Door nail dead

It's over. Officially. Though Louisville had still been on Rodney Purvis' list post-Fuller departure, the inevitable has come to pass.

After speaking with Jody Demling, JD reported that his Purvis' final three schools are Duke, NC State, and Missouri.

UK and Louisville both got the axe, apparently, due to the respective additions of Ryan Harrow and Kevin Ware.

It was never going to happen once Fuller left, and though we barely got to know Mr. Fuller, he must be damn good at whatever he does to get such a top talent to follow him to Missouri of all places. And while it's never good to lose out on such a scintillating prospect, with a name that simply begs to be suited up in red, closure is a good thing. The Purvis story is officially old news.

Louisville's Most Wanted

Let's face it, there's not much happening on the Cardinal front. And I'll be damned if I'm going to waste any more of my life writing about Jeff Goodman's "scathing" article where he ranked Coach Pitino the #2 coach in the 50-60 year old age bracket. Calipari was (gasp!) #4.

Yawn. It's gonna be a long summer.

What I will waste my life doing, is reading hilarious articles on local criminals. And I can't tell which of these two winners I prefer.

PLUSES: Told the arresting cop he had to urinate, whipped it out again to complete his business.

MINUSES: Repeatedly used racial epithets towards the arresting officer. Pissing wherever you want is cool, but racism ain't cool, man.

PLUSES: Was caught drinking HAND SANITIZER! at a local grocery.

MINUSES: Only had the balls to drink the gooey greatness because he was high on bath salts at the time. You read that correctly.

New away game jerseys

Will Stein got ripped! And tan!

On stripping...

Everywhere you look titans of college athletics are being shrunk back down to size. USC was stripped of its 2004 football title for rampant NCAA violations. Tressel is out at Ohio State. The NCAA and UK are in a pissing contest over how many wins Chubbs can rightfully claim due to his checkered past.

All of these stories follow a familiar narrative. 1) scandal breaks 2) rightful public outrage 3) media overreach 4) defenders come out of the woodwork 5) rinse and repeat.

I normally check out at stage 3, but that doesn't mean that I don't believe in the efforts to reign in rulebreakers.

But in today's climate, where the NCAA is the boogeyman, the lamestream, programs like the Trojans are sacrificial lambs; men like Jim Tressel, they're martyrs. It's en vogue these days to lambaste the NCAA. And it's even more en vogue to claim that anyone that doesn't just doesn't get it, he or she is out of touch with the times, just doesn't get how it is today.

In my opinion, this is just "media desiring to be hip/contrarian" nonsense.

Nationally, one of the most notable examples of this is PTI's Michael Wilbon, who rises to his pulpit to defend the Cheater of the Day like clockwork.

This kinda stuff goes on everywhere, is his favorite argument.

One, he doesn't know that, how could he? He just thinks it makes him sound wizened, his opponents naive. Two, has he ever been or known anyone pulled over for DUI? Well God forbid, if you ever are, don't try to use the "But Occifer, don't you know how many other drunks are out driving tonight that you didn't pull over" defense. It won't get you very far.

Locally, there's Drew Deener, who refers to stripping wins and titles as "completely nonsensical", an absurd exercise in erasing history. On his show yesterday he made it sound like the NCAA is breaching the Twilight Zone; "What, are they saying the game never happened?!? I watched it!". When did we all get so stupid, or at least incapable of holding two thoughts in our heads simultaneously?

Yes, Drew, there was an event that happened in space and time in 2004 when the USC Trojans won the national championship. But then, at a later period in spacetime, an investigation revealed that the win (yep, the very same that you saw with your own eyes) was aided by rampant cheating, thereby rendering it null and void.

Is it really so difficult to grasp both thoughts at once?

And I disagree with anyone that says stripping away wins and titles is meaningless. Banners are taken down, trophies removed, resumes rewritten. If nothing else, the offending program's rivals will certainly always be there to refresh selective memories.

But when we have prominent followers of college athletics that cannot grasp concepts easily taught to most children, it's no wonder so many continue to think they can get away with it.

My Evening With Denny Crum

(Recently, a friend of my dad's (thanks Danny!) bid on a priceless item at a charity auction; the chance to spend a night with 11 other Cardinal die-hards watching a movie with Denny Crum in his private theater. He won. And I got an invite. The following is what transpired.)

Last Friday, the 10th of June, just a few hours after a collaborative work with my dear friend and protege, JA Adande, hit the press, I piled into a car for a night with a living legend. I had an irrepressible smile on my face. The day felt surreal enough already, and it was a sunny Friday to boot. It was one of those times when life seems, ya know, less intolerable.

But despite my excitement, I couldn't help but feeling a little nervous. However noble the cause for this get-together, it was bound to be a little awkward, right? Eleven strangers in your house. Forced conversation. Had the situation been reversed I would have been in hell.

These are the things being ruminated on during the long trek out to Denny's home. Coach, as I'm sure you know or can imagine, is the kind of man that needs space and nature to feel at home. He lives waaaay out J-town way. Lots of woods. Goatman territory.

We got lost just once, and soon found the driveway to his property. And what a property. 75 acres of manicured hills, creeks, wrought-iron gates, and a large fishing pond. It's good to be the king.

As we got out of the cars, Denny was already on the porch to greet us; he was dressed in a yellow shortsleeve shirt and pressed khakis. We were also met by five enormous dogs. Four beautiful black and chocolate labs, and one lordly creature named Buddy. Buddy resembles more polar bear than dog, has a thick white coat, and towers above his (very sizable) brothers. Buddy is the alpha, the only one allowed to sleep in the bedroom with he and the Mrs., I would come to learn.

