America At Large/George Kimball: Mike Krzyzewski is a 57-year-old basketball coach with an unpronounceable surname. The student body at Duke University long ago dubbed him, simply, "Coach K", much to the relief of the nation's media, which have eagerly embraced the sobriquet.
Coach K's Duke teams have an overall record of 621-181. In 23 years the North Carolina school have won three national championships and 10 regular-season conference titles. His Duke teams have been ranked number one nationally in 12 seasons, including the last seven.
In keeping with his status as the most successful collegiate coach in the land, Krzyzewski signed a "lifetime" contract with the University three years ago. In sport, lifetime contracts usually mean the life of the employer, not the employee, so when the NBA's marquee franchise, the Los Angeles Lakers, came calling with a $40-million, five-year offer last week, Coach K was prepared to negotiate.
The Lakers were in some disarray. Phil Jackson, who had won three NBA championships in LA and six while presiding over the Chicago Bulls, had been sent packing following the club's humiliating 4-1 elimination by the upstart Detroit Pistons in the NBA finals last month.
The 2003-'04 edition of the Lakers had been a star-studded collection. Jackson had augmented the fragile balance cast by the superstars Shaquille O'Neal and Kobe Bryant with the addition of two aging All-Stars, Karl Malone and Gary Payton. It was a gamble designed to pay immediate dividends, and when it did not, owner Jerry Buss ordered the dissolution of his empire.
Jackson was told his contract would not be renewed. O'Neal demanded a trade. Bryant exercised his right to free agency (and though he faces trial on sexual assault charges, several NBA teams have shown an interest).
The point being that the Los Angeles job was not exactly the ideal situation in which to try one's wings at the professional level. Still, $40 million dollars is $40 million dollars.
Kupchak had spoken with Krzyzewski a few weeks ago, and last Thursday he formally offered him the position. Coach K took the holiday weekend to consider the matter.
Fourteen years earlier Krzyzewski had talks with the Boston Celtics, which resulted in a hefty pay raise at Duke, but this time the proposed offer precluded the tactic of bludgeoning more money out of the University. Duke obviously could not match the Lakers' offer. While Krzyzewski was wrestling with his conscience, he received a Fourth of July email from a third-year biology student, Andrew Humphries.
The floor at Cameron Stadium is affectionately known as "Coach K Court" to the avid Duke student body. A waiting area where students queue up for games is dubbed "Krzyzewskiville", and the coach has been known to occasionally buy pizzas for the "Cameron Crazies" waiting in line. Once inside, the Duke students proudly boast of collectively representing the Blue Devils' "Sixth Man". Andrew Humphries was one of them.
His email: Coach K, I suppose that you've received a flurry of these sorts of e-mails, but I figured there was no reason to keep my hat out of the ring. Duke basketball is the reason I came to this university, plain and simple. One of my essays was about Bobby Hurley's assist record and watching Thomas Hill cry his eyes out.
Without knowing it, or perhaps fully knowing it, you have been an integral part of the lives of hundreds of thousands of people who you've never actually met. We watch you coach, we come to Cameron and hear you speak (though we never bring tape recorders, because we always do as you ask), and most of all, we admire you.
We admire you because you take kids from all over the country and you make them into a family that seems second only to your actual family in your life. We admire you because you taught us that five people together is a fist, while one person is just a finger. We admire you because you are just an old Polish guy in the dark, looking for some heart. And you always find it.
Like most all teenage boys, I used to stand in my driveway for hours and shoot baskets while pretending that I played for you. Most of this time was spent concocting more scenarios in which I could win the national championship for you by making half-courters, three-pointers, steals followed by layups, or some combination thereof.
I counted down to myself in my head, and if I missed the winning shot, the clock had stalled and I got a second chance. Around the tenth grade I discovered that no, I was not going to play for Coach K. And then I got to Duke. And discovered that, yes, I am going to play for Coach K. I am going to be his sixth man.
We hear about it on TV, how the Crazies are like a team member, and we think, sure. We're a team member as soon as we get a jumper. But then we get to Duke, and we watch players from all over the country stare wide-eyed at us as their jumpers start to clang off the back iron. We get to Duke and we hear you speaking, imploring us to be louder, try harder, to give 100 per cent. We get to Duke and we realise you are our coach. Not just the coach of our team, but you are also our coach, because you believe that we give you something no one else can and we know that you give us something that no one ever could. Please still be my coach. I know that we can find more heart to offer an old Polish guy in the dark next year.
Yours, Andrew Humphries, Duke 2006.
Mickie Krzyzewski said her husband had tears in his eyes when he read the email on Sunday. The next morning he told a press conference Jerry Buss could keep his $40 million - he was staying at Duke. Somebody else would have to be the highest-paid coach in sports.
"Your heart has to be in whatever you lead," said Coach K. "The allure of coaching in college has no price."
