team came back from eight points
in 17 seconds against Duke with no three-point line. I just
told that story to my children on Saturday night when we
drove home from the airport after returning from the win at
Boston College. My nine-year-old son was talking about a
crazy NBA comeback he'd read about.
``Do you know,'' I said, ``that Carolina came back from
eight points down in 17 seconds with no three-point line?''
``Whoa,'' said my daughter. ``Is that true?''
It is true.
Those of us of a different generation than the Carmichael
crowd were in the Smith Center when Smith's simple act of
calling a timeout so shook a top-20 opponent that they meekly
crumbled. I will forever believe that's what happened when
Smith took a timeout after Henrik Rodl made a three-pointer
against Florida State with less than ten minutes left on the
clock in 1993. Rodl's three-pointer had cut the FSU lead to
17 points. 17 points!
It didn't matter. All that mattered was that the Florida
State players and coaches knew Smith thought a comeback was
possible, or else he wouldn't burn one of his precious
timeouts. And if Smith thought a comeback was possible, then
it was possible, and he's done this before, you know, and uh
oh, there went another turnover, and it's getting kind of
loud in here, and pretty soon Carolina had an 82-77 win.
That was true. That happened. Dean Smith called a timeout,
and Florida State wilted.
And yet despite all those wins, we know exactly how
uncomfortable Smith was with celebrating any of them. I can
report, with authority, that with much cajoling from his
players, he once did the ``raise the roof'' gesture after his
Tar Heels won the 1997 ACC Tournament championship, and then
again after earning a spot in the Final Four. It was the mid-
1990's. Everyone made mistakes.
Otherwise, however, the man who never looked flustered on
the sideline looked completely awkward in victory. He would
almost apologetically shake the other coach's hand. If it
happened to be an ACC or NCAA championship, he would try to
disappear while the nets were being cut, so unwilling was he
to climb the ladder and be the focal point of the fans and
players.
Most of the time, those of us in the stands would chant,
``Dean! Dean! Dean!'' when he was finally persuaded to cut
the final snippet. It seems a little disrespectful now. But
it was the 1980s and 1990s. All of us made mistakes.
It didn't really matter, because he would act like he
didn't hear us. With scissors in hand, before cutting the
first strand, he would point to every manager, player and
assistant coach he could find.
That was true. That happened after every championship, and
there were a lot of them.
There are also those who will tell you those championships
are completely insignificant. Funny thing about the people
who most often say that: they are invariably the ones who
knew him best, the ones who most understood his true
character.
``I can't put his impact on me into words,'' Phil Ford said
of Smith. ``I don't know where I'd be without him in my life.
He's been such an influence on me, and a friend and a brother
and a father figure . . . Before I chose North Carolina, I
felt that Coach Smith would be there for me my entire life. I
was right.''
Imagine that. A 17-year-old boy felt Dean Smith would be
there for him for his entire life, and 40 years later, he
still believes it. Wouldn't you like to have one person say
that about you in your life? Dean Smith has--this is not an
exaggeration--hundreds.
``All of that is credited to him,'' Michael Jordan once
said of his career. ``It never would have happened without
Coach Smith.''
These quotes mean a lot to us because they are from Phil
Ford and Michael Jordan. But what Smith knew, and what he
made every one of his players feel, is that the number of
points they scored for him made absolutely no difference. My
father and I had a joke in the mid-1990s. Carolina had a
player named Pat Sullivan who was not at all flashy. At
various times, he played on teams with George Lynch and Eric
Montross and Rasheed Wallace and Jerry Stackhouse, much
better-known players who were prone to occasionally doing the
spectacular.
It never, ever failed: Stackhouse could have had the most
ferocious dunk of the season and Wallace could have thrown
down an absurd alley-oop and Montross could have had a
double-double and Lynch could have had the game-winning
steal. Then, in the car on the way home, we would turn on
the Tar Heel Sports Network to hear Smith's postgame
comments and seemingly every time, they would start with,
``Well, Pat had a good game,'' because he had set a screen
to free a teammate for an open shot that the teammate
missed.
