And every drunk person that found their way on to the post game call in show calling Alshon “Ashlon”.
Ellis Johnson had several like that but I thought Swearingen was the funniest. I know he called Ladi Ajiboye "Ladi Aji-bo"
I'm laughing at some on TBS saying Caslen "isn't eloquent" and "stumbles on his words" sometimes...uh no
4D chess by Bob. Sure the students who were there had their feelings hurt that their president didn’t even know what state they were in. But we probably just ticked up a couple spots in US news and world report
Did you guys show up to work drunk today? Congrats on being a more responsible employee than President Bob
Bob just email all-ed to staff/faculty He is sorry for plagiarism. Doesn't mention California so I guess that part stands
-University President that seemingly no one wanted sucks at his job -Two of our more prominent athletic teams (football and men's hoops) are at/nearing rock bottom -Our biggest donor disavowed us It's great to be a Gamecock!
Addition by subtraction. Sure we're a ship without a rudder right now with no president or provost. But this gives a chance to get a real president maybe
You’re right in the same way a person calls for a market crash every year and one year it finally happens. I don’t disagree with your stances on a lot of things, but you take the negative- it’s all going to hell- position on everything. No one but the staunchest of conservatives thought this was a good hire. And I don’t think there are too many of those in these here parts anymore. Congrats on making that lay up.
The thing with ALE is it is what it is. The school ain’t Harvard and the football program ain’t Clemson. I know that. Why hasn’t ALE fucked off by now if he can’t stomach that Cliffs: I know my alma mater has flaws and shortcomings. I knowingly choose to still support
obv we can’t expect much with this replacement but at the very least can we hire someone who didn’t help commit war crimes
Last 3 provosts we’ve had: William Tate — president of LSU Joan Gabel — president of Minnesota Mark Becker — president of Georgia State Much better stepping stone than our football coaching position
Was reading through some of the old travel posts on TMB for an upcoming trip. Saw some posts from Ark. Whatever happened to him? Maybe he posts under a different name and I haven’t kept up.
Saw him yesterday at Cola Fireflies game. He's doing good. Said to tell everyone "fuck you, I was right about everything"
Good unis (USC Gamecocks football players Sterling Sharpe (2), Todd Ellis (9) and Ryan Bethea (1) are photographed during press day at Williams-Brice stadium 1987. ***Photo from Richland Library digital collection.)
Getting back on topic (women's basketball) GQ did a story on Dawn Staley Spoiler Whewwwwwww, baby. It is sizzling in Columbia. That’s Columbia, South Carolina. All the same charm as South America, but a few less beaches, a lot more barbecue and something odd in the air that makes locals rave about pimento cheese and palm trees. Oh, and Dawn Staley—the most important Black woman in college basketball, coach of the South Carolina Gamecocks and Team USA in the upcoming Olympics—who has invited me to her dazzling new home on the west side. She built it from scratch and in her own image, with decks on several levels, elevators in the foyer and waterfalls by the pool. It is an immaculate structure that sticks out even among the wealthy homes in this gated enclave. “Estelle's” (the manor named after her late mother) had to match Staley’s energy: audacious, yet decadent; tiny in size, but gargantuan in presence. Coach is running late. But at least she had a good reason. “I’m usually in pandemic mode,” she says. “Hair wasn’t done. Feet wasn’t done. This was the first pedicure I got in a year! Go ‘head and look at it.” In the meantime, she tells me to go hang by the pool and enjoy the Carolina breeze. I pay attention to the rules of the manor: A placemat reminds me to “wipe your feet on this jawn.” The trappings of Staley can be seen everywhere: portraits of the North Philly streets she grew up in with Estelle; her fave Nike Dunks; Gucci fanny packs; a bunch of candy for her famed sweet tooth (she can often be seen sneaking treats on the sidelines); a selection of Malbecs on the marble counters. Outside is a massive, white Lincoln Navigator with spaceship rims. Dawn finally rolls up in a tricked out Mercedes AMG G-Wagon in black matte paint and crispy, chrome finishes with dual twin turbo exhausts. You know it’s her by the license plate: It reads “2017 National Champion,” extolling the second ever NCAA basketball title won by a Black woman coach. Back in the nineties, Staley was a bonafide star: one of the first female hoopers to become a household name. She starred at Virginia under Debbie Ryan, met heartbreak during famed March Madness matchups, won her first of three Olympic gold medals in 1996, and carried America’s flag in 2004. She finished out her WNBA career while coaching the women’s program at Temple University, something that is still insane to even consider. Staley has led the Gamecocks to six SEC Championships in the last seven years, pulling in one top recruiting class after another and becoming one of the faces of the game’s progressive movement from the college