Bob Knight and Bill Self; Friends of Mine

Last night I had the strangest dream.  Well, maybe the dream itself wasn't that strange, but the part where Bobby Knight picked me up for work in a white, Toyota Corolla was very strange. 

Yes, I am referring to coach Robert Montgomery Knight here, the General, the Hall of Fame basketball coach.  And in my opinion, from my observations this past college basketball season, one of the most enjoyable color commentators covering sports events on TV today.

Anyway, after my mind cleared and I realized that Bob and me really aren't good friends, and that if we were, he probably still wouldn't be picking me up in a Corolla, I got to thinking about a recent run-in that I actually had with one of my favorite coaches.

Just a few weeks ago I was traveling through Lawrence, Kansas on business and coach Bill Self's weekly show, "Hawk Talk", was on the radio.  After realizing what a unique opportunity I had since I now live near Nashville, TN, I drove on over to Salty Iguana, the restaurant hosting the show, and settled in at the bar for the last thirty minutes.

Just as the cheese enchiladas that I'd ordered were served to me, Self made his way over to some fans sitting next to me that he obviously knew and with whom he felt obligated to give a little time. 

His eyes met mine, he gave me a nod, and I thought about asking if he could get me some silverware, but I lacked the courage.  It was akin to trying to make the move to ask a girl to dance at a junior high school dance; I was nervous.

It seemed as though he thought he could pacify me by patting me on the back a couple of times as he walked right past me, I'm sure intent on getting back to the office or maybe home to his wife and kids before leaving for their game in Lubbock, TX the next day, but his touch gave me confidence and I was now fully engaged like a lion waiting for it's prey to make a negligent move.

As he turned to leave, he was trying hard not to slow down or make eye contact, but it really doesn't seem to fit his nature to just leave such a needy person hanging.  No, he's not like the ship captain that flees his sinking ship, leaving the passengers to fend for themselves. 

In fact, I liken him more to Captain Chesley `Sully' Sullenberger III, the pilot that recently crash-landed his commercial jet safely in the Hudson River, and made sure that he was the last one off of his plane.  Bill's conscience got the best of him, he gave me the slightest acknowledgement, and I pounced.

I said, "Coach", and he reached out his hand to shake mine, still trying to keep his momentum toward the door, but I had him like a constrictor and he caved.  I proceeded to tell him where I was from, and that we had met before in South Carolina, and that I watch every game, and that I was proud of him and the team, and I wished him good luck with the rest of the season. 

He listened intently and smiled appreciatively.  We could have went on for hours, if only he hadn't wrestled away from my death grip and ran toward the door.

As he was slipping a way, the euphoria started to wear off, and I found myself not only elated, but a bit sad as well.  Sort of like this morning when I started to understand that my good friend Bobby wasn't going to be driving me to work today, or any other day for that matter. 

I started to come to the realization that Self will probably never remember me, even if I see him again and remind him of our previous times together.  

But the fact that he gets what joy he brings the faithful, idiot fans like me just by being himself and offering simple acknowledgements of our existence, is enough for me to share my own feelings of embarrassment for my adulation toward the captain of our ship.