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Pain too deep to broadcast

Georgetown's coach deals with his wife's cancer in his own stoic way.

By JOHN ROMANO
Published March 24, 2006

MINNEAPOLIS - Begin with the heartbreak. With the cancer that attacked the body of a graceful, and spirited, young woman. A parent of three small children, who saw her own mother lose a similar war with this disease.

Or begin with the triumph. With the personal achievement of a quiet man stepping out of the considerable shadow of his famous father. A basketball coach who recently heard thousands chanting his name in adoration.

Begin with heartbreak or solace, it doesn't really matter. Because, somehow, it always concludes as a story of love.

This is what you need to know about John Thompson III and his wife, Monica. That their relationship cannot be defined by the events of the past five months. That their lives mean more than the buzzwords and catch phrases dropped easily into a handful of solemnly told stories.

Mostly, you need to know that a few victories in a basketball tournament do not change the reality of a family's core.

"This year has been extremely difficult, there's no two ways about that," Thompson said Thursday afternoon. "I don't know that when you walk on the court you can forget about what's going on off the court."

By now, you may know Thompson has restored the dignity in a Georgetown basketball program built almost entirely by the will of his father.

But did you know that after a recent road victory, he woke up early the next morning to drive his wife to the hospital? While she was having chemotherapy, he used his laptop to scout an upcoming opponent.

By now, you may have heard Monica Thompson was diagnosed with breast cancer just a few days before Georgetown's season opener in November.

But did you know she invited her husband's entire team to their home for a Thanksgiving dinner and never let slip there was a potential killer in their midst? None of the players knew she would be in surgery the next day.

"She is," Thompson says softly, "a lot stronger than her husband."

He is a pensive man, John Thompson III. A living example of the apple falling miles from the tree. His father is loud. He is emotional. He laughs easily and scolds menacingly. John Thompson Jr., now 64, had a Hall of Fame career and an equally extravagant personality.

He turned a small, private university in Washington into one of the most feared programs in the nation, and he did it on his own terms. He fought the NCAA, he fought the media. He wore intensity like a fashion statement.

Even now, more than seven years after his final game, the old man possesses an unmistakable attraction. Less intimidating, yes. More jovial, for sure. But the passion that, over the years, brought Patrick Ewing, Alonzo Mourning and Allen Iverson to Georgetown has not dimmed.

It was the father, not the son, who told the world of Monica's illness in November. Thompson III had wanted to deal with it privately. Outside of the family, few knew of the doctor's visits in between road trips.

The elder Thompson had even urged his son to take a leave of absence. To risk slowing the momentum after his first season on the job in 2004-05.

Thompson III understood the heartfelt emotion behind his father's advice, but he was determined that life should be lived as normally as possible.

"He's had to deal with all of this. And he's dealt with it quietly," Thompson Jr. said. "That's the thing that scares me about my child sometimes. He doesn't bitch and moan and complain about stuff. Me? When I'm sick or something is wrong, I'm going to let the world know it. He won't do that. You have to pull it out of him. "Are you okay?' You have to look at him.

"I just thank God, and whoever else, that (the season) turned out positive with what's going on in his personal life. Because it would have been too much to deal with. He's handled it better than I think I ever would have."

When told of his father's words, Thompson shakes his head and chuckles.

"He talks too much, doesn't he?"

Were it up to Thompson III, the topic would not be broached. It is too private for sound bites. It is too personal to discuss with strangers.

Even his players have rarely seen behind the reserved veneer. Thompson, 40, got emotional the first time he told the team about Monica's condition, but he has not brought the subject up again.

"It was shocking the first time we heard it. It's like a dagger in your heart," sophomore guard Jonathan Wallace said. "We'd just been around Mrs. Thompson at Thanksgiving and she acted like nothing was wrong. She was her normal high-spirited self.

"Seeing how Coach has handled everything going on at home and how he's taken care of the team, it's given us a greater sense of responsibility. It's like there's this urgency to do well for him."

John and Monica are coming up on their ninth anniversary, although the love affair has gone on much longer. The children of teachers, they met in the late 1980s as undergrads at Princeton.

While Monica worked as a corporate sales manager at a hotel, John initially went to work at a sports marketing firm. He returned to Princeton as an assistant basketball coach and took over the program in 2000.

Thompson guided Princeton to three Ivy League championships in four seasons before coming to Georgetown to rescue his father's program after several subpar seasons under Craig Esherick.

After winning 19 games in his debut, Thompson has the Hoyas back in the Sweet 16 for only the second time since 1997.

Monica was not feeling well enough to travel last weekend, but she is expected at the Metrodome today. Her father-in-law declined to offer a long-term prognosis.

Outside the Georgetown locker room, Thompson III talks hesitantly about his wife. After a few questions, he asks that the subject be changed.

For him, it is not a cause. Nor is it a story. He is not seeking attention, and he will not dare use it as a ploy.

This is his wife, and his life.

The two cannot be separated.

[Last modified March 24, 2006, 02:35:47]