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Posted 7/8/2004 10:37 PM     Updated 7/13/2004 2:30 PM
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College world applauds Krzyzewski
INDIANAPOLIS — All he did was keep going to work. Mike Krzyzewski did not lobby to become the face of college sports by choosing a 25th season at Duke University over the riches of coaching the Los Angeles Lakers.

"I've got people now, when I'm walking down the street, in cars, saying, 'Way to go, Coach K,' " Krzyzewski said. "It's like I did something. They may be thinking that I'm nuts. But for whatever reason, it has had a very good impact." (Related item: NCAA boss backs coaches)

He was sitting in a gym on Thursday afternoon, watching the next generation of college prospects at a summer camp. Three days before, in the glare of television lights and intense national interest, Krzyzewski's decision made him better known, at that moment, for the reported $40 million offer he declined than for his team's three national championships and 621 victories in 24 seasons at Duke, and the 694 counting the five seasons at Army.

"Not that that was the reason for doing this," Krzyzewski said, "but what I found was how popular the college game is."

The scope of his decision became clearer during a period in which college basketball coaches are working toward an unprecedented partnership with the NCAA in an overhaul of rules and procedures. After a record eight high school players were chosen in the first 19 picks of the NBA draft and Stanford's Mike Montgomery became coach of the Golden State Warriors, Krzyzewski's personal decision developed an enormous public profile.

"He has made a statement that the college game is strong, it's important and he is proud to be a part of it," NCAA President Myles Brand said Thursday. "That carries a lot of weight."

Shades of Paterno

The size of the reported offer and the emotions surrounding an intensely anticipated decision may have increased Krzyzewski's already sizeable influence beyond that of Joe Paterno after the Penn State football coach turned down an offer estimated at more than $1 million from the New England Patriots in 1973.

Each coach has been involved in significant projects elsewhere on campus, and each has stressed the importance of keeping their sport in perspective. Paterno's decision turned him into a commencement speaker and an even greater political force. Krzyzewski, an essential contributor to basketball coaches' efforts to have more say in NCAA rules-making decisions, already is responding to the reaction his decision inspired.

"Believe me, I wasn't riding my white horse," he said. "I was trying to make a decision for me and my family, and whatever. But as a result of having a fairly high profile in this arena, there are other things people are judging. Which is OK. And if that helps us I think that shows what the college game is about. Tradition, values and that thing, and how we just need to keep that going."

Georgia Tech coach Paul Hewitt, who is supportive of the partnership with Brand, saw the dangers in Krzyzewski's possible career change. "If college presidents don't read something into Mike Montgomery leaving and Mike Krzyzewski contemplating leaving, then they don't care about college basketball."

The potential impact quickly became clear. "If he's not there, we lose some juice," said Notre Dame coach Mike Brey, a former Duke assistant. "I think there will be a few more people listening."

Connecticut coach Jim Calhoun called Krzyzewski's decision "a forty million dollar statement that this is a very worthwhile thing that we're doing."

The timing of the Lakers' offer came against a discouraging backdrop for the college game. Sebastian Telfair, an untested high school point guard from New York City, was selected seven spots earlier than Jameer Nelson of Saint Joseph's, the national college player of the year as a senior. Duke freshman Luol Deng is gone, and recruit Shaun Livingston never made it to campus. A list of things gone wrong was getting longer.

"And (Krzyzewski), in turn, said, 'No. There are a lot of right things about it, and I'm going to stay and fight the fight to make sure we get a situation where kids can become educated,' " Calhoun said.

Krzyzewski's professional resume was nearly as complete in January 1993, when his views were laughed at on the floor of the NCAA convention in Dallas and he told reporters, "I feel more demoralized now than I did when we lost to Georgia Tech. At least there we had a chance."

Eleven and a half years later, the question is how many of those convention delegates, including presidents, could ever say they left $40 million on the table to remain involved in higher education?

"How many have left $100?" Calhoun wondered.

"Believe me, this isn't how I went after it," Krzyzewski said. "But I think it can be perceived that 'He could have taken tangibles, and he went with intangibles.' So it's more of a value judgment. In this age, where people sometimes haven't trusted coaches, to have anyone in our profession make a judgment like that, has to be a good thing for the profession."

On Wednesday, after the National Association of Basketball Coaches modified its unprecedented collection of proposals on recruiting and access to players, it was Krzyzewski's hand that was raised to frame the conclusion of the meeting. NABC president Pat Kennedy of Towson made the motion to approve the proposals and Krzyzewski, according to executive director Jim Haney, then suggested that the nearly 200 coaches in the room second the motion together.

With applause filling the room, the unanimous support became a significant step.

In love with the game

On Thursday, Krzyzewski spoke of the untapped marketing potential of the college game and the ways it can be strengthened. "Where is Clair Bee when we need him?" he said.

He meant the late, Hall of Fame coach of Long Island University, visionary and author of the acclaimed Chip Hilton book series. "Where is the Chip Hilton series? Why isn't it a cartoon series?" Krzyzewski said. In the courtside bleachers occupied by families and friends of the players in the camp, a small child wore a No. 23 LeBron James Cleveland Cavaliers jersey.

"For me, I'd like to say 'Can Barney dribble?' " Krzyzewski said. "Would Barney like to play in the Final Four? We can't just all of a sudden say to a kid in high school, 'Like college basketball.' It's got to be worked throughout.

"That's not my job," he said. "I don't know what I'm talking about, except I'm brainstorming."

He smiled at the questioners. "I'm talking about ... Barney.

"And you're listening."

There it was. The impact of a basketball coach's views on a fictional purple dinosaur could be traced to the fallout from his decision, or the fact that it had been a long, strange week. Or both. Krzyzewski would pass on the white horse, but there was still a need for transportation. His former assistants, television commentator Jay Bilas, Michigan coach Tommy Amaker and Missouri coach Quin Snyder had a question.

"They were saying, 'Coach, you're driving your own car?' " Krzyzewski said. "Actually, I drove all three of them to lunch. Driving Miss Daisy. Driving Mr. Bilas and Mr. Amaker and Mr. Snyder around. I'm OK. It's like finding your roots again." "Believe me, I wasn't riding my white horse. ... But as a result of having a fairly high profile in this arena, there are other things people are judging. Which is OK."

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