floor up. Dawn rarely holds her tongue on matters she deems important—like when she sued an athletic director from Mizzou for defamation after he said she promoted a racist atmosphere in Carolina—and as one of the most prominent Black coaches college basketball has ever seen, there are a lot of such matters. That ethos has left her with gaggles of lovers and haters. But, in turn, it’s been transformational. Her rep has gone from groundbreaking to iconic, so much so that when Ohio State tried to whisk Dawn away to coach the Buckeyes a few years ago the Republican former governor Nikki Haley called Dawn and told her not to take the job. Haley said Dawn was an exemplary role model and “the most important woman in the state of South Carolina.” As a close friend of Staley's put it, “a lot of governors don't even know who their women's basketball coach is.” As we walk to her pool, where she plays “All Night Long” by the Mary Jane Girls over the sound system and begins to howl and two-step as if the whole neighborhood was coming to a block party back home in Fairmount Park, I see one of my aunties from around the way. I see my mother on Sunday mornings boppin’ to Marvin Gaye as she cleans. I see the woman—defiant, authentic and mighty—who almost every Black girl who holds a basketball wants to play for. She’s approachable, affable, the Black mom of America’s basketball sitcom (after all, she did cameo on shows like Martin during her playing days). There have been too many people willing to criticize Staley’s every move: her teams are too Black, her coaching style is too arrogant, she’s too outspoken. Some fans have called her “an American traitor” and implied that her status in Carolina is unhealthy for the game. She says all this has slowly chipped away at her, occasionally making her question her resolve. But, now? She’s ready to publically embrace who she’s always been, loudly and proudly, while dancing in an ebony Eden of her own making. “I've never felt more Black than right now,” she says. Dawn slowly dips her pedicured feet into the pool, letting the lustrous diamond anklet on her right leg get wet, and leans back. The burning Carolina sun sparkles on her sweet potato-colored skin as her Havanese hound “Champ” curls next to her while the waterfalls splash nearby. Shit, this must be the life, I suggest. But Dawn scowls and quickly shoots down any notion of boujee behavior. “I’m not a glamor shot girl,” she says, her beam retracting by the second. I tell her that’s very hard to believe given, well, everything around her. Her life could be a basketball hagiography. But she’s always been reluctant to see it that way. So she adopts that familiar grumble from the place we both call home, and delivers my lesson for the day. “We from North Philly,” she reminds me. “Ain’t no smilin’ if you from there cuz ain’t nothin’ to laugh about.” Later that day, I drive to Dawn’s office at the athletic complex at the University of South Carolina. She awaits me in a long room on the edge of the top floor of the building, kicks her sneakers up on the desk, and offers me a piece of candy. She wants to tell me a story about the last year of her life. Usually, Dawn portrays a stoic demeanor. But hide as she might, the people who love her can see the scars she tucks away. Her sister, Tracey, was recently diagnosed with Leukemia and her brother, Anthony, died after a bout with Covid-19 just weeks ago. Clarence and Estelle Staley raised Dawn and four other little ones in a small row home on the northside of Philadelphia near the Raymond Rosen projects. Dawn was the baby and Anthony was the strong middle child—the giver of the family who most resembled Estelle, who was a caretaker by day and mother by night. Anthony’s death left a larger crater than Dawn expected. One of the reasons she took the Carolina job in 2008 was to be closer to Estelle, who had developed Alzheimer’s; Clarence had died two years earlier. Estelle died five months after Dawn won the national championship in 2017. Around the same time, Dawn was diagnosed with pericarditis—inflammation of tissue around the heart—which nearly crippled her. Now Tracey has leukemia and Anthony is gone. One of Dawn’s favorite phrases is “control what you can control,” but for a long time, it felt like she was living in the eye of a tornado. “We fought our way out of it,” she says. “You know it's life, it's... deal with it,” she offers. The adage kept rewinding in her head: “control what you can control...control what you can control.” But Anthony’s death tested this motto. Anthony got sick around the end of March. He went to the hospital and Dawn says doctors told him he could go back to work. But he felt horrible, his body aching and the coughing incessant, so, he took a week off. And then he had a major stroke. One of Dawn’s grand-nieces found him in his house. “She lives with him so she was headed out to work, and she saw him lying on the floor,” Dawn tells me. “He didn't have any clothes on, and he couldn't talk.” They got him in an ambulance and sprinted to the local hospital, but “it was just downhill from there,” she says. Anthony was put on ventilators and at one point a defibrillator, but he had a heart attack in the hospital. “He didn't really have good days, you