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University of North Carolina Athletics
Photo by: Peyton Williams
Lucas: Failure
January 11, 2020 | Men's Basketball, Featured Writers, Adam Lucas
What happened on Saturday against Clemson provided some fundamental reminders.
By Adam Lucas
Even Hall of Famers fail.
You win 879 games, you win three national championships, you have the court named after you.
And still you fail.
You have a 32-year head coaching career that is one of the greatest in the sport's history. You facilitate the greatest family environment in all of college sports. You walk into an arena filled with 21,000 people and they respond with cheers and call your name and plead for an autograph or a picture.
And still you fail.
We expect, quite simply, perfection. That is the luxury we have been afforded by nearly 70 years of incredible basketball. We see the best on a regular basis. It has become so commonplace to watch our coaches outwit their coaches that we rarely even think about it anymore. It's just part of the standards of Carolina basketball. There will be argyle on the uniforms. There will be man-to-man defense. Our coach will figure a way out of this, no matter what.
Saturday was not perfection. Saturday, a Hall of Famer failed.
Roy Williams was blunt about his coaching performance in Saturday's 79-76 loss to Clemson. "That loss is my fault," he said. "My first year at Kansas we allowed Kansas State to make a three at the end of regulation up by three. I turned to my bench and Coach Robinson and said, 'They should fire me today.' Ever since then, when I've had the chance, I've fouled."
Saturday, the Tar Heels had the chance. They were up by three points after Brandon Robinson made a pair of clutch free throws with 12.1 seconds remaining. Williams had called timeout before the free throws, had talked to his team.
But he didn't say the one thing he wanted to say. He gave his senior a little jolt of confidence, telling him he was about to sink the two free throws. "I told them after he makes the free throws, we're going to play 22 defense, we're going to switch any screen on the ball," Williams said. "And that was it. They're dribbling the ball across the ten-second line and I said (to myself), 'You didn't remind them to foul.'"
Longtime Williams observers know that's his standard philosophy in that situation, which is what made those final 12.1 seconds—as Clemson hit a game-tying three-pointer—so perplexing. He's said it repeatedly. When his team is up three and there are more than seven seconds remaining, he believes in fouling. Under seven seconds, he prefers to play it out, believing asking his team to foul can lead to fouling a three-point shooter or, worse, fouling a three-point shooter who makes the shot.
So as Clemson brought the ball up the court, maybe you knew from all your experience watching Carolina basketball that the Tar Heels would likely foul. There was just one problem: the players on the court didn't know it. Because Williams hadn't told them.
"I've had some great moments as a coach," Williams said. "I'd say right now this is my lowest one. Losing this game was my fault. I told them if I die tomorrow or 20 years from now that will be the biggest regret I have in 32 years as a coach. These kids really needed a win. And their coach let them down."
Maybe he's right, maybe Roy Williams lost the game for Carolina. Or maybe this means there is hope for the rest of us.
Williams likes to say he has led a charmed life. That is partially true. He has a wonderful family. He has been well compensated in a profession he loves. He is employed by an institution to which he is completely devoted.
Maybe that's charmed. Or maybe he's created quite a bit of that good fortune. He saw the way his family was damaged by addiction and he resolved to never let that happen to him. He could have gone to Georgia Tech to pursue his talent for mathematics, but he wanted to coach, and he went to Carolina.
Good fortune, right? Well, yes, if you consider good fortune to be hitchhiking home from college on multiple occasions because you don't have a car or any other way home.
There are thousands of other Roy Williamses in the mountains of North Carolina who didn't make it out of the hills. Maybe it was bad luck. Maybe they were missing some gene that he possesses. Or maybe he's special. Maybe he refused to be defined by adversity.
But he's not, as we found out on Saturday, perfect. His transgression: he forgot to tell a group of college students to foul in a basketball game. He had engineered a team missing four rotation players to within seconds of an Atlantic Coast Conference victory. He did dozens of things right. But then he did something wrong.
This would not make my personal top 100 list of my individual failures. But I'm not in the Hall of Fame. Maybe you are, and if so, congratulations. As for the rest of us, we might have to turn to Dean Smith to remember what to do with a mistake:
Recognize it.
Admit it.
Learn from it.
Forget it.
