From Crayons to Perfume
The movie was called "To Sir, With Love." If my
memory is correct (and that is always a doubtful proposition), it
was produced in the late sixties or early seventies. Sidney
Poitier was a teacher assigned to teach a British classroom full
of delinquents, malcontents, and other underachievers.
At first, of course, the challenge seemed insurmountable and
the teacher incapable of meeting it. Indeed, he was the only
person in that classroom (or anywhere else in the world, for that
matter) who believed, at all, in the students, and his belief
seemed pretty foolish. Even they were convinced that they were
doomed to lives of utter failure. He brought them discipline,
demanding, rather improbably, that they refer to him as
"Sir" and also respect their fellow students. Slowly
but surely, little by little, he willed them into believing in
themselves. By the end of the film, against all odds (hey, this
was a movie), they were capable, confident young adults ready to
make their mark on the world.
The admittedly rather schmaltzy last scene depicted the last
day of school year, when the students had to come to grips with
the reality that this man who had done so much for them was about
to leave their lives. One of the female students (perhaps played,
if this actually could be true, but it was the late sixties or
early seventies and everything was a bit wild then so perhaps
this memory is indeed accurate, by a model/singer named
"Lulu") sang a song as a thank you to "Sir."
As the shock of the recent news about Mike Montgomery leaving
has faded, it is one line from that song that keeps playing in my
head:
"How do you thank someone who has taken you from
crayons to perfume?"
Like many of us, I was there before Mike Montgomery. For those
of you who were not, let me clue you in. It was NOTHING like it
is today. Not even remotely similar.
Oh, we had our own version of the Sixth Man club, sort of. But
that was because there were, on average, about six of us in the
student section. We had some players (John Revelli and Keith
Jones come to mind) and some hustlers (one of which we tragically
lost just last week), but it was all pretty hopeless. Our big
goal was a "once every two years or so" upset of one of
the Pac 10 big guns, under the "even a blind squirrel
occasionally finds an acorn" theory.
Perhaps one memory from those years sums up how far we have
come, for those of you who were able to avoid the bad old days.
In a particularly "good" year from those days in the
early eighties, I distinctly remember sitting in the student
section (whose ranks had swelled to a couple hundred or so with
the bandwagon jumpers brought about by a stunning .500
season, at least to that point) yelling "NIT! NIT!
NIT!!!" This was not, as it is now, a slam at the visiting
team. It was, I kid you not, a plea to the NIT committee to
PLEASE consider letting Stanford into their tournament. [In case
you are wondering, it did not work. You can look it up.]
There was a ray of hope when we stole Dr. Tom Davis from
Boston College. He had some success with that program, which
seemed similar enough (to both him and us) that we were actually
optimistic, in a very cautious, let’s-not-get-out-of-control,
sense. Under him, our team did seem to improve, at least for a
while. But the handicaps placed on a basketball coach by Stanford’s
admissions policies finally became too much for him to bear.
When I heard Tom Davis was leaving, I was pretty much out of
hope. Surely we would never attract another coach of his caliber,
after he rather publicly implied that winning was impossible at
Stanford. If he could not do it, it just could not get done. At
least we had taken our shot, by hiring him. We could all go back
to realizing that, in basketball, it was just not meant to be.
Who was that guy we hired? Where was he from? Did you say
Montana? Seems like a nice enough fellow, but hiring a coach from
Montana seems like throwing in the towel.
I put it to you as simply as this: Anybody who tells you they
thought anything even remotely close to what we have seen in the
last ten years was even possible is just plain lying to you.
Stanford winning the Pac-10? Did you say "winning the
Pac-10"??? What have you been smoking? Stanford ranked what?
Get real.
My absolutely wildest possible dream for Stanford Basketball
was that, somehow, some way, maybe Stanford could be perhaps the
third best team in the Pac-10, every now and then. But that dream
pretty much died when Dr. Tom left. When he came, mediocrity
seemed possible. When he left, it seemed out of reach.
