John Calipari Leads Memphis To a Deal With the College Basketball Devil

(Photo by Joe Murphy/Getty Images)

"The devil's greatest feat has been convincing man he does not exist."

-C.S Lewis, The Screwtape Letters

Memphis is the spiritual home of the blues, the place where rural blues musicians from the deep south would go to seek their fortune and fame in the wiles of the big city.

One of the most legendary tales is of a young blues musician who went down to the crossroads and sold his soul to the devil in exchange for fame and fortune.

The story is a myth, Americana legend, that Robert Johnson got down on his knees in Rosedale, Mississippi and that the devil claimed his soul at age 27.

The blues that run through Memphis are full of stories about crossroads and "hell hounds on my trail" even in as cosmically weird place as Memphis the deal never works out the way it's seemingly more innocent party expected.

If college basketball had a crossroads, it must have been somewhere near Memphis as well, near the University of Memphis.

This devil is just as adept at making deals he promises. For a time, he delivers on his end of the bargain, but in the end only leaves behind a wake of destruction and mayhem as he moves on to his next soul to claim.

He convinces his victims that it's all about you, the kids, the school, but never himself. He boosts your ego with wins and tales of his loyalty for you.

You'll call him a miracle worker, a messiah, a savior, even a god.

John Calipari is none of the above.

"Vanity, definitely my favorite sin."

-John Milton (Satan), The Devils Advocate

As in the 1997 Pacino flick, the Devil is one smooth operator, a man who understands human lusts, needs, and urges and is more than willing to exploit them for his (not your) gain.

Maybe as a fan, player, or administrator, you've heard about his reputation. Still, you make the deal since what he offers is better than what currently have. You sacrifice your integrity and character for the T.V exposure, the top-flight recruiting classes, the high seeds in the tournament, and the money.

After all, not only has the devil always delivered but nothing bad can be tied to him directly. Forget connecting the dots, because there's no Book of Revelation or Rolling Stones song to do it for you in this case.

Sure, there are stories about his Chief Minion, a man who lives in a Chicago penthouse suite, wears $5,000 suits, and has Lebron James and Bill Clinton on speed dial.

However, you overlook him as well because he is part of the package and just as evil.

You begin to notice the attention that is part of the deal, the fact that your program is nothing more than a hedonistic weigh station.

A virtual D-league for future NBA stars where attending class is optional after Christmas. A place where starting brawls at strip clubs and domestic violence is ignored. A place where the police beat is more relevant than the injury report.

However, you overlook it because it's part of the package.

There are the stories that the devil might be playing hard and fast with the rules of the game. He is amoral when it comes to his players receiving over $25,000 of custom clothes, fur coats, and jewelry.

However, you overlook it because it's a part of package.

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