day.
“The coaches have to spend a few minutes with the CBS guys,” Weiss explained to Stevie as they walked up. “Most of them are like Mike; they get it over with early.”
“Why do they have to?” Stevie asked.
Weiss laughed. “I can give you about a billion reasons why,” he said. “As in, CBS is paying the NCAA a billion dollars for the TV rights and they want their announcers to be able to say ‘When we talked to Coach K yesterday, he told us …’ ”
Stevie nodded his head. He
did
hear announcers talking about what the coaches had told them the day before a game, all the time. And Vitale was always talking about having lunch or dinner with them.
Several other people were standing around trying to listen in on the conversation between the famous coach and the famous TV people. Two of them, Stevie noticed, were Bill Brill and Susan Carol Anderson. As Stevie and Weiss walked up to the group, Krzyzewski excused himself from Nantz and Packer and walked a couple of steps to his right, to where Brill and Susan Carol were standing. Stevie could see he had a broad smile on his face as he approached them.
“Well, Brill, I see that the quality of reporter you’re hanging around with has improved considerably,” he said, shaking hands with Brill and then with Susan Carol.
“This is about as close as
I’ll
ever get to being a writing-contest winner,” Brill answered. “Being a tour guide for someone who can actually write.”
Susan Carol was blushing. Stevie worried she might put a hand to her forehead and keel over in a dead faint when Krzyzewski said, “It’s nice to see you again. Congratulations.”
Brill apparently saw Weiss and Stevie coming, because he pointed to Stevie and said, “Here’s our other contest winner now.”
Stevie felt his stomach churn just a little as Krzyzewski, still smiling, turned to him and Weiss. “Hey, Hoops, how’s it going?” he said, shaking hands with Weiss. He turned to Stevie, put out his hand, and said, “I read your story on the Palestra in the USBWA newsletter. It was terrific. I love that place.”
Now it was Stevie’s turn to feel a hot flash across his face. Oh God, he thought, I’m blushing like a girl! Ever since winning the contest, he had fantasized about going to Krzyzewski’s press conference and being the only one in the room with the guts to stand up and say, “Coach, do you ever feel guilty about getting all the calls all the time?” Or “Coach, why do you think the referees let you get away with murder?” He knew Duke was good, but it seemed like the Blue Devils got all the breaks in close games.
He had envisioned the angry look on Krzyzewski’s face, had pictured him saying, “Who asked that question?” and him standing to say, “My name is Steve Thomas and, unlike the rest of these guys, you can’t intimidate me.” He wouldbe the talk of the Final Four, the kid who stood up to the mighty and evil Coach K.
Now the mighty and evil Coach K was standing a foot away from him, a friendly smile on his face, telling him how much he enjoyed his work. Stevie was searching for his voice, knew it had to be somewhere inside his throat, but couldn’t find it. He finally managed to squeak, “Thanks, Coach.”
Everyone seemed amused by his clear discomfort. Brill jumped in to help. “You know, Mike, Steven’s a Big Five fan and a Big East guy. He’s not a Duke fan at all.”
“Why should he be?” Krzyzewski said. “When I was growing up in Chicago, I barely knew what the ACC was. I was a Big Ten guy all the way.” He gave Stevie a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Don’t let anyone tell you who to pull for.” He paused. “Of course, I know when you actually
write
about us, you’ll be fair, like all good reporters are. Right, Brill?”
Now everyone listening was having a good laugh. It was Susan Carol who jumped in at that point. “I think Mr. Brill is always fair,” she said.
“Absolutely,” Krzyzewski said. “So do I.
“The coaches have to spend a few minutes with the CBS guys,” Weiss explained to Stevie as they walked up. “Most of them are like Mike; they get it over with early.”
“Why do they have to?” Stevie asked.
Weiss laughed. “I can give you about a billion reasons why,” he said. “As in, CBS is paying the NCAA a billion dollars for the TV rights and they want their announcers to be able to say ‘When we talked to Coach K yesterday, he told us …’ ”
Stevie nodded his head. He
did
hear announcers talking about what the coaches had told them the day before a game, all the time. And Vitale was always talking about having lunch or dinner with them.
Several other people were standing around trying to listen in on the conversation between the famous coach and the famous TV people. Two of them, Stevie noticed, were Bill Brill and Susan Carol Anderson. As Stevie and Weiss walked up to the group, Krzyzewski excused himself from Nantz and Packer and walked a couple of steps to his right, to where Brill and Susan Carol were standing. Stevie could see he had a broad smile on his face as he approached them.
“Well, Brill, I see that the quality of reporter you’re hanging around with has improved considerably,” he said, shaking hands with Brill and then with Susan Carol.
“This is about as close as
I’ll
ever get to being a writing-contest winner,” Brill answered. “Being a tour guide for someone who can actually write.”
Susan Carol was blushing. Stevie worried she might put a hand to her forehead and keel over in a dead faint when Krzyzewski said, “It’s nice to see you again. Congratulations.”
Brill apparently saw Weiss and Stevie coming, because he pointed to Stevie and said, “Here’s our other contest winner now.”
Stevie felt his stomach churn just a little as Krzyzewski, still smiling, turned to him and Weiss. “Hey, Hoops, how’s it going?” he said, shaking hands with Weiss. He turned to Stevie, put out his hand, and said, “I read your story on the Palestra in the USBWA newsletter. It was terrific. I love that place.”
Now it was Stevie’s turn to feel a hot flash across his face. Oh God, he thought, I’m blushing like a girl! Ever since winning the contest, he had fantasized about going to Krzyzewski’s press conference and being the only one in the room with the guts to stand up and say, “Coach, do you ever feel guilty about getting all the calls all the time?” Or “Coach, why do you think the referees let you get away with murder?” He knew Duke was good, but it seemed like the Blue Devils got all the breaks in close games.
He had envisioned the angry look on Krzyzewski’s face, had pictured him saying, “Who asked that question?” and him standing to say, “My name is Steve Thomas and, unlike the rest of these guys, you can’t intimidate me.” He wouldbe the talk of the Final Four, the kid who stood up to the mighty and evil Coach K.
Now the mighty and evil Coach K was standing a foot away from him, a friendly smile on his face, telling him how much he enjoyed his work. Stevie was searching for his voice, knew it had to be somewhere inside his throat, but couldn’t find it. He finally managed to squeak, “Thanks, Coach.”
Everyone seemed amused by his clear discomfort. Brill jumped in to help. “You know, Mike, Steven’s a Big Five fan and a Big East guy. He’s not a Duke fan at all.”
“Why should he be?” Krzyzewski said. “When I was growing up in Chicago, I barely knew what the ACC was. I was a Big Ten guy all the way.” He gave Stevie a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Don’t let anyone tell you who to pull for.” He paused. “Of course, I know when you actually
write
about us, you’ll be fair, like all good reporters are. Right, Brill?”
Now everyone listening was having a good laugh. It was Susan Carol who jumped in at that point. “I think Mr. Brill is always fair,” she said.
“Absolutely,” Krzyzewski said. “So do I.
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