ESPN Men's Basketball

In 2011, where media is bigger and more diverse and noisier and more awesome than ever, it's hard to reach a bonafide consensus on any given news development. So, as expected, yesterday's Jim Calhoun news was eventually greeted with a variety of reactions. For a while there, though, it seemed that almost everyone -- barring Calhoun and the NCAA, which we'll get to in a second -- thought the punishment was, ahem, a slap on the wrist. (Anyone else ready to banish that phrase, like, forever? Me too.)

Judging by the tenor of the teleconference hosted by Committee on Infractions chairman Dennis Thomas, it's clear many in the media thought the three-game Big East suspension was far too lenient, considering the committee's report cites Calhoun himself for "failing to promote an atmosphere of compliance." Essentially, the NCAA admitted that it didn't believe Calhoun's story that he, Jim Calhoun, had worked tirelessly in his program to ensure NCAA compliance, and that if anything nefarious was happening it was obviously the fault of rogue agents working behind his back. (The telling of this story no doubt involved much table-slapping and collar-loosening.) Clearly, the NCAA didn't buy that line; it cited and punished the coach anyway.

But that punishment wasn't enough for most, including those of us assembled at ESPNU for the Experts yesterday. Frankly, I was a little bit baffled. Hadn't Calhoun simply used the same gambit -- plausible deniability -- coaches have been using to avoid NCAA scrutiny for decades?

Not exactly true. As Pat Forde pointed out yesterday, Calhoun's punishment does set something of a precedent: No longer can coaches fully expect to be held on a pedestal when facing NCAA trouble. Yesterday, even as Thomas was claiming the Committee on Infractions wasn't "into sending messages," that message was noticeably implicit.

Still, the punishment itself doesn't do much to harm the Connecticut Huskies. It doesn't rob them of a postseason (and all the cash a postseason brings). The scholarship reductions and recruiting limitations are nothing more than a "light spanking," according to our own Dave Telep. Calhoun doesn't have to sit out this year. The XL Center doesn't have to give tickets away for free. And when Calhoun does eventually miss next season's first three Big East games, we'll all yawn, say "Oh, yeah, Calhoun has to sit these out, remember that?" and move on with being stoked that college basketball is back in full swing.

No, the only harm done by this punishment is the harm Calhoun personally feels. That's what my colleague Dana O'Neil described aptly in her reaction -- filled with excellent insight into the hyper-competitive, self-conscious Calhoun's working mind -- yesterday:

Bruce Pearl has ably swan-dived on his sword, tearfully apologetic in the face of possible NCAA infractions and publicly contrite in the wake of Mike Slive’s eight-game conference suspension.

That’s not Jim Calhoun.

He is not one to take his medicine quietly or cede his position easily. He has spent 25 years at Connecticut tilting at windmills and fighting all comers, fiercely protecting his program and more, his own reputation.

He does not act to please others, but he does care that others perceive him appropriately.

Dana wrote, accurately I believe, that the punishment itself was probably too light (and justified with little more than doublespeak from the NCAA) even if Calhoun stubbornly, vehemently disagrees. Which is fine. Calhoun can disagree, can keep fighting for his reputation all he wants, can make veiled threats involving lawyers, and can keep on missing the point, which is that very few people believe him. (Do UConn fans even believe him?) Coaches don't suddenly stop micromanaging their programs when that micromanaging involves the AAU-runner-player triumverate. They know. We know. Everybody knows.

But Calhoun is super, duper upset, you guys! Does that make his punishment fit the crime? In the process of scolding "the media" for its impending reactions, the Sporting News's Mike DeCourcy wrote as much last night:

The most curious consequence of the NCAA infractions committee’s findings against Connecticut coach Jim Calhoun is how his future will diverge into two wildly different categories:

- The immediate future, in which the media generally will posit that Calhoun’s offenses were dealt with as gently as a toddler who spilled Hi-C on mom’s hardwood floor.

- The extended future, during which the media will assure the punishment for Calhoun is enduring, that he is perpetually referred to as an NCAA violator, that his legacy is as tarnished as it can be for one who has earned multiple NCAA championships and an honored place in the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame. [...]

Whatever Calhoun’s punishment might have been -- short of being forced to dine nightly at Taco Bell with Pete Rose and Tom DeLay -- members of the media would have carped about leniency. But Calhoun will remember this day the rest of his life, as surely as he’ll remember the nights he claimed the NCAA championship trophy.

As expected, Calhoun has taken this personally. He hates the fact that his legacy will be tarnished, that this Nate Miles business will sit forever alongside his well-won years of legendary success at the highest level of collegiate basketball. And yeah, that sounds like a bummer.

The problem is -- and this is the point I've taken so long to to get around to -- this isn't just about Calhoun.