Williams recognized it as it was happening. He admitted it in front of a room full of cameras and recorders. Odds are that he'll learn from it—the last time he made this same mistake was 32 years ago, so if he goes 32 years without another miscue, that's a solid 870 more victories and maybe at that point you'll be willing to forgive him for a loss to Clemson.
But he'll never, ever forget it. You could hear it in the way his voice cracked.
When you fail—and you will—may you be lucky enough to have someone nearby with the perspective of Brandon Robinson. The 22-year-old senior wasn't even born when Smith coached his last game for North Carolina or even when Williams coached that game he rues against Kansas State. Robinson had just seen his career best game relegated to a footnote no one will ever want to remember. He'd missed a desperation potential game-tying shot at the end of overtime. He is rapidly watching his senior season, one in which he dreamed of playing in the Final Four in Atlanta near his hometown of Douglasville, fall apart.
And yet, there he sat after the game, with this perspective. He was asked if it was difficult to watch the season derail. His answer was better, and more mature, and more thoughtful than most of us could have delivered at that exact moment.
"I'm grateful for all the experiences I have," he said. "I'm living out my dream. There are a lot of people who would trade to be in my spot."
He's right. All the rest of us would give anything just to play one game for North Carolina. We reach over the tunnel when the team takes the court at the Smith Center just to try and slap them five. Twenty years from now, when he is the age of Shammond Williams, who lived and died with every play behind the Carolina bench on Saturday, do you know what Brandon Robinson will be? Someone who played basketball for North Carolina. Someone who lived his dream, even when every moment wasn't perfect.
Someone who recognizes that everyone fails.
Roy Williams failed on Saturday and Carolina lost a basketball game. As Smith would tell his team after a big win, a billion people in China don't even know the game was played.
As for the rest of us, who are well aware that it happened and to whom it seems so vitally important right now, it was a reminder that even the very best of us fail. We forget our homework. We snap at our spouse. We scream at the officials on television and then have to apologize to our kids or our mom or our friends in the room. Maybe it's devastating that the head coach of our favorite team messed up on Saturday. Or maybe we're incredibly lucky that the mistakes are so rare as to be notable.
For the rest of us, failure is a regular part of life.
Which sure is better--even with the occasional failure--with Carolina basketball in it.
Even Hall of Famers fail.
You win 879 games, you win three national championships, you have the court named after you.
And still you fail.
You have a 32-year head coaching career that is one of the greatest in the sport's history. You facilitate the greatest family environment in all of college sports. You walk into an arena filled with 21,000 people and they respond with cheers and call your name and plead for an autograph or a picture.
And still you fail.
We expect, quite simply, perfection. That is the luxury we have been afforded by nearly 70 years of incredible basketball. We see the best on a regular basis. It has become so commonplace to watch our coaches outwit their coaches that we rarely even think about it anymore. It's just part of the standards of Carolina basketball. There will be argyle on the uniforms. There will be man-to-man defense. Our coach will figure a way out of this, no matter what.
Saturday was not perfection. Saturday, a Hall of Famer failed.
Roy Williams was blunt about his coaching performance in Saturday's 79-76 loss to Clemson. "That loss is my fault," he said. "My first year at Kansas we allowed Kansas State to make a three at the end of regulation up by three. I turned to my bench and Coach Robinson and said, 'They should fire me today.' Ever since then, when I've had the chance, I've fouled."
Saturday, the Tar Heels had the chance. They were up by three points after Brandon Robinson made a pair of clutch free throws with 12.1 seconds remaining. Williams had called timeout before the free throws, had talked to his team.
But he didn't say the one thing he wanted to say. He gave his senior a little jolt of confidence, telling him he was about to sink the two free throws. "I told them after he makes the free throws, we're going to play 22 defense, we're going to switch any screen on the ball," Williams said. "And that was it. They're dribbling the ball across the ten-second line and I said (to myself), 'You didn't remind them to foul.'"
Longtime Williams observers know that's his standard philosophy in that situation, which is what made those final 12.1 seconds—as Clemson hit a game-tying three-pointer—so perplexing. He's said it repeatedly. When his team is up three and there are more than seven seconds remaining, he believes in fouling. Under seven seconds, he prefers to play it out, believing asking his team to foul can lead to fouling a three-point shooter or, worse, fouling a three-point shooter who makes the shot.
