“For some coaches, love hurts”

Alright, I’m back. A brief trip to Florida to see how the other half lives — quite well thank you very much— and now it’s nose to the old grindstone again.

I was a bit hypocritical in my New Year’s non-resolutions. I reluctantly admit that there is an institution of higher learning in Durham, N.C. which might just have a pretty decent basketball program. I’m forced into this admission by the desire to share a thought with you.

As I was watching a Duke basketball game the other evening (in my defense there were no cooking shows on) I realized that I had seen the same three suits sitting next to the Duke coach (you know, the guy with no lips who always looks like he just knocked back a triple shot of vinegar) forever!

So I looked it up. Johnny Dawkins joined the staff the year after he graduated in 1986. Same with Steve Wojciechowski in 1998. Chris Collins, who probably has the best basketball pedigree of all three, did take a couple of years after his graduation in 1996 to coach in the WNBA and at Seton Hall before returning to the nest in 2000. All alumni and all back court guys, but all still there, Dawkins for over twenty years.

The point is, after all those years learning your trade, in what I have to grudgingly admit is one of the most prestigious programs in the country, Dawkins and Wojo have certainly had offers to coach other Division 1 programs.

Duke has not been the coaching factory some of the other major college programs have been: Mike Bray went to and is still at Notre Dame and Tommy Amaker took the Seton Hall job, lost it and ended up at Harvard. But anyone who sits at the foot of Old Sour Puss’s throne for 20 or even 10 years has had to have had a call or two, or more likely, a dozen or two.

Dawkins, as the associate head coach, may be the heir apparent to Citrus Face but he can’t reasonably expect to assume the throne for at least another ten years.

Back to the point. The biggest reason these guys stay put is loyalty and a love of their school. Sure they are all probably making at least ten times more a year than most of us do, but they could be making ten times more than that as the head coach of some other program.

But to see true loyalty and commitment to a basketball program you needed to be with me last week. I covered my third Blessed Sacrament Huguenot boy’s basketball game of this season last week. The Knights lost for the eleventh time this year against just two wins. They are not a two and eleven team; there is some individual basketball talent backed up with a pretty fair amount of raw athletic ability. They just can’t put it all together.

Blessed Sacrament’s head coach Andy Janto was one of my favorite coaches long before last week’s game. After the game he became one of my favorite people. He has always had such a philosophical approach to a game which he is convinced is full of life lessons.

I don’t know how much, or even if, coach Janto gets paid for coaching basketball, but I’m sure that it’s not enough to keep him in score sheets and shot charts for a year. But Andy Janto doesn’t care about that.

Coach Janto is one great rumpled bear of a man, but surprisingly soft-spoken. I have never worked with a coach who takes his responsibility so personally. Each loss is quietly but personally painful, hurtful.

From a writer’s viewpoint, he is a great no-excuses interview. Like all coaches, if you listen he will give you the particulars of a win or a loss. But, if you listen carefully, coach Janto will lay out the whys and why nots of a win or a loss, the philosophy of the game, from his viewpoint: life.

Coach Janto spent an inordinately long time in the locker room after last week’s loss. One by one the players drifted out. Assistant coach James Poore exited, Mrs. Janto phoned in the results to the paper, but coach Janto did not appear.

Finally, after the gym lights were turned down and everyone was gone, Andy plodded up the stairs from the locker room and onto the gym floor. He was legitimately surprised to see me and apologized for taking so long but he simply had not been aware that I was even in the building that night.

In our normal post-game routine I ask a few, often inane questions: what did you see that you liked? What do you most need to improve on? That kind of stuff. But I could see right away that this evening was going to be different.

Andy sprawled across two of the team’s row of chairs set along the sideline, and threw an arm over another.

“You know, Richard, its frustrating,” he said softly. “I thought we had a chance, but we wasted the opportunity, just threw it away.”

He gestured with a resigned wave and he looked more than a little deflated. What he said next would have been painfully obvious to anyone: “We didn’t score enough points.” But then he offered the life lesson.

“We play hard as individuals but we just don’t trust each other when the game is on the line.”

This year’s Knights do not have that big-time scorer, that one outstanding individual who can take over a game.

“I told them at the first of the year that for us to be successful we needed to have all fifteen guys playing as a team and we also needed someone to develop into a leader.”

He drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out.

“That hasn’t happened. I’m very disappointed we don’t have anyone who will accept that leadership role,” he said as he ran his hands through his already disheveled hair.

It was very obvious that coach Janto was not pointing fingers; he never mentioned a player either in general or specifically. Never once was it “they,” it was always “we.” He put the onus on himself as he continued.

“My philosophy as a teacher and as a coach is that I want them to have passion and to express that passion,” he said, accepting the fact that he had not been able to instill that passion in his young team.

“I think we play as hard physically as any of our teams ever have, we just don’t play with passion,” he said, shaking his head slowly.

I didn’t ask Coach Janto any questions that night. I left him still sitting in the darkened gym, crossed the vacant parking lot to my car and began the long drive home, wondering if I had even been that honest with myself and afraid of the answer.