know?” Dawn said. “Even if he recovered, he would have been in a state that he wouldn't want to be in, so I was actually dreading that, just having to be one of four siblings that had to decide what was best for him. We prayed that he would recover, we prayed, just recover, just…” Her eyes begin to water. “My oldest brother said, ‘We're letting him pass away.’” Dawn tried to prepare herself for the inevitable, whispering to herself, “he’s not going to be with us,” but “you're in denial,” she says. The family didn’t want Anthony to ache any longer. They thought he would go quickly. But he stayed for an extra day, so Dawn slept at the hospital with him. Around 10am the next morning, she went on a quick walk to the hotel for a shower. Picked up some street art. Got herself together. “Then my brother calls,” she says. “He's like, ‘It's not good.’” Anthony was gone. “Part of me really didn't want to see him transition.” she continues. The same thing happened when Estelle went. Dawn didn’t see that either. She can’t handle it. Maybe, she thinks, that’s why Anthony left when he did. “You know... I sang to him, put the gospel on, we talked to him, we told him we loved him. We did all of that, so I was... You know,” she sniffles. “I'm in a good place knowing that it was peaceful.” Dawn’s siblings sobbed on the family FaceTime calls that Anthony used to arrange. But Dawn was unable to activate the waterworks. She kept thinking, “what’s wrong with me?” When the wake happened, Dawn was in charge of everything. She had given Estelle’s eulogy, so she would give Anthony’s, too. Her older brothers cracked jokes about the man they knew. Her sisters showed that Staley stoicness. And when Dawn got up there, "I'm the only one crying,” she says. “It’s just hard for me to wrap my head around death.” Especially with Anthony. “He was sunshine,” she says. She envisioned strength when she saw him. Every day now, the Staley family thinks of something about “Uncle Petey” that makes their souls smile. “Baby girl,” as Anthony called Dawn when they were kids, makes sure of it. It may seem like a brazen question, but I ask Dawn anyway. “Why do you still want to coach after all of this?” “I feel like there are things that I have to do,” Dawn says. “More so to protect young people and also guide them. And my work isn't done, but I'm probably gonna be the type of coach that...I'm just gonna break, I'm just gonna go. Once I feel like I have done all I can do... You pass the baton and allow somebody else to see it through. But, this is what I've done all my life. Like, in some form or fashion, as a player, as a coach, it's what I've done. I feel like there's more for me to do. Like, I actually played one more year professionally before I hung up my shoes because I wanted to get it all out of my system.” She decides on a simple fact: “It's not all out of my system yet.” She leans back in her chair and recites the Psalm etched on that bowl: “Under His wings, you will find refuge.” She believes that. After all she’s been through, what else could she believe? In that moment of reflection, the vulnerable Dawn Staley got tucked away, and the indomitable Dawn Staley returned. The tears were gone. The grimace was back. Estelle’s daughter was always a fighter. The Gamecocks have told their coach about the things players from other teams say: They can’t believe how strict she is; they couldn’t play under such a disciplinarian (Dawn likes to restrict the team’s social media usage before games and often takes their phones). “I have a reputation out there that I'm hard to play for,” she says. She thinks about this for a moment and then chuckles slightly. “Some people don't like it,” she says. But her words say something different than her face. It’s clear she doesn’t really care. And why should she? Dawn’s voice holds a specific weight over the sporting congregation. She is the lone Black woman at the top of college basketball, with the accolades and accomplishments to say whatever she wants and an army of supporters willing to fight for her. She is a symbol of what’s possible for Black women in basketball. And there is a need, a genuine, righteous necessity that she remains steadfast: Not for herself, but for the young women she’s here to mentor. They need to be able to see that someone like them, unflinching and unbothered, can be where she is. The burden is immense, and yet, Dawn faces it without blinking, dreaming the lives of her ancestors, shouting like Sojourner with the ferocity to say “ain’t I a woman?” and turn her world upside down with her own hands. “Everybody else is saying what this Black woman is doing and they ain't comfortable,” Dawn says. “They're not comfortable with that. The conversations are around color because of our success. I mean, why, really? So you feel it. Not only do you feel it every day, but you feel it when you're a success, too. It's mind boggling to me. But again, I'm good with it. I'm good with [people] bringing race into it because it needs to be known. It needs to be highlighted because when so many of our young, Black ladies are in this game, being the head coach is something that they wanna do and if you don't see somebody in that position, it makes it hard. It's saying that Black people can't be successful in