It’s 9:18 on Monday morning and I have already received three Google alerts about head coaches who have been graciously thanked for their service, wished the very best in their next chapter, and asked very politely to be out of the office by Wednesday. One of the press releases used the word family. The other one used the word family twice. The third one used the phrase mutual decision, which is the kind of thing two people say when only one of them is doing the deciding and the other one is finding out about it on a charter flight somewhere over Indianapolis.
The team lost on Saturday afternoon. The plane landed Saturday night. The athletic director’s statement went up Sunday at 11:47 p.m. — late enough that the local paper couldn’t get to it, early enough that the morning shows could lead with it. The whole thing is choreographed now. I half expect them to release a teaser trailer.
Coach DiMaggio coached us for 31 years and the only time he ever left the program was when he had a heart attack in the parking lot after a JV scrimmage in 1986. They named the field after him. They didn’t name a search firm after him. There was no hashtag. There was a casserole tour at his widow’s house that lasted into June. That was the contract: you coached the boys, the boys grew up, you got buried in the cemetery on Route 9. Mutual decision my foot.
Ray Kowalczyk called me at 7:40 this morning, which is roughly when Ray calls me about anything that has wounded him, and he was wounded. His alma mater fired the guy who took them to two NITs and a Sweet 16, and the press release thanked him for being, and I am quoting Ray quoting the release, “a builder of men and a steward of the brand.” Ray said the word brand into the phone like it was a piece of food he was trying to dislodge. Ray played one year of small-college baseball forty years ago and now somebody is the steward of his brand. He is, understandably, going through it.
The athletic director who fired this man hired him four years ago at a press conference where he used the word marriage. I am not making that up. He stood at a podium with a school-colored tie and said this is a marriage. Now he is at a different podium with a different school-colored tie talking about a new direction and a national search, and there is a guy behind him from a search firm called something like Pinnacle Pursuit Partners whose entire business model is being on retainer the Friday before the first weekend of the tournament. He had the buyout language drafted by Thursday. The coach was up 11 at the half. Didn’t matter. Pinnacle Pursuit was already pursuing.
The buyout, by the way, is $14.7 million. They are paying a man $14.7 million to not coach their basketball team. Last week the same school sent me — and I am on their alumni list because I once wrote a flattering column about a kid from there in 1991 — an email asking if I would consider a recurring monthly gift of $19 to support the marching band’s travel fund. The marching band has to fundraise. The basketball coach gets a yacht for losing in the second round. I’m not bitter. I’m just keeping score, which is, I have been told, the entire point of sports.
And the new search, oh boy, the new search. They have a list. They had the list before they fired the guy. The list is the same six guys it always is — a mid-major coach who is about to take the job, an NBA assistant whose agent leaked it, a retread who got fired from a bigger job two years ago and has since grown a beard, an offensive-minded coach, a defensive-minded coach, and a guy named Bruce. There is always a Bruce. The Bruce never gets the job but his name keeps the boosters warm for 72 hours, which is its own kind of service.
Petey Corrigan, who was the AD at the high school for 22 years and ran the snack stand on Friday nights because nobody else would, used to say that you don’t fire a coach the Monday after a loss because Monday is when you find out who he is. He meant it as wisdom. Nobody listens to Petey. Petey is dead. The new ADs go to a conference in Phoenix where someone teaches them how to write a press release that uses the word family without making anyone laugh, and they come home and they fire the coach by sundown.
Denise is bringing chili over for the Sweet 16. She says it’s from a podcast. I told her I don’t want to know whose podcast. She said good, because the guy got fired Friday.