I met Rick.
He was kind of a dick to me. He came up to Georgetown College at the very beginning of his first season; I was a student there before I transferred to UK. I saw him, walked towards him with my hand out and started saying, “Welcome to Kentucky!” But he cut me off and snapped at me to get in the line. I was pissed at him a while but on balance I decided that was nothing but a fiery New Yorker, in an era when you really did have to be mean on the outside to get by in New York, dealing with a dumb A.D.D. kid who honestly hadn’t even realized there was a line. And there obviously was a line. No harm, no foul, really.
Years later I ran into Rick again standing with a young Richard in an aisle in Kroger on Euclid. I quickly decided that I had learned my lesson from the first encounter, and I didn’t want to cause Rick any trouble. So I just gave him a shy and deferential smile to show him I wasn’t actually giving him the cold shoulder, and then got my item out of that aisle and left silently. And Rick stared daggers at me the whole time. Unlike the first incident, I consider that one an actually dick move.
Years after that I ran into Tubby in an aisle in that same Kroger on Euclid. Total opposite experience. I noticed he was in an aisle I was heading into. Having learned my lesson from Rick, I just flashed him a shy deferential smile and immediately turned around to leave the aisle and give him his space. He said, “no wait, come on,” gave me a huge warm smile and a huge handshake, asked me how I was. Tubby may have been a problematic basketball coach in a lot of ways, may even have painted Kentucky fans with too broad a brush after some of them ran him off. But that man’s got a heart of gold deep down. Not a doubt in my mind.
I met Cal at Keeneland when I worked there. Total douchebag in my mind. And so unnecessary. I practically worshiped him at the time.
At Keeneland I had become friends with a teller:
Al Cummins, a sweet and sickly old man who just lived for his connection to Kentucky basketball. He had been a guard on our ‘48 championship team. Was so proud of that. Could not meet someone without taking his old B&W team picture out of his wallet and showing it to them—himself circled on it.
Cal came to Keeneland for the Spring meet in ‘15. Mentioning that to Al that day, I was surprised to hear that Al had never heard from Cal when Cal reached out to all the old players coming into the job. I asked if Al would like to meet Cal if he had the opportunity, and his face lit up like Vegas at night.
I figured it would be the perfect win-win situation. Give Al one of the best days of his life. And give Cal an incredible photo op and talking points to smack down the interview questions he was still getting about melting down against Wisconsin.
So knowing I was treading on thin ice anyway because I was working and feeling like I had learned some of the things to be careful for from Rick, I walked into the restaurant where Cal and his huge entourage were eating and stood in the corner, waiting until someone from his posse eventually walked by me. Then I got his attention, apologized, and told him what I had in mind. He told me to follow him and he’d have me tell Cal directly.
So he led me over to somewhere near Cal’s table and had me stand there while he went and whispered in Cal’s ear. After about half an hour Cal asked me what I wanted.
I should remind everyone here that Cal had just had hip replacement surgery. I had forgotten about it myself. When I saw his walking braces under the table I felt like I probably should have known to hold off and try to make the connection another time and another way, except it was too late then. Only fair for me to include that detail here, which clearly played a role in Cal’s mood.
It still doesn’t clear him in my mind. What Cal did was stare at me like I had four heads and was eating his baby in front of him while I explained that a few hundred feet down the hallway on that same floor was a fairly sick old man who lived his whole life around Kentucky Basketball, had played on our ‘48 title team, and was as overjoyed as a toddler on Christmas at the possibility of maybe being able to meet Cal for a minute if that were okay. Cal scowled at me and said he’d get to it, then waved me off.
He didn’t get to it. Just let Al wait for hours and never contacted him then or afterwards. I understand perfectly well he was busy and also that I remembered too late he was limping. But I don’t understand why the general ****-you attitude and the ghosting was the way to handle it instead of just a quick, “call the athletic office,” which would have made everything so much better and easier for Cal, for me, and most importantly for Al Cummins——and also let me walk out of that day practically worshipping Cal, which was the way I walked into it.