What this man who is about to leave us has done for us is
nothing short of amazing. It would be stunning enough to take any
D-I team on that ride. But he did this at Stanford, folks. He did
it under admissions standards that, by all rights, should make it
impossible. He did it without cheating (not once, not ever, at
least as far as I know). He did it with good kids (some of them
plucked from some pretty tough environments) who have become very
good men who have made us quite proud. He did it with fire in his
belly and in the bellies of his charges. [How I love passion in
Stanford coaches and athletes!]
So let me say it, for what it is worth, coming simply from a
lover of Stanford and of Stanford sports: Thank you,
"Sir." We had known only crayons. We never even dreamed
of perfume, but, somehow, some way, you took us there. For me,
and I suspect for many others, it is the single most amazing
achievement in the history of the teams we root for. This simply
was not possible, but you did it.
One of the sad things about life, and perhaps most especially
about sports, is that our mothers were right: All good things
must end.
This was a very good thing. It has ended. Today and, perhaps,
for quite a while, that is going to hurt for those of us who are
passionate about Stanford Basketball.
So forgive us our temporary insanity. After all, it is your
fault. Your predecessors left, too, and the news did not
sent us to any ledges.
The pain, of course, is increased by the shock. When I woke up
Thursday morning and started heading out the door, my 13-year-old
son told me that there was something I needed to see on SportsCenter.
He backed up the TIVO to a picture with Mike Montgomery and a
Warriors logo. When I first saw them, the combination looked so
out of place that the news did not register.
It is never easy to be the one left at the restaurant table by
the person who has planned an exit strategy. The one doing the
leaving has been thinking about how to make it happen as
painlessly as possible, but it is still a shock to the one
hearing the news for the first time.
By the way, the analogy here is not that much of a stretch.
Stanford and Stanford basketball are a passion for us. We who
believe Stanford is the center of the universe cannot imagine why
anyone, least of all you, would want to leave it. [Now that I am
an employee of another university, I may have a bit of
perspective on this. No matter how many checks another university
writes with your name as the payee, that university never quite
displaces the one that you wrote checks to, in your heart of
hearts. Not that you do not have deep affection for the one that
cuts you checks, because, of course, you do. But it is not the
same. So we don’t get it. Why would anyone want to leave
this place we love so much?]
And, quite frankly, we are scared. Now that you have taught us
the smell of perfume, we do not want to go back to crayons.
Nobody else, and I do mean NOBODY ELSE (in our lifetimes), had
ever gotten us past crayons. We want to believe that we can
somehow keep smelling perfume without you, but none of us are
completely sure it will happen.
We are also at least a little scared for you. We have huge
admiration and affection for you. You are our guy. We have seen
that league that you are headed to (which some of us are not all
that fond of, if truth be told) chew people up and spit them out.
We do not want that to happen to you.
Mostly, though, we are really going to miss you. We will miss
your success, of course. But not just your success. You.
As you know, we who love Stanford Sports are a bit different
from other college sports nuts. Winning has never been enough for
us. We demand that you not only win, but that you do it the right
way. We tolerate none of the bending or breaking of the rules
that has, sadly, become commonplace (or, at least, not unusual)
elsewhere. We Stanford Sports nuts do not like to lose, but we
will tolerate a loser much more readily than a cheater.
Though nobody is perfect, you were the best possible fit as a
Stanford coach. You won, yes, but you did it the right way. We
never worried about you or your players. As a bonus, you even had
that wicked sense of humor. How could we not miss you?
You have, of course, created something in us that was never
there before you came. Like "Sir’s" students, we
now believe the impossible is possible. We actually dream of that
one thing that eluded you while you were with us.
Though it is perhaps a bit harder today than it was two days
ago, we still dream of that day some April when the basketball
season is over and our beloved Cardinal is the last team
standing. That day may never come, but you have made us believe
it is possible.
If that day comes, though, you will not be there with us. For
those of us who dream of that day, that is sad, because we have a
tough time imaging that anyone will ever do more to make it
happen. If somehow we ever get to the mountain top, the
view just won’t quite be the same without you.
We are going to miss you, Sir. It is just that simple, and
just that sad.
And we will not forget that it was you who took us from
crayons to perfume. We just do not quite know how to thank you
for that.
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