My talk with Coach K occurred at 6 in the evening late last month, and enough papers and books sat in front of him to pass for a desk in the Perkins stacks during exam week. Nevertheless, he still took the time to carefully answer each one of my questions, and it felt less like an interview and more like two guys just talking basketball—even if the basketball knowledge gap between the two was sizable. Very sizable.
Several aspects of the interview stick out, even a couple of weeks later.
The first thing were the interruptions—people bounded into the conference room no less than four times, and each time what occurred was arguably as interesting as the interview itself. First to come in was his youngest daughter Jamie, who is married to Director of Basketball Operations Chris Spatola, and who brought in what I think was the coach's dinner. Then his wife Mikie entered. We exchanged a quick greeting, and she would later ask me at the end of the interview if Krzyzewski had said anything smart. Before I could answer, K interjected, "Yeah. Smart-assed."
Spatola came in next, along with his son, Krzyzewski's grandson. K lit up at the sight of the baby, and he played with him—even speaking in baby talk—for a little while. It was an almost surreal moment, and most certainly out of character for anyone used to just observing him as he is during games. It was also revealing, and even a little sweet. Here was Mike Krzyzewski, not the savior of Olympic Basketball and the four-time national champion—just a grandfather, happy to see his grandson.
"You're a busy man," I said after Spatola and his son had left.
"You can't believe it. It's nuts."
"Yeah."
"These are planned activities," he said, jokingly. "They're to impress you."
"Yeah, it's a good human interest story—you and your grandkids," I said, laughing.
"That's right," he said.
Tyler Adams, who committed to Duke April 26 and was making his unofficial visit to the school when I saw him, was the last to interrupt.
"I heard you did a great job at NBAPA camp," K told him at the door.
"Yeah," Adams, who looked somewhat overwhelmed, said.
"You getting along good with the fellas?"
"Yes, I am."
"Did they like you or kick you out of the locker room or what?"
"They liked me," he said laughing.
"Alright, I'll see you later around."
The last bit that from the interview that has stuck with me was a bit of advice he gave at the talk's end, useful for Duke fans in the more hostile territories across North Carolina. You know if you fit this description—your neighbor on the left flies a flag of N.C. State red, while the one on the right flies that ugly shade of baby blue. I was in the unfortunate position of being that fan growing up. I often wondered what the best course of action would have been when dealing with the myriad Tar Heel and Wolfpack supporters. What should I have done when hearing their taunts on the rare occasions when Duke lost to them? Here's what he told me:
The basic thing is, always be brave about what you love and what you're passionate about. And if someone's complaining about you, you don't just march with the majority, you march in the direction that your heart tells you to march. And if we weren't good, you wouldn't have gotten any crap. There's a lot of jealousy there.
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