That happened. Pat had good games. Dean Smith talked about
it. At the time, we laughed, and yet 20 years later, we still
remember it.
This seems like the right time to point out that without
ever really knowing he was doing it, Dean Smith gave all of
us some of the best moments of our lives with the most
important people in our lives. It doesn't matter whether you
attended every game in the Smith era or whether you watched
every game on television. Because of the way Smith did it,
and for how long he did it, we could relate through
generations.
We cried in the living room (I did that, after Louisville
beat Carolina in 1986 in the NCAA Tournament) and we danced
around that same living room (my dad and I did that, after
Rick Fox hit the shot against Oklahoma in 1990) and we high-
fived in the stands.
That's what we did in 1993 in the Louisiana Superdome. My
dad is an accountant and therefore spends most of March and
April at the office. But when Carolina made the Final Four,
he would find a way to get to the game. In 1993, he waited
until the Tar Heels defeated Kansas in the national
semifinals. He stayed at work two more days, then caught a
flight with two connections from Raleigh to New Orleans. He
slid into his seat minutes before the national championship
game tipped off against Michigan, and so I can say that I
watched Carolina win the national title with my dad.
We went to Bourbon Street after the game, because that's
what everyone told us you were supposed to do, and so there
we were--perhaps the two least Bourbon Street-ish people in
all of New Orleans, including one CPA with a pile of
unfinished tax returns on his desk back in Raleigh--high
fiving the Tar Heel players and taunting Dick Vitale (who had
picked Michigan to win the game), and we did all of that
because of Dean Smith.
Without Dean Smith and Carolina basketball, I assume and
hope we would have found something else to talk about and
live together. But because of Dean Smith and Carolina
basketball, I never have to know for sure if that's true. The
people we cheered and laughed with on all those incredible
days are the people we cry with--if we're lucky--today. I
told my father the news this morning. Later, he texted me
this:
``I am very, very sorry. It is really very sad. He was a
large part of our family for many, many years and many, many
fun times. We had a lot of good times and he was always
there. It doesn't seem possible to me. It seems like he and
the good times ought to last forever.''
And so that is why this news will be devastating to so many
of us, because there are so many families who this morning
will be texting and thinking those exact same words. We
aren't ready for it to end.
About a year ago, I was at the Smith Center on a typical
weekday afternoon. A customized van was parked in the first
parking space outside the basketball office, and I knew. As I
walked into the basketball office, Dean Smith came out, being
pushed in a wheelchair, a Carolina hat on his head.
It was awful, and it makes my eyes moisten even now to
think about it. It was not at all the way I wanted to think
about him. And I would like to admit something to you now:
from then on, when I saw that van, I would sometimes take a
different path into the building, because I wanted my Dean
Smith to be the one I remembered. I wanted my Dean Smith to
be the one who I mentioned my daughter's name to on exactly
one occasion, and six months later when passing me in the
parking lot, he recalled it perfectly and asked how she was
doing.
That's my Dean Smith and I wanted that to be everyone's
Dean Smith. I don't want today's students to think of him as
old or sick. Understand this: this man could do anything.
This man could coach and this man could help integrate a town
or a league and this man changed the lives of hundreds of
teenagers who played for him plus thousands of the rest of us
who lived vicariously through their exploits.
It still boggles my mind that so many Carolina fans in 2015
don't even remember the era when Smith was on the sideline.
He's as much a name on a building as a coach to current UNC
students. It's been hard enough living in a basketball world
without Dean Smith in it. Now we have to consider living in
an overall world without Dean Smith in it.
I don't want to be part of that world. And luckily, I don't
have to. On Monday, I will pack my son's lunch, and I will
write a Dean Smith quote on the napkin. I don't know yet
which one it will be, but I know that when I see him on
Monday afternoon, I will ask him about it, and we will talk,
and Dean Smith will be the one who enabled that to happen.
That's true. That will happen. And it will keep happening,
and we are the ones who get to do it. I guess that pretty
soon I will feel lucky for having these experiences and
getting the opportunity to cheer for him and learn from him
and admire him.
But right now I really think I want to sit down and have a
good cry.