those places. So I'm gonna keep on keeping on.” ADVERTISEMENT The last time I came to South Carolina, Ray Tanner, the school’s athletic director and two-time national champion baseball coach, told me that Dawn would one day surpass him. Behind closed doors, she told Tanner, promised him, really, that she’d win more national championships than him. She has one so far, which is one more than any Black woman other than Carolyn Peck (with Purdue in 1999), thanks to years of racism keeping them sidelined from the coach’s chair. “I would like to have a few more championships,” she says. I ask her if she’s finally ready to claim her throne as the best in the sport. “I feel like it's our time, I do. I feel like we built for this moment,” she says. Even for a national championship? ““Yeah,” she says. “That’s the goal. That’s what we want. I do think we’re ready for the challenge of being that team. And if you're gonna look at the leader of it, yes, I'm ready. I'm ready for whatever. “I'm never scared.” Athletes love to latch onto narratives to motivate themselves. Michael Jordan constantly used minor slights to help conquer his goals. But Dawn has always tried to make her life an example that can live beyond cliches and banalities. The catalyst for her desires is less selfish, she says. She tells me that “strife” will be her reflecting point. “Strife” will push her to be the teacher and the face the game needs. “If you only see white coaches, you don't think that carries weight with young people?” she asks. “Young people wanna go to the Final Four. If a Black coach has never been to a Final Four, their chances of going decreases every recruiting day. And people will put them on notice, 'cause we got a treacherous business here where [a Black coach is] not the norm. Everybody's okay with the norm when it's white coaches, 'cause that's all they've seen. When we come up there and hijack it, it's a problem in the minds of some people. And that's a real shame. When our sport is composed of mainly Black bodies, why not? There has to be room for everybody to be successful.” You heard her. She’s dead serious. Not a ripple in her face, not a misstep in her conviction. And let me just remind you how we do it in North Philly: there ain’t no smilin’ around here. Because ain’t nothin’ to laugh about. https://www.gq.com/story/dawn-staley-womens-basketball-tokyo-olympics
C/p cause I'm a bro Drug charges Spoiler Prominent Columbia restaurateur arrested on drug possession charges By Adam Benson and David Clarey [email protected] [email protected] 23 hrs ago Buy Now Jon Sears, owner of Pavlov’s Bar in Columbia’s Five Points district as well as other bars and restaurants, was arrested June 17, 2021, on a drug possession charges, police said. File/Adam Benson/Staff By Adam Benson [email protected] COLUMBIA — Jon Sears, a prominent Columbia restaurateur who owns four Five Points bars, has been arrested on drug possession charges. Sears, 39, along with Geoffrey Sears, 33, were taken into custody June 17 on Blossom Street, a Columbia Police Department spokeswoman told The Post and Courier. Jon Sears was arrested on charges with possession with intent to distribute and possession with intent to distribute in proximity to a school. Geoffrey Sears faces a charge of manufacturing marijuana stemming from a seizure on Canal Place Drive, Columbia police said. Authorities also seized a firearm and undisclosed amount of cash. Police did not say if the men were related. COLUMBIA BUSINESS 11 bars in Columbia’s Five Points could close if they lose liquor licenses over complaints By Mike Fitts [email protected] Jon Sears did not immediately respond to a text message seeking comment. His attorney, Joe McCullough, declined comment on details surrounding Sears’ arrest citing its ongoing investigation but said he was released from jail without posting a bond later on June 17. Todd Rutherford, an attorney representing Geoffrey Sears, called the charges “outrageous” but declined to discuss details. Geoffrey Sears also was released without posting bond. “I am pleased to know the crime problem in Columbia has been cured, since they’re focusing on things like this. It’s absurd,” Rutherford said. “No victim, nothing. This is outrageous.” Jon Sears is an influential figure in Columbia’s nightlife scene, owning or having stakes in Five Points bars that are popular among University of South Carolina students — Pavlov’s, The Cotton Gin, The Bird Dog and Jake’s Bar and Grill. He also co-owns Hendrix, an upscale restaurant with an upstairs bar, on Main Street that was named in 2019 as one America’s top 20 new eateries based on customer service reviews from website OpenTable. COLUMBIA BUSINESS 4 bars in Columbia’s Five Points closed amid alcohol license disputes By Mike Fitts [email protected] Three of Sears’ Five Points bars — The Bird Dog, The Cotton Gin and Pavlov’s — faced challenges to their liquor licenses in an ongoing battle over raucous evening activity in the popular Five Points district. In April, Pavlov’s shuttered temporarily as a result of a license challenge. Last October, Sears was a target of criticism with huge lines and large crowds inside Pavlov’s, just days after Gov. Henry McMaster lifted COVID-19 restrictions for bars and restaurants.
