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56 LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 2.16 sucking medium. "Would John Wooden have been on Twitter? I don't think so. Vince Lombardi? No way. Te greatest modern-day basketball coach is Mike Krzyzewski. He does not do Twitter," you wrote. You clearly hold these heralded coaches in high regard. But there's one legend who you showed massive disrespect — Red Auerbach. Te then 79-year-old Auerbach held the title of president of the Celtics when you were named head coach in May 1997. Te title was largely ceremonial. He had no real duties with the organization. For some reason, you fought to be given Auerbach's title. No one doubted that you were going to call the shots. In addition to being hired as the coach, you were also named general manager. But that wasn't enough. So you were made the president, and Auerbach — the nine-time NBA champion coach — was demoted to executive vice president. In 2013, one Boston sports commentator wrote, "Other than megalomania, why would Pitino treat Auerbach — at the time 80 years old and years removed from any day-to-day role with the Celtics — like a fourth-class citizen? What is there to gain, exactly? He had a resource without peer, absurd institutional memory at his fngertips, and he kicked it away out of jealousy. No other explanation." Your Celtics tenure got of to a bad start. You had two high selections in the NBA draft lottery. You ended up with the third and sixth picks, meaning you missed out on Tim Duncan, who went frst and would go on to be an all-time great. Your overall record with the Celtics was 102-146. Tirty-four games into your fourth season, you decided to walk away from the club. Remember the night before you quit? You recalled the story in Rebound Rules. You and your assistant, Jim O'Brien, were sitting by the pool of your South Florida vacation home, drinking beer. You told O'Brien that you were quitting. He looked around, took in the posh setting and observed that there were worse things than drinking a beer poolside in the moonlight. "It's not a bad life," O'Brien said. I'm thinking about that, standing here in front of what used to be Bravo Gianni's. Gianni Garavelli is gone. He died in 2014. Your peers are getting old. Jim Calhoun, John Tompson and Bobby Knight have all retired from coaching. Jim Boeheim, Mike Krzyzewski and Roy Williams don't fgure to stay in the game too much longer. Soon, maybe sooner than you want, you too will say goodbye to basketball. Are you capable of moving on? O ne more stop before we go back to Louisville — our toughest, but our most important. Te Freedom Tower. Have you seen it yet? Took 'em forever to build it, but they did a nice job. It's a worthy tribute to the men and women who died here on our country's darkest day. In addition to the tower, there's a museum that houses a number of artifacts and tributes to the victims. Flanking the museum are two refecting pools, each nearly an acre in size, the largest manmade waterfalls on the continent. Etched in marble around each of the pools are the names of those who perished. Billy Minardi, your wife's brother, was on the 105th foor of the North Tower when the frst plane hit at 8:46 that Tuesday morning. He worked for the fnancial-services frm Cantor Fitzgerald, whose ofces occupied foors 101 to 105 of the building, above the area of impact. Improbably, there was hope. According to a report by Pat Forde for ESPN.com, a website initially listed Minardi as having survived the attacks. But the list was erroneous. Billy Minardi was dead. "For anyone who has ever experienced that moment, you know that you are never the same person again, as long as you live," you wrote in Te One-Day Contract. I'm looking for his name at the North Refecting Pool. Looking, looking, looking. So many names here. Too many. Way too many. Here it is: William George Minardi, etched in the marble near a corner of the pool. He seemed like a good guy, coach. He seemed like a guy — maybe the only guy — who could talk straight with you. In the mid- '90s, when you received an ofer to coach the New Jersey Nets, Minardi was so strongly against it that he actually ripped up the contract. He was looking out for your best interests. Te Nets were a dumpster fre. Leaving aside the tawdry events alleged to have occurred at the dorm that bears his name, it is clear that you've tried to honor your best friend. In terms of getting things named after him and supporting his widow and three children. In addition to those now- infamous dorms, there is the annual Billy Minardi Classic, played just before Christmas. More important than the symbolic gestures, of course, are the tangible things you've done to help his family. Shortly after 9/11, you moved the Minardi family down to Louisville. "Tere is a seedy side to Rick, obviously," Vecsey told me. "And then there's the loyalty beyond the call of duty where he takes Billy's kids and he puts them all through college." Stand with me and take in this scene for just a moment. Tere are lots of people gathered around the pool, but somehow it is serene. I know it's not in your nature to stay still, but stop and absorb the tranquility of a sunny winter's day. Stop and let the quiet wash over us. • I t was Jan. 13, and the Cardinals, ranked No. 21, were about to take on Pittsburgh at the KFC Yum! Center. It was the team's third matchup of the season against a ranked opponent, as Pitt entered the contest at No. 20. Once upon a time, this would've been a Big East showdown. It now belongs to the ACC. More progress, eh coach? Te crowd fled in just prior to the 9 p.m. start time. Gotta love a late-arriving crowd. Doesn't it remind you of New York? I know you and I have been inside the Garden many a night when people were still taking their seats well after tipof. A lifelong New Yorker, I've spent quite a bit of time here in Louisville, having covered a number of big races at Churchill. I can see why this town would appeal to you, coach. I love it here. You've said repeatedly that you do too. I'm curious, though: Does this city love you back? Te starting lineups were being announced, which meant I was about to get my answer. Te arena went dark. A video ran on the big screen. Various sounds recalling Louisville basketball's greatest moments ("Te Cardinals are on their way to becoming NCAA champions for the third time in their school history!"). Ten there were images of the current players. Te guys huddling up. Damion Lee, the ffth-year transfer, asking his teammates, and by extension the crowd, "Who got your back?!" Te crowd answered as one. "I got your back!" "WHO GOT MY BACK?!" "I GOT YOUR BACK!" For the moment, it looked like the community had your back, coach. When your name was announced over the public- address system ("Te Hall of Fame head coach of the Cardinals is RICK PITINO!"), Your peers are getting old. Soon, maybe sooner than you want, you too will say goodbye to basketball. Are you capable of moving on?