CHAPEL HILL, N.C. β However much the decision to retire may have been weighing on Roy Williams for the past two weeks, it didnβt stop him from breaking 90 twice at Augusta National a week before the Masters. He may harbor doubts about his ability to coach college basketball, but at least his golf game is OK.
It wouldnβt have been an hour with Williams if there wasnβt a golf analogy or two in there somewhere, and even he chuckled at how his press conferences had sometimes gone off the rails in recent years. But his farewell Thursday was something else entirely, a remarkably human spectacle as he openly wrestled with the same doubts that led him to step down.
βI no longer feel that I am the right man for the job,β Williams said, over and over again, a powerful, accomplished coach publicly acknowledging his vulnerability.
There was an easy way out of this, to thank everyone and reel off a bunch of names to put a nice polish on an amazing career. The three national championships he won since he returned to North Carolina hung above him as he sat at center court. Thereβs nothing left for Williams to prove. Heβs earned whatever farewell he wants.
That wouldnβt have been Williamsβ way. Instead, he spoke openly about the toll the past two years took on him. He repeatedly bemoaned his inability to connect with his most recent players. He left no mystery about the insomnia and agony that had filled his days since the loss to Wisconsin as he came to the conclusion that he was no longer capable of doing the only job he had ever wanted.
Williams said these thoughts crossed his mind last summer, but he didnβt want to go out on that sour note. He also wasnβt willing to wait around for what he called βstrike three.β He had the chance to say the game and players changed on him, was even asked a direct question about that, and he wouldnβt have been wrong if he said the ground rules have changed. They always do.
One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh; but the earth abideth forever.
Williams just shook his head. It wasnβt the players. It was him. Only him.
βI just never got the team, this year, where I wanted them to go. I just didnβt get it done,β Williams said. βI didnβt get them to buy in and focus on the things that I think are really big in the game of basketball. We got better, but not to the level some of our teams have been. I didnβt push the right buttons.β
He paused there and exhaled, deeply. The Smith Center, which so often had wrapped Williams in rapturous noise, was so silent his sniffles echoed.
The last two years have aged Williams, as he openly admits, and the pictures above him on the video boards, of a much younger man from not all that long ago, would have driven home the point even if he had not. He used to say he would coach as long as his health allowed him, but heβs now a man of 70 who admits heβs scared of whatβs now staring him in the face.
βI donβt know whatβs in the future,β Williams said. βI know I wonβt coach again.β
There was a rawness to this, the tearing off of an emotional scab, that only underlined how difficult this decision really was. Not merely walking away from his dream job at the university he loves as much as anyone, but walking away because he admits he canβt do it as well as he used to. Williams held nothing back, not even his pain at suddenly feeling inadequate at the job he fought so hard to make his own.
βI thought it was Roy,β former ACC commissioner John Swofford said afterward. βI think Roy is a genuine guy, emotional. He says what he feels and he said it well. I thought it was Roy, simply put.β
Williams stepped off the stage, at center court, and turned toward the crowd. Wanda, his wife of 47 years, was waiting for him there. She had twice asked him to retire, after the national championships in 2009 and 2017. Now she had her wish.
βWe did OK,β Williams said he told his longtime consigliere Steve Robinson this morning.
βWe did a lot better than OK,β Robinson replied.
Williams took Wandaβs hand and they walked slowly toward the tunnel toward the locker room together on the Carolina blue carpet as his friends and former players applauded. Then Williams walked through the black curtains for the last time as a basketball coach and the first time as a full-time grandfather scared of whatever comes next.
What are the best college basketball traditions?
What are the best college basketball traditions?
Best college basketball traditions
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College basketball traditions that have been embraced and passed down through the years often are as exciting and anticipated as the games themselves. We've assembled the best traditions to help kick off March Madness. Some are big and bold, some are kooky and colorful, but all of them have something special going for them. Go team!
Kansas wave
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Kansas fans have their own version of the wave, and it's a nod to the state's agricultural heritage. At crucial times in a football or basketball game, students slowly wave their arms over their heads, mimicking a field of Kansas wheat swaying in the breeze. The school's famous Rock Chalk chant dates all the way back to 1886 and, according to the school, it evolved from a cheer that a chemistry professor created for the science club.
Sister Jean
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Remember when a 90-something nun took over the NCAA tournament? This was definitely an under-the-radar tradition until 2018. But Jean Dolores Schmidt, now 102 years old and known around the world as "Sister Jean," has been chaplain of the men's basketball team at Chicago's Loyola University since 1994. And it's a responsibility she takes seriously. She has given a prayer on the arena floor before each home game and hugged each player as he walks off the court after games. During the 2018 tournament, when Loyola made an improbable run to the Final Four, she became a national celebrity. She politely talked trash with Charles Barkley and even got her own bobblehead doll.
Indiana basketball
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The Hoosiers have turned the pedestrian basketball timeout into an anticipated event. The "William Tell Overture" is played at the first under 8-minute timeout of the second half of every Indiana basketball game. The cheerleaders start by gathering at center court for a spirited pom-pom routine before grabbing several big flags and running around the court. After the overture, the band leads the crowd in the "Indiana Fight Song." Things get loud.
'Krzyzewskiville'
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The Cameron Crazies are those wacky, blue-painted kids at Duke Blue Devils basketball games. Named after Cameron Indoor Stadium, the Crazies throughout the years have mocked opposing players for their run-ins with the law and other embarrassments. Their taunts are legend; "air ball" was reportedly coined here. To become one of the crazies, you have to first set up camp in "Krzyzewskiville." For more than 30 years, students have camped out in a tent city outside the stadium as they line up for seats. Hundreds of students pack the lawn before big games.
βOne Shining Momentβ
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Sure, it's cheesy, but you can't declare an end to each year's NCAA tournament until the winning team has had its "One Shining Moment." Songwriter David Barrett says he was inspired to write the song after watching Larry Bird play in 1986. It quickly became the capper to CBS' NCAA Tournament coverage, and now it's a tradition.
The Show
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Lots of fans do giant head cutouts of famous people to distract free-throw shooters now, but San Diego State students are credited with starting it all. The Aztec student section for home basketball games is often a rowdy, raucous, wacky zoo of fans cheering on their team. They're known as The Show. According to some reports, someone once posted on an SDSU sports message board, "You guys think you're the whole show." The name stuck.
Silent night
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Any student section can yell and scream. But Taylor University in Upland, Ind., had the bright idea to shut up. Every year at a game right before finals, Taylor students dress up in wacky costumes, pack Odle Arena and stay completely silent, until the Trojans score their 10th point. Then they go bonkers.
βThe Hawk Will Never Dieβ
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You think youβve got a tough job. The Hawk is the mascot of Saint Joseph's University in Philadelphia. The mascot takes the school's motto "The Hawk Will Never Die" to extreme lengths by flapping its wings nonstop during every game. The Hawk doesn't even rest for halftime. ESPN did the math and figured that The Hawk flaps its wings about 3,500 times during an average game. But don't feel too bad for the student inside the suit: He or she gets a full scholarship.
