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My favorite Gregg Popovich story—told repeatedly to me by a friend—unfolded at San Antonio-based Trinity University several years ago.
The Spurs coach wanted to watch Trinity square off against Pomona-Pitzer, the small liberal arts college where he served as head coach for seven years.
Just after tipoff, Bob Hill—the nomadic head coach whose children played basketball at Trinity—entered the William H. Bell Athletic Center and scowled when he saw the man who had fired him sitting in a prime viewership spot.
"What the hell is he doing here?" Hill asked. "How the f**k am I supposed to sit in the same gym with him ?"
He has never forgiven Popovich for giving him the axe in 1996. All these years later, the resentment he harbors is understandable.
"How the hell do I get canned after two of the greatest seasons in franchise history?" Hill said to my friend, a Houston sportswriter who shall remain anonymous. "I didn't have David Robinson or Sean Elliott (Vinny Del Negro and others were injured, too)."
The dismissal of the Spurs coach who won 122 games in his first two seasons angered the team's fans and relegated a town temporarily boosted by Hill's celebrity back into a confidence-challenged state of misery.
Most saw Popovich, then the basketball operations vice president, as a bush-league coach making a bird-brained, fatal mistake.
Naturally, Hill wonders what might have been. He could be the one with four championships and Tim Duncan at his side.
He could have watched Manu Ginobili and Tony Parker evolve from raw Argentina and France imports to future Hall of Famers.
Maybe not.
Popovich decided he should take the team's reigns and finished his first year as interim coach with a 17-47 mark. The franchise then landed the first pick in a draft with a no-brainer first selection.
Anyone who dares praise Popovich in his presence is reminded of this—that it's all Duncan's fault—ad nauseum.
Then, with another 20-win struggle and a rough start in the shortened lockout season, Pop almost met the same fate as Hill.
Owner Red McCombs had previously fired him, along with R.C. Buford and the other assistants under Larry Brown before the 1992 campaign.
This time, Majority Owner Peter Holt seemed ready to do the honors.
Still miffed about Hill's release, fans wanted Popovich to hit the road.
How he could fire a popular San Antonio figure after a 3-15 start when injuries sabotaged any chance at a winning record remained a mystery.
Now?
No one questions the defense-first methods that have delivered four NBA titles to the country's 31st largest radio market and 38th largest media market.
He entered his 13th season at the helm last week with the kind of job security that would make anyone at Goldman Sachs envious.
Tonight, his well-oiled, perennial-contending Spurs hit the road for a tough test against a physical squad with the longest-tenured coach in the sport.
Jerry Sloan was enshrined in the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame in September alongside John Stockton, his point guard of 19 seasons, Michael Jordan, David Robinson, and C. Vivian Stringer.
His Pomona career a distant memory, Popovich will soon also be nominated for Springfield induction.
Convincing him to accept the honor might be tougher than getting a raccoon to recite the Pledge of Allegiance.
Much like Sloan, he detests showers of congratulations and often comes across as surly, sarcastic, and anguished beyond repair.
A recent example of his humility: Popovich did not complain when Robinson left him out of his induction speech.
The Admiral thanked former Spurs owners, Duncan and other teammates but forgot to recognize the man who was there from his first practice to his final game, a second championship clincher.
Sideline reporters dread interviews with him, and rookie writers quickly learn that cuteness is as illegal as murder and extortion.
With the Spurs down 20 to the Cleveland Cavaliers at home in February, ESPN runners at the AT&T Center informed Nancy Lieberman she would not have to conduct the usual pre-fourth quarter Q&A.
They knew he would not be a happy camper, watching his Duncan and Manu Ginobili-less squad get whacked by LeBron James.
When the camera panned over to Lieberman late in the third period, her face sported a relieved, "thank God" look.
Popovich's typical answer when asked how he helped build a dynasty: "We didn't screw it up," a reference to the luck that landed Duncan in San Antonio.
His visits to Salt Lake City have become increasingly meaningful over the years.
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