With the college basketball season nearing its culmination, I sat down earlier this week and churned out 1,318 words about how much better the NBA game is than the college game … in months other than March. Mentioned how much more talented pro players are (duh). Threw in some wise cracks about college coaches being preening sneaker salesmen. Closed by talking about how the pro game is exactly what it seems – a cold, hard business – while the college game insists on pretending it has a much more noble purpose.
It was all great fun, but given the chance to reflect, I’m not sure I hit the mark. So I did what in olden times was called “spiking” a story – taking a subpar piece, which was typed on something called copy paper (Google it), and consigning it to a metal spike on an editor’s desk. (Seriously, this used to happen. If you weren’t careful, you could impale yourself by absentmindedly sitting on a corner of such a desk.)
Having gone through that process virtually – and thank goodness for that – I would continue to say that I love the pro game. Still love watching Stephen Curry when he’s got it going on. Still love watching Giannis Antetokounmpo in the open floor, or Joel Embiid doing Joel Embiid things (or, in the interests of equal time in the ongoing MVP debate, Nikola Jokic doing Nikola Jokic things).
But the problem with the NBA is quite simple: The War-and-Peace length of the season. It starts in October and ends in June, and because of that its flaws are accentuated. We have ample opportunity to fixate on the extra step or four every superstar is allotted. We fully understand and expect virtually every screen to be illegal (a fact largely ignored by every referee). And the grind makes it impossible for players to perform at full capacity, every time out of the box. (Coupled with that is the load-management craze, which might be good for the participants but is lousy for the fans, who might be deprived of seeing a given star on a given night.)
The college schedule is much more compressed, which adds to its appeal, leaves its fans thirsting for more. None of the Final Four participants – Connecticut, Miami, Florida Atlantic or San Diego State – has played more than 38 games to date. They are underexposed, not overexposed, especially for the vast majority of us, who only begin paying attention in March. Suddenly our interest is piqued.
The player I have most enjoyed in this year’s tournament – at least until I watched the Caitlin Clark Show on Friday night – was Kansas State point guard Markquis Nowell. I had never heard of the guy a month ago, but over the last few weeks he has burrowed into our consciousness, alley-ooped into our imaginations.
And now he’s gone. The next time we see him will be in NBA summer league or some team’s training camp, and a fan base will say to itself, Oh, that’s right – he was the guy who did all that stuff in March Madness.
Whether he can actually make an NBA team is an open question, given that he is 5-8. And yes, I’m well aware of the success of Muggsy Bogues, Spud Webb, et al. But certainly it’s a long shot, which speaks again to the talent of pro players, who are bigger than Nowell and just as quick, and the differences between the pro and college versions of the game. To review: The NBA is no doubt better, but the college version, at least at this time of year, is more compelling.
Another example of the differences is Gonzaga big Drew Timme. Brilliant college player, but at the Next Level his career will likely parallel that of some random Zeller or Plumlee – or, perhaps, Frank Kaminsky, who starred on Wisconsin’s 2015 Final Four team but has proven to be Just a Guy in the NBA.
The enormity of the jump was underscored by Philly.com’s Ed Barkowitz before the tournament began. He wrote that of the 10 players on the court when Kris Jenkins nailed his memorable last-second 3-pointer to lift Villanova over North Carolina in the 2016 championship game, exactly one – the Wildcats’ Josh Hart – is now a rotational guy in the NBA, with the Knicks.
Of the rest, only ‘Nova’s Ryan Arcidiacono is even in the League; he sits on the end of bench in Portland, the third team to employ him. Seven others from that ‘16 title game are playing professionally, whether in the G-League (UNC’s Justin Jackson) or overseas. (Jenkins, who never sniffed an NBA roster, is in Venezuela.)
Think about that: These were the most trustworthy players on that year’s two best teams. They included the likes of the Heels’ Marcus Paige and Brice Johnson, who enjoyed terrific college careers. And they have scarcely made an impact in the NBA.
Consider, too, some of the coaches who have failed to negotiate the college-to-pro climb, whether you’re talking Rick Pitino or John Calipari or even Jerry Tarkanian, who lasted 20 games with the Spurs in 1992. The job is difficult at both levels, but it is a different kind of difficult in the NBA, where the players wield most of the power. As the late Chuck Daly once said, “They allow you to coach them or they don’t. Once they stop allowing you to coach, you’re on your way out.”
Daly, who notably coached in college at Penn, obviously figured out how to thread the needle, given that he won two NBA titles with the Pistons and coached the Dream Team to gold in the 1992 Olympics. Others have had to walk that fine line as well.
One of them was Jim Lynam, the NBC Sports Philadelphia studio analyst on Sixers’ telecasts. Lynam coached several years in college but in the early ‘80s was offered an assistant’s job in Portland by the late, legendary Jack Ramsay – who, like Lynam, was a St. Joe’s guy.
Lynam balked, wondering if pro players would respond to him.
“You can put that thought to rest,” Ramsay told him, “because these guys are ready to listen as much as (those in) any gym you’ve ever been in, for one reason – money. Once you have their confidence, which you’ll get quickly, they’ll know you can be a factor in them making a lot more money.”
So Lynam took the job, and enjoyed a long career as a pro coach, notably serving as the head man with the Clippers, Sixers and Wizards. All because he understood it wasn’t a dictatorship. All because he knew that the players will allow themselves to be coached. Or they won’t.
Maybe that’s not your cup of tea. Maybe you take great comfort in a college coach – a Boeheim or a Krzyzewski or whomever – stalking the sidelines for years on end, while the players (excuse me, student-athletes) come and go. I get that, but I like it better when the participants are the focal point, when they are the stars of the show.
Quick story: Several years ago I was at a North Carolina-William & Mary game in the Dean Dome. The Heels allowed the Tribe to hang around for a while, much to the dismay of Roy Williams, then their coach.
So Ol’ Roy very theatrically threw off his suit coat, much to the delight of the crowd. It was serious now, dammit!
(Insert eyeroll here.)
Contrast that with the approach taken by the Sixers at one point in the ’80s. After seeing an enraged Don Nelson, then Milwaukee’s coach, throw his suit coat during a game, the Sixers staged the “Don Nelson Jacket-Throwing Contest” among fans before the teams’ next meeting. (Almost positive that Pat Williams, Philadelphia’s general manager at the time, was behind that.)
The point being that there’s a little different vibe in the NBA, that coaches are regarded a bit differently. For that reason and many others, I will insist to the grave that the college game is inferior to the version played in the NBA. At the same time, the undergrads have their place, and that place is March. The tournament is compelling stuff. Not better than the NBA, but more compelling.
No reason to get too worked up about the contrast between the two. No reason to act as if we have one of those editor’s spikes stuck in a very uncomfortable place.