Coach's mentor would never do that

Coach Dean Smith, whose innovations, creativity and commitment to players as men and family forever changed college basketball, is dead, and the accolades keep pouring in from former players, associates and rival coaches. Meanwhile, his most diligent disciple is finding Smith's old team in a funk and facing its biggest rival tomorrow night in a hostile arena.

Roy Williams professes to pattern his every move after his mentor, but any concerned Tar Heel fan with a long memory can see that ol' Roy is doing some things Smith would never do. I like Roy. I think he's a good coach. He's done a great job at Chapel Hill and did a terrific job at Kansas. But he may be letting his own personal style take away from his shadowing of Coach Smith.

Dean Smith was famous for never taking credit for the 879 wins in his career and never letting the players take the blame for a loss. After a win, Smith always praised his players, often starting with the obscure bench warmers who came in and gave a few respectable minutes of basketball. After a loss, Smith always took the blame. "I did a poor job of coaching," he'd say. He always deferred any criticism of the players, even when there were bonehead plays or obvious goofs.

Williams' style contrasts with Smith's example. The past couple of years have been frustrating ones for Williams, and his frustrations sometimes spill over in public. He has publicly chastised the team for lack of effort or for lack of concentration. I don't know that this shift of blame has anything to do with this year's Tar Heels' sometimes poor performance, but I do know that criticism of his players is something Smith would never do.

While Smith could occasionally vent his anger at the referees or something, his demeanor on the bench was almost always calm, even relaxed. In the past couple of weeks, some former players have mentioned that when Smith called a timeout, he was always the calmest person in the huddle, calmly telling them exactly what to do and what the opponent would try to do. He once reminded players during a tense timeout that there were a billion people in China who didn't even know this game was happening. Williams, in contrast, can be seen yelling at players in the huddle instead of calmly explaining the situation to them.

There's another habit — call it a tactic, if you want — that Smith did and that other coaches picked up. That habit has faded among coaches since Smith's retirement. In comments before a big game, or even a minor one, Smith always praised the opposing team. He would compliment the way they pass or the way they run the fast break or the way they play defense. Even against a clearly mismatched and woebegone team, Smith would make it sound as if the game was a toss-up at best. Maybe it was Smith's way of never underestimating an opponent or maybe it was a ploy to make the opponent overconfident and keep his own team on its toes. Whatever the reasons, the result was that Smith never played a team that was, in his description, anything less than a powerhouse.

When other coaches adopted this tactic, the result was laughable — two coaches each claiming the other team was far superior than his own.

Williams has not underestimated opponents, I don't think, but he has not been as effusive in praising opponents as Smith was. I doubt that this has anything to do with the Heels' struggles this year, and the other ways that Williams has deviated from Smith's example might have no impact on his success, either. No one is a perfect copy of a mentor, and Williams is no exception.

Every Tar Heel has memories of Dean Smith

Every UNC alumnus or fan has his or her special memories of Dean Smith as the accolades and adoration for the greatest (OK, arguably) college basketball coach in history sweeps over us since his death Saturday.

Let me share three of my memories. I had become a Tar Heel fan and Dean Smith worshiper as a teenager. By the time I arrived at UNC as a student, I knew a lot about Smith and his coaching techniques, but my awe at his abilities to shape great teams from individuals players grew over the years.

When I was in school, I went to dinner at the Zoom-Zoom with two or three friends. Seated nearby was Dean Smith with his wife and daughters, enjoying a quiet, anonymous dinner out. We were all tempted to walk over and say, "Hey, Coach, great year," and so on. But we wisely respected his privacy and allowed him to be just a husband and dad out with his family.

In 1974, I was living in northern Virginia and watching Carolina play Duke on our new 15-inch color TV. The game was not going well. I yelled and stomped to no avail, and when a timeout was called with 17 seconds left and UNC down by 8 points, I gave up and went to the basketball court across the street in our apartment complex to work out my frustrations in a pickup game. I just couldn't bear to see the Heels lose to Duke.

A half hour later, my wife walked over with our daughter. With a big smile on her face, she said to me during a lull in our pickup game, "We won!" I thought she was kidding. "That's not funny," I said, or something like that. I couldn't believe her until I read it in the newspaper the next day (there was no ESPN in those days).

I actually met Dean Smith much later with an assist from former Gov. Jim Hunt. I had received an invitation to an event in Chapel Hill recognizing the first class or two of teachers who had earned National Board certification, a recognition that Hunt led. Smith, who said he had always thought of himself as a teacher, just as his parents were, was there as a special guest. Hunt, seeing my wife and me by ourselves, graciously came over and asked if we had talked to Coach Smith. We hadn't, I said. "Just too shy," I should have added. Hunt walked us over to Smith and his wife and introduced us. I said something about being a 1971 alumnus and never missing a game, ever — the sort of thing he probably heard a dozen times a week. Smith was gracious and pleasant, and our moment together lasted perhaps 60 seconds. I cherish that memory as much as I do the memory of those final 17 seconds when I lacked the faith in Smith's coaching miracles.