Punishment never is. Punishment doesn't just exist to humiliate or reform the punished. That matters, sure, but the point of punishment -- whether we're talking about lawful society at large or detailed NCAA rulebooks specifically -- is to send a message to future rule-breakers that a) if you break a law or cheat, you will be caught, and b) if you are caught, you will not like the outcome.

Calhoun no doubt chafes at his punishment. But plenty of other coaches are less worried about their legacy. Plenty of upstarts -- AAU coaches, high school coaches, runners and agents -- got into this whole basketball thing because of money, respect, power, influence, Armani suits and Gucci loafers. These seedy types are more frequently found in AAU circles, but guess what: Some of them are already college coaches. Some of them have been for years.

If you're one of those coaches, what did you learn from the NCAA yesterday? That if the NCAA "catches" your program working with an agent to land a player, the most you have to worry about is a three-game conference suspension. Oooh. Scary.

This is what's frustrating about Calhoun's penalty. It's not like those who think Calhoun's penalty is too lenient -- and it is too lenient! -- are out for the man's blood. (Well, maybe some of them are, but I'm certainly not.) It's because the Committee on Infractions, despite its stated lack of interest in "sending messages," did exactly that. It told prospective cheaters not to worry all that much. It said that as long as you can make an argument on your behalf, it won't actually punish you in any tangible way. It won't take away your team's postseason. It won't give you a show-cause penalty preventing you from working in the sport for five or 10 years. (That is, unless you're a willing scapegoat.) It won't take away your suits, or your cars, or the job that allows you to buy all those pretty things. It will taint your legacy, and that's it.

Surely that is not the message the NCAA intended to send. Surely, given the organization's increased and much-lauded focus on the AAU-runner-agent problem in the past two years, that is not the future it sees for its coaches and institutions -- that if you can plausibly deny you knew what was happening in your program, you can escape punishment for your program's illegal behavior. But that is the message coaches everywhere got.

Calhoun might be peeved, but this case isn't just about Calhoun. It's about a choice: Either the NCAA wants to take on the agent problem or it doesn't. There is no backing down from that choice, no hiding behind the "no messages" claim. Whether he likes it or not, Thomas and his committee did send a message yesterday, and it's a message cheaters everywhere, both current and prospective, heard loud and clear.

The Connecticut men’s basketball team received its NCAA sanctions on Tuesday, but from a recruiting standpoint, the NCAA didn’t put UConn over its knee. Instead, the Huskies received a light spanking.

Unlike Bruce Pearl and the Tennessee Volunteers, the Huskies were not hit with sanctions that would prevent them from leaving campus to recruit. Instead, the sanctions levied on Jim Calhoun and the Huskies deal with scholarships, official visits and phone calls. Overall, the sanctions can be overcome with an efficient plan and diligent attention to detail mixed in with good judgment and crisp evaluations.

The Huskies lose a scholarship a year for a three-year period. This means that more invited walk-ons make the team. Losing the scholarship certainly reduces the overall number of available bodies, but it does not represent a major problem for an elite program.

UConn had its off-campus recruiting days reduced from 130 to 90, but UConn won’t likely miss those 40 recruiting days. Rare is the program that uses all of its days, so this penalty is fairly cosmetic and is overcome by efficient planning.

The Huskies won’t be able to waste days or take chances. Their biggest hit might come in the form of underclassmen recruiting. By reducing the number of days on the road, UConn might not be able to work too far ahead with the juniors and sophomores. But the reduction looks tougher on paper than it actually is.

Another hit is that Calhoun’s crew will have to wait 30 days after the first day phone calls are allowed to prospects before they can call recruits. It sounds harsh, falling a month behind in recruiting on the phone, but what it really means is UConn loses its two calls per week to juniors for a total of eight calls the first 30 days, and one call a month to sophomores.

While the phone ban is going on, other forms of communication exist. For instance, if the sanctions don’t include electronic communication then the staff would be free to e-mail at will per the rules. “Most kids have e-mail on their phone, so it’s really like a text message,” former St. John's coach Norm Roberts said. “You can be e-mailing them a ton. Kids don’t like to talk on the phone anyway.”

Plus -- and this is a big one -– the players can always call the coaches, and UConn’s staff would be free to communicate with the coaches of the players.

UConn was docked a slew of official visits, which again appears tough, but really isn’t. The growing trend among high school players is the early commitment. Each year, more and more recruits commit prior to their senior year and the unofficial visit plays a larger role than ever in the landscape of recruiting. Outside of some late period visits and ceremonial official visits for committed players, the overall number of official visits lessens each year. There are cases where a school might need to sign a larger class and the visits would be needed, but because of the prevalence of unofficials, this is isn’t a crushing blow.

