Oh, how they’ve waited for this day.
You know they have. The haters. The critics. The Twitter trolls. The ones who have always thought John Calipari was a little too slick, a little too loud with his “Gold Standard” and his “We Are College Basketball!” and his “Mr. One-and-Done.” They couldn’t wait to see the man in charge of the “Greatest Tradition in the History of College Basketball” fall flat on his face.
Well, it has happened. This Kentucky Wildcats basketball team isn’t just bad. It’s really bad. It’s historically bad. It’s 5-12 bad. OMG. And it’s February and it’s not getting better. Saturday’s 82-71 loss to Tennessee was UK’s sixth in its last seven games, its third home loss by double digits, it’s 5,000th (or so it seems) in which it fumbled away a chance at victory. In Saturday’s second half, Kentucky led 11th-ranked Tennessee by 10 points. A few disastrous minutes later, the Cats trailed by 10.
Is Calipari to blame? Of course he’s to blame. He’s the man in charge. The man who gets the glory for the wins and the fault for the losses. The man making $9 million a year. These are the players he recruited, signed, coached, coddled, hugged, hyped, derided, suspended, directed, started, subbed, left on the bench. Heavens, the guy is even taking to actually responsibly wearing his mask on the sideline. Two of them.
“We’re trying everything,” he said Saturday.
Nothing is working. A missed shot is followed by another missed shot, followed by another missed shot. Balls roll around the rim and out. Always out. Rebounds keep bouncing the other way. Those 50-50 balls are more like 20-80 balls. The possession arrow is always pointing in the opposite direction. And turnovers. So many turnovers.
Calipari has committed more than a few himself. Seems every postgame Zoom media conference is followed by the requisite explanation/apology. He keeps talking his way into trouble. It’s all so un-Cal, normally so on his predetermined message. It’s not what you want to talk about it, it’s what he wants to talk about. And this season has thrown him off script, into a no-man’s land he’s not used to navigating. He keeps getting lost in the woods.
But remember one thing: John Calipari didn’t wake up one morning and forget how to coach. He’s a Hall of Famer, and deservedly so, with a thick catalog of victories, including a national title to his credit. He’s a master marketer and innovator and relentless recruiter who until this forsaken season could be counted on to get a diverse group of scouting service hotshots, with NBA stars in their eyes, to sacrifice for the common cause of a one-time run at the Final Four and maybe more.
Truth be told, this should be his sweet spot. Down for the count. Flat on his back. After all, John Calipari is a fighter. He seems himself that way. He fought his way out of Moon’s Township in Pennsylvania, out of the small college player ranks to take on the guys with the better backgrounds and the better connections, to fight the refs and the crowds and the critics and the NCAA and the big boys at the blue blood schools until lo and behold he became one himself.
Has he been humbled by this forsaken season? Of course. Who wouldn’t be. He’s only human. More human every day. There are a few more lines on his face, many more gray hairs on his head. John Calipari turns 62 on Wednesday. This is his 12th go-round at Kentucky and if you think he has reached his expiration date, consider that Mark Few is in his 22nd at Gonzaga, Scott Drew his 18th at Baylor, Jay Wright his 20th at Villanova. Have they stayed too long at the fair?
So let the critics squeal and the trolls tweet and the haters hate. Let ‘em have their fun. Let ‘em proclaim the game has passed Calipari by, that he has become old news in a brave new basketball world, that he had it coming. Let ‘em count John Calipari out. But I’m not.
