College basketball

Tough guy gets lesson about love

ROMANO E-mail: Click here Archive

© St. Petersburg Times
published March 28, 2003

SAN ANTONIO, Texas -- You spend a lifetime acting tough. You blend expectation with confrontation and you create something akin to a legend.

And then, one afternoon, you discover you are a 60-year-old man in need of a hug. A handshake will not do. Not at this moment. Not in this bind.

So it is, on the afternoon of Feb. 4, the baddest senior citizen in all of Connecticut stands in his office and accepts a hug. And another. And another.

When, at last, there is no one left to embrace, Jim Calhoun sits alone at his desk. He is profoundly sad. And maybe a little scared.

He is yelling again. On the sideline. At the practice. In the huddle. This is what Calhoun does. And, by gosh, few have ever done it better.

Calhoun has pushed, prodded, cajoled and directed the University of Connecticut into the NCAA's Sweet 16 for the ninth time since 1990. Only Duke's Mike Krzyzewski, with 10, can claim more appearances.

Before Calhoun arrived in 1986, UConn had a 4-14 record in the postseason. The Huskies are 28-9 in NCAA Tournaments under Calhoun.

"He is Connecticut basketball. It's that simple," assistant coach George Blaney said. "You do not get any bigger than Jim is at Connecticut."

The successes are beginning to stack one on top of another. There was the NCAA championship UConn won at Tropicana Field in 1999 and the rare NCAA miss in 2001 but, otherwise, one season is difficult to distinguish from the next.

Until now. Until the season Calhoun proved he was both tougher, and more vulnerable, than anyone ever realized.

In early February, Calhoun walked into the locker room and, with little preamble, told his players he had prostate cancer.

"There was complete silence," Calhoun said. "They didn't know what to say. I guess I didn't either."

He told them he was going to have surgery in a couple of days. That, after 30 years as a Division I head coach, he was going to miss part of a season.

The next day, the players were leaving for a game at Virginia Tech. Calhoun was being left behind. One by one, the players walked into the coach's office and hugged him. And then they left.

"We all just wanted to wish him well," senior center Justin Brown said. "We told him we were there for him. And that he was in our prayers."

The worst part was being alone. That was more painful than the recuperation from surgery. More difficult than missing a handful of games.

Calhoun said he could handle it when he was around others. But alone in the car? Alone in the office that February afternoon? That's when fear stops by.

"You don't see Jim Calhoun shook up too much," Blaney said. "The way it hit him, he describes it as a body blow. It really shook him to the core."

His 21/2-hour surgery Feb. 6 was a success. The cancer had not spread into the lymph nodes and Calhoun's doctor put the chances of a recurrence at less than 10 percent. Give him a month and he'd be back at work.

Six days later, Calhoun was in his office.

Ten days after that, he was coaching a game.

"Coach is like a warrior. You knew it wasn't going to keep him away," senior guard Tony Robertson said. "He's like Superman. You can't hurt him."

The reality is a little different. Calhoun was weakened by the ordeal. He was working on a treadmill within days of surgery, but he was also terribly tired. Blaney said Calhoun now admits he rushed his return.

But, really, he had no choice. He tried watching the games on television, but wound up screaming and cursing at the screen.

His wife, Pat, said he was probably worse off staying at home. So Calhoun began showing up at the gym. He would talk to his assistant coaches in the morning and watch practice from the bleachers in the afternoon.

The Huskies went 3-2 with Calhoun out of the picture. Four days after having a catheter and staples removed, Calhoun returned for a victory against St. John's at home. UConn is 7-3 since his return.

Players smile and say it took a week or so for Calhoun to return to his raging, snarling self. But, truthfully, he will never be the same.

He learned some things. About himself and about others.

He said he thought a lot about his three young granddaughters and how badly he wants to see them grow.

He learned about friendships. Like the UConn fan who paid for a billboard wishing him a speedy recovery. And coaches like Krzyzewski, Kansas' Roy Williams and Mike Jarvis of St. John's who called to wish him well.

Mostly, he learned that he cared more about his program and his players than he ever realized.

"That day that each kid came into my office and hugged me, it was something else," Calhoun said. "I was grateful. I was touched. It was inspiring to me that they showed me so much love.

"It's something I'll never forget."

Calhoun pauses. And then he smiles.

"Especially the way I yell at them."

© 2006 • All Rights Reserved • St. Petersburg Times
490 First Avenue South • St. Petersburg, FL 33701 • 727-893-8111

Contact the Times | Privacy Policy
Standard of Accuracy | Terms, Conditions & Copyright