So as Clemson brought the ball up the court, maybe you knew from all your experience watching Carolina basketball that the Tar Heels would likely foul. There was just one problem: the players on the court didn't know it. Because Williams hadn't told them.
"I've had some great moments as a coach," Williams said. "I'd say right now this is my lowest one. Losing this game was my fault. I told them if I die tomorrow or 20 years from now that will be the biggest regret I have in 32 years as a coach. These kids really needed a win. And their coach let them down."
Maybe he's right, maybe Roy Williams lost the game for Carolina. Or maybe this means there is hope for the rest of us.
Williams likes to say he has led a charmed life. That is partially true. He has a wonderful family. He has been well compensated in a profession he loves. He is employed by an institution to which he is completely devoted.
Maybe that's charmed. Or maybe he's created quite a bit of that good fortune. He saw the way his family was damaged by addiction and he resolved to never let that happen to him. He could have gone to Georgia Tech to pursue his talent for mathematics, but he wanted to coach, and he went to Carolina.
Good fortune, right? Well, yes, if you consider good fortune to be hitchhiking home from college on multiple occasions because you don't have a car or any other way home.
There are thousands of other Roy Williamses in the mountains of North Carolina who didn't make it out of the hills. Maybe it was bad luck. Maybe they were missing some gene that he possesses. Or maybe he's special. Maybe he refused to be defined by adversity.
But he's not, as we found out on Saturday, perfect. His transgression: he forgot to tell a group of college students to foul in a basketball game. He had engineered a team missing four rotation players to within seconds of an Atlantic Coast Conference victory. He did dozens of things right. But then he did something wrong.
This would not make my personal top 100 list of my individual failures. But I'm not in the Hall of Fame. Maybe you are, and if so, congratulations. As for the rest of us, we might have to turn to Dean Smith to remember what to do with a mistake:
Recognize it.
Admit it.
Learn from it.
Forget it.
Williams recognized it as it was happening. He admitted it in front of a room full of cameras and recorders. Odds are that he'll learn from it—the last time he made this same mistake was 32 years ago, so if he goes 32 years without another miscue, that's a solid 870 more victories and maybe at that point you'll be willing to forgive him for a loss to Clemson.
But he'll never, ever forget it. You could hear it in the way his voice cracked.
When you fail—and you will—may you be lucky enough to have someone nearby with the perspective of Brandon Robinson. The 22-year-old senior wasn't even born when Smith coached his last game for North Carolina or even when Williams coached that game he rues against Kansas State. Robinson had just seen his career best game relegated to a footnote no one will ever want to remember. He'd missed a desperation potential game-tying shot at the end of overtime. He is rapidly watching his senior season, one in which he dreamed of playing in the Final Four in Atlanta near his hometown of Douglasville, fall apart.
And yet, there he sat after the game, with this perspective. He was asked if it was difficult to watch the season derail. His answer was better, and more mature, and more thoughtful than most of us could have delivered at that exact moment.
"I'm grateful for all the experiences I have," he said. "I'm living out my dream. There are a lot of people who would trade to be in my spot."
He's right. All the rest of us would give anything just to play one game for North Carolina. We reach over the tunnel when the team takes the court at the Smith Center just to try and slap them five. Twenty years from now, when he is the age of Shammond Williams, who lived and died with every play behind the Carolina bench on Saturday, do you know what Brandon Robinson will be? Someone who played basketball for North Carolina. Someone who lived his dream, even when every moment wasn't perfect.
Someone who recognizes that everyone fails.
Roy Williams failed on Saturday and Carolina lost a basketball game. As Smith would tell his team after a big win, a billion people in China don't even know the game was played.
As for the rest of us, who are well aware that it happened and to whom it seems so vitally important right now, it was a reminder that even the very best of us fail. We forget our homework. We snap at our spouse. We scream at the officials on television and then have to apologize to our kids or our mom or our friends in the room. Maybe it's devastating that the head coach of our favorite team messed up on Saturday. Or maybe we're incredibly lucky that the mistakes are so rare as to be notable.
For the rest of us, failure is a regular part of life.
Which sure is better--even with the occasional failure--with Carolina basketball in it.
Players Mentioned
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