Sidelines
Majerus was larger
than life at LaiePETE Newell is the basketball coach all coaches call "Coach." He has done, seen and known it all in his legendary career, coached NIT, NCAA and Olympic champions, and he is one of the scant few individuals on Earth who has the deep, unadulterated, unwavering respect of one Robert Montgomery Knight.
In fact, this kindly, deeply tanned 80-something is Bobby Knight's hero. He is every old coach's hero.
He is basketball.
But still, even he is only human.
And so he stands, almost leaping to his feet, eyes shining, face brightening: "Heeey! Riiick!"
Rick Majerus may or may not be the man every woman wants, but he is the man every man wants to hang out with. Big. Bald. Jovial. He fills the doorway. He fills the room. He fills every room he enters.
He has enormous appetites, and celebrates them, he overstates them, he exaggerates them, in hilarious, self-effacing anecdotes, about eating, dressing, playing pickup basketball. He destroys buffets. He dreams of Cindy Crawford. He lives in a hotel. The story goes that he once turned down an NBA coaching job because they told him he'd have to wear a suit and tie (he says this is not true).
People love Majerus. I love Majerus. A friend, when he found out I would meet Majerus, freaked out. "You have to get a picture!"
"Doesn't he live with his mom?" my friend said. "Only in the offseason!" I said.
And in fact, Majerus, coach of the Utah Utes, did take care of his mother for a year, when she had cancer, and now he says she is feeling great. But when we think of Rick Majerus, we don't usually speak of such serious things. We prefer the Oscar Madison of the hardwood, the hilarious, overstuffed basketball bachelor.
He has become a cult figure, a parody of himself, a cartoon. He is the new Al McGuire, an avalanche of personality and one-liners and "character" so overwhelming that he makes you forget he is actually a serious basketball coach. Much like his mentor, McGuire, did.
But much like McGuire, he is also a great coach underneath it all, underneath the TV persona and the stories and the jokes and all the pizza -- oh, the pizza.
And Pete Newell, of all people, Pete Newell the genius, the elder statesman, the godfather of the sport, is as excited to hang out with Rick Majerus as any of us would be.
These were two of the guys who were in Laie two weeks ago for the Hawaii International Basketball Academy for coaches at Brigham Young-Hawaii.
And if you didn't go, high school coaches, you missed it.
I went. I went for just an hour, for the chance to sit down with a legend, and with Pete Newell, too.
And they talked basketball like old friends, discussing the greatest Korean player of all time (this guy was unstoppable) and their travels around the hoop world.
"True story," Majerus begins, and goes on to tell a tale of watching a foreign team practice in which the coach grabbed a player and held him by the arms. The coach then brought his knee up and gave it to the guy right in the groin.
"In the groin?" Newell asks.
You can't coach like the old days, they decided.
Newell reported that Knight was doing well, that he was happy to see Knight finally settle into a good situation, that Knight's new house was bigger than Rhode Island.
They talked NBA, enthusiastically, just like two fans, but fans who actually knew what they were talking about, fans who knew all the people, players and coaches they were talking about.
And then the hour was over, and I was late to leave and they had to teach, and Majerus wanted to open up the pool to take a swim just before he went on. It was a magical afternoon for Newell and me, but somewhat disappointing nonetheless.
Majerus had eaten just two chicken wings, tiny ones.
I hate it when heroes let us down in real life.
Kalani Simpson can be reached at ksimpson@starbulletin.com