Like father, like son?
The following is a fictitious account .
Our scene takes us to Lubbock, Texas. It is early morning, March fourth on the campus of Texas Tech University. Last night the Raiders lost to conference foe, Kansas, 109-51.
Pat Knight, the recently named coach of the Raiders is strolling across the parking lot to the athletics’ offices on the west Texas campus.
Brief case in his left hand and a cup in his right he walks up the steps of the darkened building. As he approaches the front door, Knight puts his cup of latte in his left hand and with his right scans his key card for entrance into the building.
The young coach turns and proceeds down the hall to the Texas Tech basketball offices. Again he scans his key card to enter the office. Without turning on the lights he strides past the front desk to the hall leading to his office. As he turns the corner, Knight notices that the door to his office is slightly open, and a tiny sliver of light stretches out into the dark hall. Just before reaching the door, Pat Knight can hear the rustling of a newspaper coming from inside.
He opens the door, and there sitting in the corner is Pat’s father, and former Texas Tech head coach, Bob Knight. With his reading glasses resting down from the bridge of his nose, Knight shifts in the chair and settles his left leg on his right.
Pat: Oh, hey! Morning Pops.
Knight: (Without looking away from the paper and glancing over his glasses at a headline). Nice of you to show up.
An awkward silence hangs for an instant.
Pat: Yeah…I stopped to get something to eat.
Knight: Something wrong with the school’s cafeteria food?
Pat: Just thought it’d be more convenient.
Knight: (As he changes the page of the daily rag) I see. Tough one last night huh?
Pat: That’s putting it lightly.
For the first time the elder Knight takes his eyes off the newspaper and turns to his son glaring.
Pat: I mean, yeah we need to put that one behind and prepare for Baylor.
Knight: You never put a loss behind you. I remember the first time I got a good dosage of tail-whoopin’. Had the game completely dissected by the time my staff showed for work the next day.
Pat: Thought I’d discuss the game when everyone gets here.
Knight: Discuss the game?
Pat: Yeah, ya know – get everyone’s feel for things. See if we can get things turned around.
Knight: Have you watched the game tape?
Pat: Was gonna do that now. Thought a good night’s sleep was important. Ya know come in fresh, so I could be ready to help the guys. Besides, I had to walk the dog.
Knight: That’s what a wife is for. You don’t need to get everyone’s feel. Your perimeter defense has taken on a Spanish feel…your guys are a bunch of matadors. Their guards scorched you for sixty. If Voskuil gave his man any more room, he’d have to use a different area code to call him. Then when he decides to get up on him, it’s like he’s Bruce Pearl giving a halftime interview. No wonder they shot almost 60% from the field.
Meanwhile the younger Knight is doing everything he can to bite his lip.
Pat: Maybe we should try a press or some zone.
Knight turns back to his paper. Ruffles it and changes the page.
Knight: That’s your adult choice to make.
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