Cal is a great recruiter and coach that eats up and enjoys all the trappings that go along with being the UK coach, but he always manages to keep himself at arm's length. He is not exactly the greatest salesman for Kentucky tradition, the school, or the fans. He doesn't need that for his style of recruiting. I'd love to see him completely embrace the school, the tradition, and the fans and be at peace with coaching here until he is done, but I know we'll never get that from Cal. He'll never be completely Kentucky because he doesn't see the game the way we do. He is blind to the game itself. That bouncing a ball can lift an entire people up from nothing and make them one. Cal sees basketball as a means to an end. That he is helping young men become something that will change their family and maybe even their neighborhoods forever and we are the vessel to make those wonderful things happen and those are great things indeed. Great accomplishments.
But Kentucky is like The Masters. Alabama Football. Ghosts prowl here. There is a fire that burns forever inside Kentucky fans because the game is part of our character. It's where we are from. It's what our moral compass tells us is true North.
Cal will never be a part of that part. He might even consider it foolish. He sees the material product of our greatness and he admires the banners and is proud of the way he changes lives. But it is just a game. An entertaining feat of athleticism for which he provides the actors in a grand play. Make believe. Entertainment. We must seem like silly children that still believe in Santa Clause to him. We can't really love the game and be serious. Be sane. He might wink and smile at such foolishness and does not really understand it in the least. We seem like a publicity stunt. "What's the angle?" he might ask.
But this game is more. It's the green jacket. It's Bear walking the sidelines. It's every glorious moment and every crushing defeat lived and relived for all eternity as nothing is lost here. It is added to each year and kept. Money, the NBA, none of those things are part of it. Kids don't know who Sam Snead is, but instinctively they know when the green jacket goes on that it isn't just a green jacket. Something unseen is being passed there and if you listen closely you might hear why. The grounds will be carefully kept because something lives there, always.
If ever, years from now, somebody wants to know then there is a place where the words will be kept and they'll mean something when you ask. It will always be that way and not some other for as long as a barefooted kid on a gravel country road looks up at a rusty iron rim and dreams of a real Camelot. A place where basketball will be tended to, looked after, cared for forever. We promise this but the words are silent. If you only see a green jacket, if it's just a houndstooth hat, if you look at Kentucky basketball and see only a game, then we do appear crazy. Like we're talking to ghosts. Like history is alive and all around us. Because it is.