Somebody's writing a new book about Gamecock athletic history. (It will be in the Tragedy section!) Now here is a Frank McGuire tidbit I did not know: In three stops, McGuire had established himself as a coaching blueblood. He was the only coach in NCAA history (at the time) to take two schools to a Basketball national championship game. Since that time, both Rick Pitino (Kentucky and Louisville) and Dean Smith protégé Roy Williams (Kansas and UNC) have accomplished that feat. At St. John’s, McGuire also coached baseball, taking the Redmen to the 1949 College World Series, as well as his basketball team to the ’52 final, the only coach in NCAA history to accomplish both. Spoiler Storms in the Southland - Why South Carolina left the ACC Alan Piercy Special to GamecockCentral.com * An excerpt from the forthcoming book "The Wilderness - South Carolina Athletics in the Independent Era (1971-1991)* The Atlantic Coast Conference was formed by the four North Carolina members for the benefit of the North Carolina members. They needed USC, Clemson, Maryland and Virginia (a late joiner) to fill out a decent conference. But the outsiders were supposed to be step-children, to be seen and not heard.” - Editorial, The State (Columbia) Newspaper, March 17, 1971 It was a Saturday evening, March 13, 1971. Temperatures were warm, in the upper 60s. Bradford Pears, with their pungent, white blooms, were beginning to flower in Greensboro. Jessamine and Honeysuckle too perfumed the early evening air as fans of both North and South Carolina made their way, tickets in hand, to the newly renovated Greensboro Coliseum. The air was peaceful, calm, belying the coming storms, both on and off the basketball court. Spring would officially arrive a week later, but winter had a score yet to settle. South Carolina finished the 1970-71 regular season second in the ACC behind North Carolina, and as many had predicted, the two schools would meet in the conference tournament final. The Gamecocks had dispatched Maryland 71-63 in the opening round and dominated N.C. State 69-56 in the semifinal. Likewise, the Tar Heels had taken care of business, eliminating Clemson and Virginia in rounds one and two. After a game that saw the Gamecocks struggle mightily from the floor, UNC began to edge ahead late in the second half. With a 46-40 lead at the 4:34 mark, Tar Heel Coach Dean Smith went to his signature “Four Corners” offense, which was not engineered to produce points, rather to milk clock and keep the ball out of the hands of the opposing team. This was long before the shot clock was implemented in college basketball, and many teams used this strategy to slow down high-powered opposing offenses. Earlier in the season in a game at College Park, Maryland, the Terrapins used a similar strategy to neutralize John Roche and the Gamecocks, resulting in a 4-3 halftime score before things picked up in the second half. With no shot clock, the Gamecocks were forced to foul. UNC needed only to hit free throws to preserve its lead and escape with a win, something Smith’s Tar Heels had nearly perfected in those years. Remarkably, UNC missed the front end of five one-on-ones down the stretch. The Gamecocks responded, pulling within a point, 49-48 with 1:04 remaining. UNC’s Lee Dedmon and USC’s John Ribock exchanged free throws and the game was still within a point, 50-49 with 45 seconds left. After a steal by USC’s Bob Carver resulted in a foul on Ribock’s attempted layup, Ribock made one of two free throws to knot it at 50 with 39 seconds remaining. The Gamecocks missed from the floor and the Tar Heels’ George Karl missed a one-on-one opportunity over the next 18 seconds. The Tar Heels went up by one, 51-50, but when Karl could not connect on another one-on-one, USC’s Rick Aydlett rebounded with 20 seconds remaining and passed it off to 6’3” guard, Kevin Joyce. As Joyce drove the baseline for a shot he was tied-up by UNC’s 6’10” Dedmon and there was a jump ball. Like the shot clock, the rule of alternating possessions for jump balls was years away, so the much smaller Joyce would have to jump against UNC’s big man Dedmon. To compound the mismatch, Joyce was coming off a leg injury earlier in the season. Tar Heel fans were planning their post-game celebrations. McGuire claimed he saw a UNC assistant with a pair of scissors for the post-game net cutting. Following the jump ball whistle, McGuire called a time out with six seconds on the clock. Given the mismatch on the jump ball, USC had no realistic expectation of controlling the tip. McGuire used the timeout to talk through strategies for stealing the ball after Dedmon controlled the tap. McGuire’s main bit of coaching advice to Joyce was to “jump to the moon, kid.” During the timeout, tension mounted in the arena. UNC and USC pep bands alternated fight songs, filling the air with the strains of brass and a drumming battle rhythm. Confident Tar Heel fans awaited another title. Gamecock fans, agonized through the timeout, hoping for a miracle while bracing for the familiar gut punch of disappointment. Not a soul left the arena to get a head start on traffic. This was not one of those games. Fans had been standing most of the second half, living and dying with each shot and every frenzied loose ball