“They said you had to
take what the defense gave you. No, we are going to take what we want.” – Al Davis,
A Football Life.
“We don’t go into the
tournament wanting to survive and advance. We want to beat our opponent so bad
that the next round opponent doesn’t even want to play us.” – Geno Auriemma,
2014 NCAA Final pregame.
Then the Al Davis quotes started coming, like the one above.
The slogans he coined – Just
Win, Baby and Commitment to Excellence – that were aimed at the singular
goal of creating a winner. Davis said his goal in life was to create the
perfect sports franchise, one that combined the greatness of the New York
Yankees with the iconic brand of play that defined the Brooklyn Dodgers.
Though Davis became a caricature late in his life, his
impact on the game of pro football and the NFL is felt every single day. Heck,
if it weren’t for him, who knows if the AFL and NFL merge or if the
Super Bowl brand even exists.
On the field, he did things his way. He wanted the
possibility of throwing it deep on every down – taken for granted in 2014, yet
absolutely mind-blowing in 1964. He wanted his defense aggressive. He wanted to
destroy other teams. He had zero issues with being the villain.
As I continued to watch the Davis documentary, the thoughts
of Geno kept floating through because the defiance that Davis portrayed in
interviews, even late in his life, are present in Geno. Davis operated his
Raiders with a chip on his shoulder because he never felt like he got the
respect he deserved, despite the championships.
Don’t you get the same feeling about Geno?
Prior to the Notre Dame final, UConn’s Breanna Stewart was
named Player of the Year and Notre Dame’s head
coach Muffet McGraw didn’t clap. She thought her player should have won –
as if no other player in history had been snubbed for an award.
Some coaches would have deflected it. Some coaches would
have alluded to a feud. Some coaches are not Geno Auriemma. He
firebombed McGraw, Notre Dame and, by proxy, the entire women’s game.
“Nobody knows what
it’s like being us. Nobody knows what we go through every day, what our players
go through every time they win an award, everybody gets pissed off. Worst off,
they act pissed off because our guys won an award because it’s Connecticut all the
time, all Connecticut all the time. People are sick of it. It’s just natural.
We live with it 365 days a year. So, if you’re going to come in and try to live
in that air then you need to deal with it.”
When I wrote about the
greatness of Kevin Ollie, I focused on the X’s and O’s of what he did with
a team that appeared in several games to be in trouble. Against Kentucky, for
example, they were facing a lineup of future NBA players. Against Florida and
Michigan State, they played against teams with supposedly superior front lines.
In each game, Ollie made an adjustment to allow his great, but thin, team to
take over.
For Geno, he will usually have the more talented team. Now
this is not to confirm the national narrative that Geno rolls out the balls and
his group of stars simply dominates.
They are coached to perfection by a perfectionist – the “commitment
to excellence” if you will.
I wish people outside of Connecticut watched the women’s
basketball team more often because they would see Geno’s drive and
determination on a daily basis. No matter the opponent, he has the volume turned
up to 11.
That’s why
they are 9-0 in the championship games. That’s why they went 40-0 this
year. As Geno said in the postgame, everything builds toward playing your best
game in the biggest game.
Geno’s coaching has also led to a dramatic difference in how
women’s college basketball is played. Much like how Al Davis wanted to throw
the ball deep, Geno wants to speed the game up. He wants the game played fast.
He likes up-tempo. He likes a good shot, whether that’s 1 second into the shot
clock or 12. He likes pressure. Again, everything is turned up to 11.
It’s actually the reverse of the men’s game, which 20 to 25
years ago was all speed, whether it was UNLV, the 40 Minutes of Hell in
Arkansas or the Fab Five. With a few outliers, the men’s coaches have
deliberately slowed down the game, working for the best shot and milking the
clock. Of course the coaches that actually win – the Roy Williams, the Bill
Self, the John Calipari’s of the world – don’t subscribe to that. But the men’s
game has slowed down.
The women’s game? It’s sped up because UConn sped it up. The
first half of the UConn/Notre Dame final felt like a men’s game in 1992, with
players taking open jumpers early in the shot clock and making them. Geno doesn’t
overcoach the X’s and O’s – he coaches the players and ensures they make the
right decisions.
The parallels with Davis include the fact that both are the
villains of their sport, born out of jealously. No one likes Geno. He wins all
the time. He’s arrogant. He lets you know about it. Al Davis was the same way.
They also both represented something new, something
different, that changed the sport. Al Davis wasn’t Vince Lombardi and people
didn’t like him for it. Geno Auriemma isn’t Pat Summitt and people don’t like
him for it.
Ultimately, neither man really gave a damn what people
thought. Davis
won 3 Super Bowl titles in 7 years. Geno has won 9 national titles in 20.
Both are absolute legends. Both are among the most legendary figures in their sport.
Both are the bad guys. Davis actually wore black to hammer
home the analogy. UConn usually wears white.
They say you should win the right way. For fans of the 1970’s
Raiders, and for fans of the UConn women, winning the “right way” means
something different than it does for the opponents.
It means winning all the time. Just win, baby.
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