The recruiting sanctions imposed on Connecticut certainly alter the program’s thinking and planning, but are not going to put the Huskies at a competitive disadvantage. They’ll require UConn to practice good judgment and not waste visits, but it won’t hamper the overall recruiting efforts of the program.

Frankly, the biggest hit on Connecticut comes in the court of public opinion. The perception of the Huskies took a hit once this story came to light, and has hung over the program. The major repair job in Storrs is one of perception. Once it was announced that there would not be a postseason ban (which could have seriously affected recruiting over the course of the ban), the program survived the worst-case scenario.

These recruiting sanctions aren’t ideal, but given the alternative, you won’t hear many complaints from Connecticut.

We are gradually, incrementally chipping away at the Cult of the Head Coach in college sports.

The progress might seem slow at times, like poking an ivory tower with a pocket knife. But it’s better than idly watching it being built thicker and higher and making no effort at all.

On Tuesday, the NCAA Committee on Infractions knocked a chunk out of the Cult of the Head Coach by suspending Connecticut’s Jim Calhoun for three Big East games next basketball season. As penalties go, it’s not a haymaker -- especially when you consider what all transpired at UConn in its recruitment and enrollment of former player Nate Miles. (Yet another in a long line of players nowhere near worth the cheating schools did to get him.)

But the three-game penalty is far more than a slap on the wrist.

Putting Calhoun’s Hall of Fame behind on the couch for one-sixth of conference play is tangible proof that the age-old way of doing business in college sports -- protect the head coach at all costs -- is no longer acceptable. Pleading ignorance while your assistants are running roughshod over the rulebook won’t fly anymore. Letting everyone around the head coach take the fall, while the boss stands tall, is becoming an outdated dodge.

Dennis Thomas, chairman of the Committee on Infractions, tried his best not to say much on a teleconference announcing UConn’s penalties Tuesday. But one point that came through rather clearly was that a head coach is responsible for keeping his program clean, and ignorance is no defense.

“This is something that a head coach should know about and ensure that everyone is in compliance,” Thomas said of the improper benefits, contacts and agent dealings UConn had in its recruitment of Miles. “And that didn’t happen. … This situation specifically dealt with issues the head coach should have known about.”

Those are welcome words in college sports, where for decades it was the job of assistant coaches to do the dirty work and face all the consequences if they ever got caught. Head coaches collected the big money and worked hard at maintaining plausible deniability as to the inner workings of recruiting -- always feigning ignorance and shock when informed that rules were being broken within their program.

It was a ridiculous dodge that somehow worked over and over again.

When Kentucky went down in flames in the late 1980s, head coach Eddie Sutton shifted to Oklahoma State while assistant Dwane Casey was stuck with a five-year show-cause penalty that exiled him to coaching in Japan. When Louisville was hit with two probations in the 1990s, Denny Crum remained insulated while assistants Larry Gay and Scooter McCray were bounced out of the business.

There are plenty of other examples, including this UConn investigation. Two staffers were canned as collateral damage months ago, while Calhoun coached on unimpeded. But there was a penalty waiting for him here in February, at the end of the process.

That’s part of a shift in accountability that began in October 2009, according to those well-versed in NCAA policy and procedure. That’s when the NCAA Board of Directors, acting on recommendations from the Enforcement Department’s Basketball Focus Group, asked its Infractions Committee to get serious about penalties.

And that prominently includes penalties assessed to head coaches.

Letters of reprimand and other empty verbiage are out. Tangible sanctions are in.

The Southeastern Conference didn’t wait for the NCAA to put the clamps on Tennessee’s Bruce Pearl for lying to investigators. The conference office hit him with an eight-game SEC suspension this season. And now the NCAA has followed that lead and slapped Calhoun.

That’s despite the best efforts of UConn to protect him from NCAA Enforcement’s charge of failure “to promote an atmosphere of compliance.” The school fought the charge. The school lost.

(And, interestingly enough, the COI’s report noted that UConn athletic director Jeff Hathaway described Calhoun’s interest in Miles as the “most intense” he’d ever been in the recruitment of a player. Whether Hathaway meant to or not, he helped sink the school’s argument against penalizing its head coach.)

Coaches tend to be the stars of the show in college sports -- especially basketball, where the players come and go too frequently for fans to latch onto. Head coaches become the faces of the programs, and with that comes an exaggerated -- almost mythical -- standing.

It’s not enough to hire a coach because he wins. An athletic director must make a great production in an introductory news conference about the integrity and character and superior moral fiber of the man in charge of drawing up a pick-and-roll.

Some guys deserve having those nice things said about them. Some are just regular guys, like the rest of us, better suited to wear a sweat suit than a halo.

But combine that puffery with the salary and celebrity attached to many program leaders, and the Cult of the Head Coach gains clout. Their importance morphs into something almost presidential.

And if you’ve ever seen a presidential security detail, you know that every effort is made to protect the boss. Even if it means sacrificing an underling in the face of danger.