scramble, their palms clammy, their breathing shallow. The horn sounded and officials summoned the teams to the floor. Six seconds. As the teams took their places for the jump, Joyce sensed an ever-so-slight sense of complacency from Dedmon. He also noticed that, perhaps assuming Dedmon would control the tip, no UNC players lined up between the Gamecocks’ 6’10” Tom Owens and the UNC basket. As the official tossed the ball up, Joyce jumped “like he had springs in his legs,” as McGuire would later say, managing to tip the ball to an unopposed Owens, who deftly wheeled around, laying the ball off the glass and into the basket. The Gamecocks were up 52-51. As the final two seconds ticked away, UNC could not get a shot off and South Carolina held on to claim its first and only ACC Tournament Championship. Pandemonium ensued among the Gamecock faithful. Bob Fulton, the legendary radio voice of the Gamecocks, described the jubilation of the moment as the garnet-clad Gamecocks rushed the court in celebration – “…the ballgame is all over – they’re going wild on the court!” South Carolina partisans among the 15,170 inside Greensboro Coliseum were left jubilant, if emotionally drained after the dramatic finish. South Carolina, by virtue of winning the tournament, went onto represent the ACC in the NCAA tournament, which included only 25 teams at the time. USC was slotted in the East Regional, which was played before a hostile and vocally anti-Gamecock crowd in Raleigh’s Reynolds Coliseum. The Gamecocks were matched against a powerful University of Pennsylvania team, which had won 27 straight games and was ranked 3rd in the nation. The partisan ACC crowd cheered, not the ACC champion, but for Penn, illustrating the bitterness, which had developed between USC and the other ACC members. Further illustrating that bitterness was end-of-season voting for ACC Coach of the Year and Player of the Year, which revealed strident anti-Gamecock sentiment among the North Carolina-dominated voting media. McGuire, in spite of winning the ACC Championship and guiding his team to an ACC-leading 6th place finish in national polls, did not factor into voting. UNC’s Smith won out, with Virginia’s Bill Gibson placing second. John Roche was denied a third straight Player of the Year recognition, as media members curiously voted 86-30 for Wake Forest’s Charlie Davis. This, despite South Carolina’s 20 and 15-point wins over Wake in the regular season. Roche was selected a first team All-American by UPI and Basketball Weekly, among others, and was selected first team by NBA coaches for the annual College All-Star squad, while Davis was named neither first or second team. In a disappointing NCAA tournament showing, South Carolina went into halftime down just a point, but Penn dominated the second half to win going away, 79-64. The NCAA Tournament hosted consolation games in those days, and USC came up short in that one as well, losing a high-scoring affair to Fordham, 100-90. The loss to Fordham was South Carolina’s final basketball game as a member of the ACC. Though the Gamecocks would compete in conference play in baseball that spring, the South Carolina would leave the ACC officially on August 15 of that year, a mere five months after their greatest triumph in Greensboro. How did it come to that? How did the University of South Carolina go from winning the ACC basketball championship to withdrawing from a conference it helped form 18 years earlier? This story really begins in 1964 with the hiring of Frank McGuire at USC. And it happened completely by chance. The Irishman Comes South (Again) McGuire had enjoyed highly successful stints at two schools prior to coming to Columbia – his alma mater, St. Johns University, and at the University of North Carolina. He had taken the Redmen to the national championship game in 1952, where they lost in the final to a high-powered Kansas Jayhawks team, coached by the legendary Phog Allen. Allen had played at Kansas for James A. Naismith – the inventor of basketball. The ’52 Kansas squad featured a senior guard who would have a close association with McGuire in future years, Dean Smith. UNC lured McGuire to Chapel Hill following the 1952 season. The Tar Heels, were not a recognized national power at the time. North Carolina was attempting to match the success of rival N.C. State under Coach Everett Case. Catch up he did, surpassing Case’s Wolfpack teams and capturing a National Championship in 1957. In winning the ’57 title, McGuire evened the score against Phog Allen and Kansas, taking a thrilling triple overtime championship game. This time, Dean Smith was an assistant coach, sitting beside McGuire on the North Carolina bench. Another important piece of that 1957 final was 7’1” Kansas sophomore Wilt Chamberlain, who would score 23 points and pull down 14 rebounds in a losing effort that day. Chamberlain was awarded the Most Outstanding Player of that year’s Final Four despite the loss. He would describe the loss to McGuire’s Tar Heels as the most painful of his life. Chamberlain and McGuire would cross paths again a few years later in the NBA. (Chamberlain came in fourth for the national scoring title during the 1957 season, edged out by Joe Gibbon of Mississippi, Elgin Baylor of