College legend Haskins a pro in every way
Today, I was going to pass along a few leftovers from my trip to Springfield, Mass., for Adrian Dantley's induction into the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame.
After hearing that UTEP coach Don Haskins passed away Sunday in El Paso, however, I will save those Dantley-related items for another time.
For those who cover basketball, this day should be all about the memory of Haskins.
I know Haskins never coached pro basketball, which is the subject of this blog. But he was a professional in every way, and those who cover basketball will miss a coach who always answered our questions and always showed us respect.
Haskins could be gruff and he could be a bit intimidating, especially to young reporters. But he was helpful, honest and insightful. His thoughts on any just-played game livened up every story.
My first memorable interview with Haskins came in the hallway outside the visitors' locker room at old War Memorial Fieldhouse in Laramie, Wyo., where I worked.
I was just a cub reporter during the 1978-79 season and, I'll admit, I didn't know quite what to expect.
Haskins was already a legend-in-the-making, thanks to UTEP's win over Kentucky in the 1966 NCAA championship game, and I was waiting for him after a 28-27 loss to Wyoming.
That's right: 28-27.
In a game played before the introduction of the shot clock into college basketball, both teams held the ball on offense and didn't do much chasing on defense. The result was the lowest-scoring basketball game I have ever covered (not counting my days as sports editor of the school paper at Arapahoe High).
When Haskins showed up for the post-game interview, he was terrific. He wasn't happy, because his team had lost a close game. But he was patient, candid and able to poke fun at his team, himself and the pace of the game.
My other memorable interview with Haskins came after I moved to The Tribune.
I covered University of Utah basketball for a couple of seasons in the mid-1980s and, once, I wanted to talk to Haskins the day before Ute-UTEP game for my advance story.
I went to the then-Special Events Center, waited for the Miners to practice and then approached Haskins, who said he would be happy to talk to me if I could give him a ride back to the hotel.
No problem.
Haskins sent his team ahead and we sat down and talked for about 20 minutes. He was a reporter's dream. I got my story and, more importantly, I found out a little bit more about a coach who loved the game and his niche in it -- even if it meant sitting with a reporter from Salt Lake City rather than scouting for places to eat that evening's dinner.
After I asked my last question, Haskins and I jumped into my '77 Suburu for the short ride back to the hotel.
As he squeezed his way out of the passenger seat, Haskins thanked me for the lift. Then he turned, grimaced and said, "Damn, Steve, this is a little car."
On the day after his passing, I agree.
My car was little. But only because Haskins was -- in many more ways than one -- a very big man.
-- Steve Luhm
After hearing that UTEP coach Don Haskins passed away Sunday in El Paso, however, I will save those Dantley-related items for another time.
For those who cover basketball, this day should be all about the memory of Haskins.
I know Haskins never coached pro basketball, which is the subject of this blog. But he was a professional in every way, and those who cover basketball will miss a coach who always answered our questions and always showed us respect.
Haskins could be gruff and he could be a bit intimidating, especially to young reporters. But he was helpful, honest and insightful. His thoughts on any just-played game livened up every story.
My first memorable interview with Haskins came in the hallway outside the visitors' locker room at old War Memorial Fieldhouse in Laramie, Wyo., where I worked.
I was just a cub reporter during the 1978-79 season and, I'll admit, I didn't know quite what to expect.
Haskins was already a legend-in-the-making, thanks to UTEP's win over Kentucky in the 1966 NCAA championship game, and I was waiting for him after a 28-27 loss to Wyoming.
That's right: 28-27.
In a game played before the introduction of the shot clock into college basketball, both teams held the ball on offense and didn't do much chasing on defense. The result was the lowest-scoring basketball game I have ever covered (not counting my days as sports editor of the school paper at Arapahoe High).
When Haskins showed up for the post-game interview, he was terrific. He wasn't happy, because his team had lost a close game. But he was patient, candid and able to poke fun at his team, himself and the pace of the game.
My other memorable interview with Haskins came after I moved to The Tribune.
I covered University of Utah basketball for a couple of seasons in the mid-1980s and, once, I wanted to talk to Haskins the day before Ute-UTEP game for my advance story.
I went to the then-Special Events Center, waited for the Miners to practice and then approached Haskins, who said he would be happy to talk to me if I could give him a ride back to the hotel.
No problem.
Haskins sent his team ahead and we sat down and talked for about 20 minutes. He was a reporter's dream. I got my story and, more importantly, I found out a little bit more about a coach who loved the game and his niche in it -- even if it meant sitting with a reporter from Salt Lake City rather than scouting for places to eat that evening's dinner.
After I asked my last question, Haskins and I jumped into my '77 Suburu for the short ride back to the hotel.
As he squeezed his way out of the passenger seat, Haskins thanked me for the lift. Then he turned, grimaced and said, "Damn, Steve, this is a little car."
On the day after his passing, I agree.
My car was little. But only because Haskins was -- in many more ways than one -- a very big man.
-- Steve Luhm
9:57 PM
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