Hands were shaken all around, and you cannot help but notice how big his hands are. Later on that night, Denny passed around his Basketball Hall of Fame ring for us to examine; it was big and heavy like a rock. I could have slipped it on my big toe.

The whole experience went by quickly in images and nuggets. Here's what else I noticed...

* Denny is the kind of person who makes awkwardness impossible. He's welcoming and down to earth, patiently signing innumerable autographs and answering every question with thoughtful consideration. In fact, he is exactly the same in person as how he comes off on his radio show. He talks a little slower, and is more mellow than in his brash heyday. But he still has charisma; he speaks without bombast or hyperbole, just a self-assured, quiet, authoritative demeanor. Not a hint of arrogance either, just confidence; I get the impression he's the kind of man that's never done an unconfident act in his entire adult life.

* Coach is still a perfectionist, at least subconsciously. When he was delving out refreshments, cokes and beers, he made sure all the cans were stacked in rows, labels facing the same way.

* If the outside of the house was impressive, the inside was even more so. We didn't get the complete tour, but we did take in his beautiful living room overlooking his lake, an indoor pool, his private home theater (where he watches mostly shows like CSI and Law & Order, never American Idol, but did admit a guilty pleasure of an occassional Dancing With the Stars) and the most impressive man cave I've ever seen. More on the latter in a minute.

* A couple of guys gave him grief about a big wraparound bright blue couch that adorns his living room. "Oh that", he said after consideration, "that's Bruin blue".

* He loves the renewal of the Memphis rivalry. Coach, as anyone that listens to his radio show can attest, is careful enough not to ruffle feathers or express any, how to put it, subversive feelings towards the current basketball administration. But this topic got him the most animated that we saw; it's clear he's disgusted with the current cupcake nonconference schedule the Cards play. Anything to strengthen it is welcome in his book. He also said, that at its hottest, the Memphis Tiger rivalry was, if not more important, at least uglier than the one against UK.

* Mrs. Susan Sweeney-Crum came home while we were still chatting and having autographs signed in their kitchen. She couldn't have been nicer (very easy on the eyes too). I expected her to just say hi, make yourself at home, then retreat to the bedroom till we got the hell out of her house. But she stayed out, talked right along with us and was a charming hostess (very easy on the eyes too, did I mention that?)

And since I wasn't sure if asking Coach to plug the blog on his radio show was tacky or not (plus I'm sure he would forget) I asked the wife to use her better-half-pull to remind him about it. C'mon Mrs. Crum! Don't let me down!

* And then there's the basement/carcass/rumpus room. Come to think of it, Coach doesn't live in Goatman territory. Goatman didn't get to be as ancient as he is by being foolish, and it would be foolish for many critters to get within rifle shot of Crum. There were enough mounts, rugs, trophies, fangs, and antlers in that basement to make Ernest Hemmingway blush. Beasts just now being discovered by scientists, no doubt. Fish too, huge fighting fish. It also prompted my favorite line of the night when I asked which finned monster tasted best on the grill?

"Nah", he replied, "I don't eat fish".

* In one section of the room, there was an enormous custom-built poker table. In between the, um, carnage on the walls there were framed photographs; pictures with John Wooden, Kareem Abdul Jabar, Darrell Griffith and a slew of other luminaries from basketball history. It was like a museum, a roundball-lover's dream.

* And then there's the movie itself. Kind of ancillary to the real excitement of just being there, but nominally at least, the reason for our visit. They served popcorn popped in an old-time theater machine, and after a brief moment of technical difficulty, we settled in to watch "True Grit".

(Now, this was the only disappointing part of the evening. I'm sorry, maybe the movie has some redeeming qualities if, and only if you can get past the annoying little girl, Hailee Steinfeld, that "stars" in the movie. Her character is supposed to be funny, I think, in a precocious, cutesy sort of way, but in my book, she hit all the wrong notes, had a terrible fake "western" accent, and ruined the movie.

And she was nominated for an Oscar for this role! Once again, proving that in any given year the Oscar Committee is truly guessing. Is that all it takes to get nominated? Be young, "fresh", show up and read your lines woodenly? In all honesty, I would have nominated the little girl that starred in the "Andre the Seal" movie before this girl)

OK, where was I?

* Right, Denny's house. So, the theater is awesome. It's custom-decorated with UofL logos; it's a legit movie theater, not just a glorified big screen. He watches all his TV on it, he said, which makes the fact that he still goes to watch almost every Louisville game in person that much more impressive.

* He is rooting for the Mavs to win the NBA finals but believes the Heat will pull it out.

* He doesn't understand why modern players don't use the backboard anymore, calling the bank shot a lost art. Again, he wasn't speaking out of crotchety, "Well, back it my day..." contempt, he just said he didn't understand it, that's all. He claimed it's the easiest shot in the game, the most forgiving, and can be shot at the highest percentage if practiced.

* After the movie, the night was winding down, but they invited us back to the kitchen foyer to eat a variety of pastry desserts that Denny said he made himself, but I couldn't tell if he was joking.

It was pretty late, he answered a few more questions, told a few more stories. But we had learned earlier in the evening that he and Susan were traveling to Idaho in the morning, where they own a second home. So, not wishing to impose any more than we already had, we all gave sincere thanks, I patted Buddy the polar bear on the head one last time, and left.

As we cut through the inky darkness on the way home, we gushed like adolescents about each detail. I felt happy, and a little better about humanity, knowing that greatness can still be achieved with such decency and grace.