Seattle, and South Carolina senior forward Grady Wallace, who averaged an NCAA-leading 31.3 ppg. Wallace’s #42 was the first number retired by the USC athletic department in any sport. He remains one of only two national scoring champions from the ACC, along with Erick Green of Virginia Tech, who averaged 25 ppg in 2012-13) While at UNC, McGuire established his “underground railroad,” bringing New York City talent to Chapel Hill and quickly establishing a Basketball culture at the school. It was a strategy he would successfully duplicate at South Carolina in the coming years. McGuire enjoyed continued success at UNC until 1961, when North Carolina was found guilty of NCAA violations stemming from recruiting improprieties and allegations of point shaving involving several players. UNC Chancellor William Aycock, who was concerned that sports had taken too prominent a role at the school, was determined to exert more control over the athletic department, and particularly over McGuire’s basketball program. When the NCAA announced sanctions against UNC following their investigation into the recruiting violations, Aycock cautioned McGuire that he must bring his program under control. When two UNC players were later caught up in the point-shaving scandal, which also involved N.C. State and other schools, McGuire saw the writing on the wall. Other points of conflict had developed between McGuire and UNC, including the school’s failure to replace outdated Woolen Gymnasium with a modern field house, as well as McGuire’s ongoing feud with Athletic Director Chuck Erickson. In May 1961, McGuire offered his resignation, which Aycock accepted. In parting, McGuire recommended assistant Dean Smith for the top job. Aycock hired Smith, who would go on to a brilliant career as Tar Heel coach. McGuire followed this with a one-season stint coaching the NBA’s Philadelphia Warriors. It was during this season, in which McGuire coached former Kansas Jayhawk Wilt Chamberlain that Chamberlain achieved his legendary 100-point game on March 2, 1962 versus the New York Knicks. Chamberlain averaged an inconceivable 50.4 points and 25.6 rebounds that season. The Warriors lost in the Eastern Conference Finals to the dominant Boston Celtics on a last second basket to end their season. The owner of the Warriors, Eddie Gottlieb, sold the Warrior franchise to a group of businessmen in San Francisco following the 1961-62 season and McGuire opted not to move his family to the West Coast. In three stops, McGuire had established himself as a coaching blueblood. He was the only coach in NCAA history (at the time) to take two schools to a Basketball national championship game. Since that time, both Rick Pitino (Kentucky and Louisville) and Dean Smith protégé Roy Williams (Kansas and UNC) have accomplished that feat. At St. John’s, McGuire also coached baseball, taking the Redmen to the 1949 College World Series, as well as his basketball team to the ’52 final, the only coach in NCAA history to accomplish both. For the next two years McGuire took a hiatus from coaching, working in a public relations job in New York City. It was a time he said was good for him, providing an opportunity to rest and mature. He also discovered that he still had a desire to coach. The 50 year-old McGuire was ready for a new challenge. Frank McGuire and Mike Grosso (Getty Images | Bruce Roberts / Contributor) The great Bob Fulton, radio “Voice of the Gamecocks” for forty years detailed in his 1995 biography, “Frank McGuire: The Life and Times of a Basketball Legend,” the story of how McGuire ended up at South Carolina. It illustrates that, as with many things in life, chance played a part. Fulton relayed the story of Jeff Hunt, a Columbia businessman, as well as an avid Gamecock fan, and financial backer of the athletic department. Hunt flew his private plane to Asheville, where he met for breakfast with friends at Buck’s Restaurant prior to a business meeting later that day. The group assembled for breakfast included restaurant owner John “Buck” Buchanan. Buchanan was a big University of North Carolina supporter and had become a friend of McGuire’s during his tenure at UNC. When Hunt walked into the restaurant that morning, McGuire was there for breakfast with the group. McGuire and Hunt struck up a conversation during which McGuire asked what Hunt was doing in Asheville. Hunt, a heavy machinery dealer, told him that he had come to inspect a tractor he was considering for trade-in. McGuire said that he had never seen anyone do that, and was interested in riding along with Hunt to watch him inspect the tractor. On the ride, making casual conversation, Hunt said to McGuire, “…so, coach, why don’t you come and coach at the University of South Carolina?” Hunt was surprised by the reaction. He had expected McGuire to shrug off the question, but McGuire sounded vaguely interested, as if he would come if there were not already a coach in place. Hunt relays the rest of the story: “So, I pulled over to the side of the road, and I got serious with him. I said ‘Coach, I don’t think we’re gonna have a coach very long. I know for a fact that they’re going to appoint an interim coach.’ McGuire said, ‘If they’re gonna let him go – and you’re sure of that – I’m not out for someone else’s job – let me hear from you.’ I said, ‘Give me your phone number. Can I have somebody call you?’ He said, ‘Oh, no. I won’t deal with anybody else but you.’” And so the wheels were set in motion. Hunt was correct about the interim coach. Following the 12th game of the 1963-64 season, USC appointed assistant coach Duane Morrison, a former player at USC, as interim head coach. He replaced Chuck Noe, who had resigned during his second season, citing “nervous exhaustion.” Following his conversation with McGuire, Hunt contacted Sol Blatt, Jr of the USC Board of Trustees. Blatt was the chairman of the board’s athletic committee. He was also the son of Sol Blatt, Sr., who was the Speaker of the South Carolina House in the General Assembly, and arguably the most powerful politician in the state at the time. Together, they wielded great influence over the affairs of the University. The Blatts hailed from Barnwell, in the southwestern part of the state, as did Edgar A. Brown. Brown was a powerful State Senator and served as Senate Majority Leader for a period of time. Because of their power and influence across the state, this group was often referred to as “The Barnwell Ring.” They were enthusiastic supporters of the University and its athletic teams, but their enthusiasm, coupled with great power, often morphed into heavy-handed tactics, as McGuire would find out in years to come. Because McGuire refused to discuss the opening by telephone, a meeting was arranged in short order at a New York City hotel between McGuire, Blatt, Jr. and USC President Tom Jones. A subsequent meeting was planned back in South Carolina. To McGuire’s surprise, the follow-up meeting took place in Barnwell, not Columbia, giving him some insight as to why South Carolinians often referred to Barnwell as the de facto state capital. The Barnwell meeting, attended by President Jones, Blatt, Jr. and several other BOT members was successful and McGuire accepted the head coaching position at the University of South Carolina. He was the University’s third coach in five months. No contract was signed and no specific salary was discussed. McGuire simply told Blatt to “just pay me what you pay Marvin.” Marvin Bass was the head football coach at USC, and McGuire’s closest contact in the Palmetto State, as Bass had been an assistant football coach at UNC during McGuire’s tenure there. McGuire’s lone demand beyond the vague mention of salary was that the University construct a modern arena. At the time, USC played in the antiquated Carolina Field House, which, along with Clemson’s Fike Fieldhouse was among the most reviled venues by opposing ACC coaches for its cramped and inhospitable environs. Carolina Fieldhouse was built in 1927 and held only 3,200, which could not accommodate the student body (6,920 in 1964), much less other area fans. The failure to build a modern arena had been one of the main points of contention between McGuire and UNC. Blatt and the BOT provided ample assurances of a new arena in Columbia. The March 13, 1964 edition of The State declared in a banner headline that McGuire had taken on a dual role at the University, that of associate athletic director and “Cage Coach”. (In the early days of professional basketball, wire cages were often assembled over the playing floor to keep balls inbounds and to separate players and fans. The term “cage coach” stuck around long after the actual cages disappeared.) McGuire, energized by a two-year hiatus and perhaps a sizeable chip on his shoulder, quickly set about building his new program. His first team (1964-65) took its lumps, finishing 6-17 (2-12 ACC). But McGuire quickly reestablished his underground railroad, bringing in highly-regarded New York-area recruits Skip Harlika, Jack Thompson and Frank Standard. As freshmen were ineligible for varsity play in those days, the talented trio was not an immediate help. As the season drew to a close in the ACC Tournament in Raleigh, USC achieved its best performance of the season, pushing 9th-ranked Duke to the final buzzer before coming just shy of the upset, 62-60. Meanwhile, the freshmen team won 14 of 16 games, providing a tantalizing preview of what was to come. Gamecock fans were already looking forward to McGuire’s second stanza. To compound the excitement, that spring McGuire landed his highest-profile recruit since coming to Carolina – 6’8” center Mike Grosso, of Raritan, New Jersey. Grosso averaged 30 points and 31 rebounds during his senior season at Bridgewater-Ruritan High School, and was recruited heavily across the country, receiving interest from over 40 colleges, including ACC blue-blood Duke. Grosso’s commitment to McGuire and South Carolina would set in motion a chain of events, which caused great acrimony between South Carolina and its ACC brethren, and would pave the road to USC’s departure from the ACC a few years later. https://southcarolina.rivals.com/news/storms-in-the-southland-why-south-carolina-left-the-acc
Another detail that's pretty wild further down in the article: "No contract was signed and no specific salary was discussed. McGuire simply told Blatt to “just pay me what you pay Marvin.” Marvin Bass was the head football coach at USC" Hey, no big deal, I'll just take what the football guy gets.