The Oscar-nominated film Midnight in Paris is about a golden era of writers, artists and musicians who could instead have been a movie about college basketball coaches, if only Woody Allen were more of a St.guccihandbagsreplicaIn the movie, a modern-day miumiureplicahandbags John's fan.
novelist romanticizes the rainy nights of a 1920s Paris that was home to Hemingway, F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein, Pablo Picasso and Cole Porter. At the stroke of midnight each evening, the writer is transported to these roaring '20s.
Imagine, instead, Today's Coach — proper and well paid; a walking replica of nearly every other coach he faces — studying the plaques at the Naismith Hall of Fame in Springfield, Mass. Or he might be walking the concourse of the Palestra in Philadelphia, gazing at a trophy case at Kansas' Allen Fieldhouse or taking a seat on the bleachers at Butler's Hinkle Fieldhouse. At the altar of any of these college basketball shrines, it isn't so hard to imagine a coach being taken back in time.ralphlaurensweater
Back in 1985, stories and laughter fill a gymnasium that again includes Valvano, Tubbs, Brown and others.
Temple's John Chaney and Nolan Richardson, the newly named coach at Arkansas, are telling stories. Notre Dame coach Digger Phelps is waxing philosophical. Louie Carnesecca's over there, wearing one of his garish sweaters. Auburn's Sonny Smith and New Orleans' Benny Dees are telling jokes, but they're just the opening acts for Oklahoma City's Abe Lemons, one of the funniest coaches ever. When asked about running set plays, Lemons said, "There are only two plays that I know, Romeo and Juliet and put the damn ball in the basket."
Iowa State coach Johnny Orr enters the room to the Here's Johnny theme and a pump of his fist. Elsewhere, Stormin' Norm Stewart and Jud Heathcote are providing their own unfiltered views of the world. A young Cremins winks at Today's Coach, as if he knows they will meet again one day.
Is there no end to the cast of characters who were coaches in the 1980s?
By now, Today's Coach has made a coaching friend from 1985 who points toward a door at the end of the gymnasium. They walk through it like that cornfield portal in Field of Dreams, into another gym from yet another time — the coaching world of 1963.
Kentucky's Adolph Rupp is there, wearing his lucky brown suit with a lucky buckeye in one pocket. Tennessee's Ray Mears is parading around the court in his bright orange jacket, attempting to engage conversations with the very fans who are serenading him with catcalls. A bowl of green jello, his lucky pregame meal, is waiting for him. This is one superstitious lot.
novelist romanticizes the rainy nights of a 1920s Paris that was home to Hemingway, F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, Gertrude Stein, Pablo Picasso and Cole Porter. At the stroke of midnight each evening, the writer is transported to these roaring '20s.
Imagine, instead, Today's Coach — proper and well paid; a walking replica of nearly every other coach he faces — studying the plaques at the Naismith Hall of Fame in Springfield, Mass. Or he might be walking the concourse of the Palestra in Philadelphia, gazing at a trophy case at Kansas' Allen Fieldhouse or taking a seat on the bleachers at Butler's Hinkle Fieldhouse. At the altar of any of these college basketball shrines, it isn't so hard to imagine a coach being taken back in time.ralphlaurensweater
Back in 1985, stories and laughter fill a gymnasium that again includes Valvano, Tubbs, Brown and others.
Temple's John Chaney and Nolan Richardson, the newly named coach at Arkansas, are telling stories. Notre Dame coach Digger Phelps is waxing philosophical. Louie Carnesecca's over there, wearing one of his garish sweaters. Auburn's Sonny Smith and New Orleans' Benny Dees are telling jokes, but they're just the opening acts for Oklahoma City's Abe Lemons, one of the funniest coaches ever. When asked about running set plays, Lemons said, "There are only two plays that I know, Romeo and Juliet and put the damn ball in the basket."
Iowa State coach Johnny Orr enters the room to the Here's Johnny theme and a pump of his fist. Elsewhere, Stormin' Norm Stewart and Jud Heathcote are providing their own unfiltered views of the world. A young Cremins winks at Today's Coach, as if he knows they will meet again one day.
Is there no end to the cast of characters who were coaches in the 1980s?
By now, Today's Coach has made a coaching friend from 1985 who points toward a door at the end of the gymnasium. They walk through it like that cornfield portal in Field of Dreams, into another gym from yet another time — the coaching world of 1963.
Kentucky's Adolph Rupp is there, wearing his lucky brown suit with a lucky buckeye in one pocket. Tennessee's Ray Mears is parading around the court in his bright orange jacket, attempting to engage conversations with the very fans who are serenading him with catcalls. A bowl of green jello, his lucky pregame meal, is waiting for him. This is one superstitious lot.
