The Ex That Won't Go Away

My essay on Rick Pitino appears in the August 26 issue of Ace Weekly.  Just as it went to press, he threw his little fit.  ESPN should soooo hire me to balance out Pat Forde.

-h

Everyone has that one ex that just won’t go away. Maybe it’s the ex-husband with whom you share custody, the one you artfully avoid at recitals and soccer games. Maybe it’s the former boyfriend with whom you still share a network of professional and social contacts -- the guy who makes your every visit to Merrick or Cheapside a potential landmine. Or, just maybe, it’s the guy who wouldn’t commit—well, he wouldn’t commit to you, that is—and now you can’t stop yourself from googling/ facebooking/ twittering him, even though your relationship has been over for years.  Whatever the particular facts of the situation, there are just some exes that we can’t escape. For the Wildcat Nation, Rick Pitino is that ex.

Once upon a time, Big Blue Fans, we were madly in love with Coach Pitino. From the moment he arrived in the Bluegrass, Armani-clad and magnificently coiffed, he swept us off our feet. Maybe we made the mistake of falling for our rebound guy too hard and too fast, but we were still recovering from a bad relationship that reeked of codependence and enabling. And there was something about Rick’s big city manners and flashy accent that just got under our skin.

We had some good times with Rick. We thought we’d found the perfect mix of stability and glamour. We thought we could build something beautiful and long-lasting. Something like Joanne and Paul. Better yet, something like Wooden and UCLA. At first, he delivered. We won a lot, and we looked damn pretty doing it. We were on top of the world, regaining our rightful place in the annals of basketball history, and the man we loved was making it all happen. Then, with no warning, he unceremoniously dumped us, seeking the glamour and glory of coaching in the pros.

We took the rejection in stride. We even managed to win another National Championship almost immediately. And, we must admit that we even laughed (just a little) when Rick’s glitzy new paramour sent him packing after a scant three seasons. Then we recoiled in horror when he took up with a younger, trashier version of ourselves. He certainly rubbed this scandalous affair in our faces. And we grew to resent him.

Finally, we settled into a pattern of quiet acceptance. We made the tacit agreement with our ex that, since we lived a mere seventy miles apart and were bound to run into each other from time to time, it would be best to keep things civil. We even started to remind ourselves that there were some good times. Good times like the way our ex built up our collective self-esteem after our disastrous divorce. Good times like winning a National Championship. Good times like the “Unforgettables” team of 1992. Good times like the crazy-comeback game at LSU in 1994.  We liked to think that we were more mature, wiser, and possibly starting to mellow.  Maybe, if we had to have an ex, Rick wasn’t that bad.  On our kinder days, we pitied him just a little—he looked so bored and lackluster at Louisville that we couldn’t quite stay angry at him. We were finally in a good place, and had found our own new partner, one who exuded charming charisma and exhibited more than a little antipathy for our ex. Things were good.

Then, as these things inevitably go, our genteel arrangement was rocked to its very foundation. Our ex was caught with his pants down -- both proverbially and quite literally -- in the most embarrassing manner possible. Suddenly, our charming little arrangement felt like a sham. We were less Demi and Bruce than Jon and Kate.  Our ex had been carrying on in the tackiest way possible, and it was suddenly ESPN’s lead story. Our horror was deepened when he defended his behavior as a response to 9/11. We reminded ourselves that he only had two arrows in his quiver – 9/11 and the 2-3 zone, and the latter wouldn’t work on the national media.  Beneath the jokes, we were horrified at the stain on our own reputation. We could just envision the headlines: “Sex and Basketball in the Bluegrass State”; would we channel Elizabeth Edwards and take a stance of charming stoicism or would we give in to our baser instincts? 

Whether we characterize Pitino as the one that got away or the one we were lucky to lose, he’s part of the remarkable history of the University of Kentucky basketball program. He modernized our program with impenetrable defense and a daring assault of three-point shooting. He rebuilt our program at a time when we needed it. To be perfectly honest, the Sypher allegations come as no surprise; Pitino has always incited rumors of wanderlust, if you will.   Pitino’s role in the Sypher scandal is, quite simply, that of a good coach who made some very bad personal decisions. As the emerging stories about this situation become more outlandish and distasteful, I feel less prurient interest. Once again, I’m almost sorry for our ex. Almost.