The protocol in college sports is comparable. Or at least it has been.

Slowly, it’s changing. The penalties assessed to Bruce Pearl and Jim Calhoun are incremental proof that the Cult of the Head Coach isn’t the ivory tower it used to be.

Some coaches take their lumps like chastised schoolchildren, throw up their hands in a mea culpa and plead for forgiveness.

Bruce Pearl has ably swan-dived on his sword, tearfully apologetic in the face of possible NCAA infractions and publicly contrite in the wake of Mike Slive’s eight-game conference suspension.

That’s not Jim Calhoun.

He is not one to take his medicine quietly or cede his position easily. He has spent 25 years at Connecticut tilting at windmills and fighting all comers, fiercely protecting his program and more, his own reputation.

He does not act to please others, but he does care that others perceive him appropriately.

At Big East media day in October, he recalled walking across the court at the Final Four in Detroit two years ago.

News of possible violations and an NCAA investigation, the first of his career, had only recently broken.

As he took the court with his team, he heard students and fans hissing, "cheater, cheater" at him.

“I may be a lot of things, profane, but that word [cheater] I’m not,’’ Calhoun said then. “I’m a lot of things. You can like or dislike me, but that I’m not.’’

Whether or not he agrees with the characterization, the NCAA’s punishment of him on Tuesday puts teeth behind the taunt.

By singling him out for penalty, suspending Calhoun for the first three games of next year’s Big East season because of a recruiting violation, the Committee on Infractions has sent a clear and concise message to the coach: You are culpable in this.

On the surface it might not seem like much. Calhoun will only miss 1/6 of the 18-game marathon that is the Big East slate.

He has missed games before, more than three in fact with various health concerns. That was, if not of his choosing, at least of his own making.

But this is a benching, a benching of a man whose reputation means a great deal to him.

Plenty of coaches have been smacked with NCAA violations and kept on keeping on, simply smearing Teflon on their hand-tailored suits.

Calhoun isn’t any coach. He is on the Mount Rushmore of hoops, a man whose face is synonymous with his program. Only four currently active coaches already are members of the Naismith Hall of Fame: Jim Boeheim, Mike Krzyzewski, Roy Williams and Calhoun.

That is the rarefied air in which Calhoun travels.

And now he is the only one of the four to be held personally accountable for an NCAA infraction.

There will be no asterisks next to his achievements. The two national championships still stand. His spot in the Hall is safe.

There will, however, be an asterisk next to his character and a smear on his legacy. More nasty whispers, more insinuations about what he did know, didn’t know and should have known.

It is the rare man who stays above the fray in this business, yet it is also the nature of the business that once charged, always guilty.

Unfair? Perhaps. But sports tends to be a land of second chances, just not necessarily the land of second opinions.

And that will hurt Calhoun, sting deeply in fact. Connecticut could play DePaul, South Florida and Providence in those three games and Calhoun would still chafe at not being there. It will be a painful reminder of what he has called the lowest point of his career.

Will it be enough to make him quit? Of course not. If anything, this could fuel the competitive fire for another decade.

But it is a dig at a prideful man, who despite singular success still views himself as a scrappy kid from Boston.
“I’m a natural underdog,’’ Calhoun said in October. “And if I’m not an underdog, I’ll make myself the underdog, somehow or other.’’

There is no doubt the committee could have done more and was, in fact, perplexing in its rationale not to during Tuesday’s conference call.

Dennis Thomas, the Mid-Eastern Athletic Conference commissioner who served as COI chair over this case, said on the one hand that “the head coach is responsible for all that goes on in his program’’ and “has a responsibility to monitor and to know what’s going on with his assistant coaches and operations director.’’

More specifically, he said that Calhoun should have known about manager-turned-agent Josh Nochimson’s involvement with Nate Miles.

Yet when it came to doling out punishment -- three games for Calhoun versus a show-cause penalty for former director of operations Beau Archibald -- Thomas also said, “We think the penalty is appropriate. Obviously the head coach should be aware, but he cannot be aware of everything that goes on within his program.’’

If that seems like convenient double talk, it’s probably because it is. It is bureaucratic doublespeak at its NCAA best.

This fight, already endless and spanning more than two years, is far from over.

Calhoun made that clear in the statement he released after the findings.

“I am very disappointed with the NCAA’s decision in this case,’’ Calhoun said in a statement. “My lawyer and I are evaluating my options and will make a decision which way to proceed.’’

An appeal is likely.

Calhoun biting his tongue less so.

He once argued with a man who thought his salary was too high.

Don’t think for a minute he won’t defend his own reputation until the bitter end.

On the set of ESPNU's "The Experts," our panel discusses the punishment doled out to the Connecticut basketball program and coach Jim Calhoun.