Well, I tried. I tried to convince Chicago’s own Mike Krzyzewski to return home and coach Chicago’s own Bulls.
It makes so much sense. Phil Jackson, by decree of the Jerrys, is gone after this season. Michael Jordan might be too, unless the Bulls hire an Airness-approved replacement. Who better to succeed the Zen master than Duke’s Krzyzewski, who knows Jordan, who coached the Jordanesque Grant Hill, who flirted with at least three other NBA jobs, whose coaching style is as pliable as Flubber?
Krzyzewski has credentials and credibility–two NCAA tournament championships, seven Final Four appearances. He was a consultant on the MJ-led 1984 U.S. Olympic team, as well as an assistant on the 1992 Dream Team, which also featured Jordan and Scottie Pippen. And Krzyzewski just happened to be a coach at Jordan’s fantasy basketball camp last summer in Las Vegas.
Jordan, the Tar Heel, and Krzyzewski, the Dookie, have a history together. More important, they have a mutual respect.
Jordan and Tim Floyd? Don’t think so.
Emboldened by such simple truths, I made the pilgrimage to Duke’s Cameron Indoor Stadium. Jerry Krause, the Bulls’ general manager, knows his way here. He has been at Cameron before, scouting players, and–who knows?–maybe asking Krzyzewski about his contract status.
Anyway, Cameron Indoor has been Krzyzewski’s workplace since 1981, when former Coach K-boss Bob Knight first recommended him to Duke Athletic Director Tom Butters. Sixteen years. Time to move on, I figured. After all, how much ivy and academia can one man endure?
A team film session is scheduled for 3:30, meaning I have 17 minutes to convince Krzyzewski to ditch Duke next year. Standing outside his modest office, I can see some of the mementos of his remarkable career. Framed photographs and lithographs. Autographed basketballs. Plaques. Trophies.
So much time invested in one place. This isn’t going to be easy.
“Sorry,” he says, as he meets me at the door. “Had to talk to some former parents. What I mean is, parents of a former player.”
Yet another reason for the Bulls to make a run at this guy. Cares about his players. Cares about the parents of his players. For all anyone knows, Krzyzewski might take calls from the grandparents of his players.
Krzyzewski gestures toward a seat. Fifteen minutes and counting.
“I’m here to convince you to be the next coach of the Chicago Bulls,” I blurt.
Krzyzewski is 50, looks 40 and has become a twice-a-week weightlifter. He is a graduate of West Point, played and coached for Knight, knows all the major swear words and has a look of anger that can wilt the most hardened game official. He does not suffer fools gladly.
I brace for the response.
There is an arched eyebrow. The beginnings of a slight smirk. It is clear that Krzyzewski wasn’t expecting this.
“My dream for what I wanted to do in my life was to be a college coach,” he says. “With people’s dreams, if you’re fortunate that they actually become a reality, you’re lucky. My reality is better than my dream.”
The players. The fans. The games. Krzyzewski says he loves them all. At one point I thought he was going to start singing, “Devil With a Blue Dress.”
“It’s been like a storybook for me,” he says. “It doesn’t have to be a storybook for anybody else. It’s my story. It’s my book. It’s incredible how lucky I’ve been. And I have a hard time leaving that. I wouldn’t leave it for a price, because it’s priceless.”
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But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t leave. He thought about it in 1990. He thought about it several years later. He still gets feelers from NBA teams.
Time to challenge his legendary competitiveness.
“Isn’t there a part of you that would like to see if your coaching style would translate to the pro game?” I ask.
Krzyzewski shoos away the question as if it were a housefly. He likes the NBA. He watches the NBA. He has former players in the NBA. He has coaching friends in the NBA.
“But I’ve never thought that just because you’ve climbed this mountain, you can climb another mountain,” he says. “I don’t think I would do it for that. I don’t have to mountain-climb.”
Tick, tick, tick. The film session starts soon. I go for the unfair hypothetical.
“What if you reach the Final Four, you have this wonderful recruiting class, the program is poised for long-term success, Phil Jackson is gone, you can come home, you can coach Michael in what would probably be his final year . . . wouldn’t that appeal to you on some level?”
Krzyzewski is no dummy. He doesn’t bite. Doesn’t even nibble.
“Well, first of all, I don’t even want to answer that with the thought that somehow, in a vicarious way, that I’m campaigning for it,” he says. “That (job) is not even on my mind. But I think it would be very difficult for me to leave these kids and to leave this school. And the reason is because I love both of them.”
Drat. Anybody have Dean Smith’s Chapel Hill address?