It was a January game in 1992 — my first trip to Assembly Hall since I’d moved back up here from my sports writing days in Florida — and I was in for a surprise.
I’d ridden over to Bloomington, Ind., for the game between Ohio State and Knight’s Indiana Hoosiers with fellow sportswriter Marc Katz.
When we picked up our passes, Marc got his on press row. Mine had no seat number, just “Southeast Corner” written on it.
The usher pointed me to the top of the arena, where -- behind a four-foot wall -- I found a lone metal chair with my name on it.
I had to stand to see the court and fans teased me about having really ticked somebody off. Then it dawned on me. Just before I’d left Miami, I’d written a column taking Knight to task for what he’d said about Puerto Ricans -- " ... The only thing they know how to do is grow bananas,” -- in Sports Illustrated.
I’d forgotten the story. Somebody else had not.
On the way to his postgame session, a grinning Knight walked past, smacked me on the back and asked how I’d liked the seat.
All these years later -- now that the 67-year-old coach has stunned everyone by stepping down as the Texas Tech coach and handed the reins to son Pat -- I can answer that.
I always was thankful for a seat at a Bob Knight function -- be it a game he was coaching, a speech, a social setting. For my job, he was a godsend. He ALWAYS gave you something to write.
Sure there were times I didn’t like what I saw or heard. The bullying tactics, the boorish behavior, the rough language. But I got a kick out of my Assembly Hall banishment, and I loved the way he taught the game to his players -- lessons that got him 902 victories, the most in NCAA Division I men’s basketball history.
I liked the way he graduated something like 98 percent of his players -- double the national average -- how he was a benefactor of college libraries, how he looked after former players and his friends, guys like Don Donoher.
When Donoher was pushed aside by the University of Dayton after so many years of excellence, Knight didn’t just blast the school, he extended a helping hand and took Donoher onto his Hoosiers staff, making sure his pal wasn’t cast adrift.
Not that he’d talk about it. He doesn’t trumpet his good deeds.
And that brings one more story. It was after an OSU-Texas Tech game four years ago. After his news conference, Knight stepped into a hallway where Max Blake -- who has a talk show on a small Christian station in Youngstown -- asked for a few minutes.
Max is a hard-working guy who has cerebral palsy and struggles to get around. Knight told him to come around the corner.
I quietly followed them from afar. There was no one else there. Balancing himself against a trash can, Max started his interview, when his assistant signaled an equipment malfunction.
Max was momentarily rattled, but Knight wrapped an arm around him, told him “settle down, you’re OK” and with that the two had a great conversation.
Twice, Knight said: “I wish I had players with your heart.”
When their session ended, Knight saw me and snapped:
“What you looking at?”
Now I can say — it’s a sight I’ll miss.
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