HOUSTON — He muttered just one discernible F-bomb in 40 minutes, using it as an adjective as he yelled out a play to his team. He was so aghast with his lingual faux pas he covered up his mouth as if his mother just heard him cuss for the first time. He did not call time out when a 20-point lead evaporated to just eight and the building felt like it started to tilt just enough to make things a little uncomfortable. Nor did he whistle for a break when, after his team righted the initial panic, it once again got a little itchy, the lead down to just 10 points.
Instead, after Miami’s Bensley Joseph nailed a 3, Dan Hurley pressed the palms of his hand out in front of him, and did the damndest thing. He very calmly told his UConn team, “Relax.’’
The evolution of the new mild-mannered Hurley is old news, the diffusion of the Huskies’ human tempest into a more manageable beast discussed and dissected at length. He wears a brown beaded bracelet on his right wrist. To the places that follow such things, brown beads are said to represent Mother Earth and thereby have a grounding effect on a person. Hurley does yoga, listens to meditation podcasts and has been known to light a candle in his office.
This, however, is not about the madman’s new Zen. It goes way deeper than an inner search for, or discovery of, inner peace, and all the way to the sweet spot that a coach yearns for: Dan Hurley has a team he can trust.
That is not the same as having a team that is very good, though Hurley has that, too. It’s about knowing that the players understand — him, themselves, the expectations, the scout, the game plan, the nuances, all of it. Not perfectly, because no team can ever quite reach that nirvana, but well enough that Hurley does not have to micromanage them anymore. He can cede control just a little bit and know that things, more than likely, are going to turn out all right.
His instincts proved right here on Saturday night, the Huskies’ snuffing out Miami’s last threat en route to a 72-59 victory, the latest in a five-game string of NCAA Tournament dominance that has sent UConn barreling into a national championship date Monday with San Diego State. In a season in which the common theme has been that no team is great, UConn has done a pretty good impression of it over the last three weeks, beating its opponents by an average of 20.6 points per game and holding all of them below 40 percent shooting from the floor. The box score from the Final Four game ought to hang on a wall somewhere — eight players in the scoring column, 19 assists on 28 made buckets, and a 41-32 rebounding edge, not to mention the smothering defense that limited the Hurricanes to 32 percent shooting from the floor.
Hurley watched the final seconds wind down in total peace, enjoying a hug with his walk-on son, Andrew, who got in for some garbage time, while a group of feisty fans found their way to the courtside railing to chant “Dan-ny Hur-ley” at their coach.
It is a far cry, no doubt, from what they were saying about their coach in January, back when a 14-0 start unraveled amid six losses in eight games, and a team meeting after an ugly loss at Seton Hall. Plenty questioned Hurley’s game calling, decision making and above all else, his intensity, wondering if he was making it impossible for UConn to realize its full potential. Internally, no one shared that concern.
The thing is, fans might find Hurley’s histrionics to be performative; his players do not. They, in fact, feed off of it. Tristen Newton, who says he comes from a family of “yellers,’’ was hardly fazed by Hurley, and in fact welcomed the criticism. “It energizes me,’’ the senior guard says. “I needed that. I knew I did.’’
Dan Hurley has a strong sense of trust with his players, including Joey Calcaterra. (David J. Phillip / AP)
More to the point, UConn needed the injection. As wildly talented as these Huskies are, they are a combo of new parts (Newton, Alex Karaban, Donovan Clingan, Joey Calcaterra, Nahiem Alleyne) and old parts in new, bigger roles (Andre Jackson Jr., Jordan Hawkins, Adama Sanogo). They needed to figure it out, and the black hole they seemed to be headed for was, in fact, a team doing the figuring, not unraveling. “We experienced so much in the month of January,’’ Hurley says. “It’s a battle-tested team, and I’m comfortable enough with things and with the guys that I know we’re able to manage the situation.’’
By the time Selection Sunday rolled around, UConn had won six of its final seven, and stood on such sure footing, Hurley felt comfortable enough to dial it back. “He definitely has loosened up, I think, in this tournament,’’ says Karaban, who walked out of the national semifinal with eight points, nine rebounds and two assists. “You can just tell he’s more comfortable with us. We earned his trust.’’
Let’s be clear. Calm Hurley is still plenty of people’s version of an erupting volcano. He comes by it naturally and genetically, his father not exactly one to suffer basketball fools. Nor will he ever be confused with Jim Larrañaga, who spends the entire game with his hands in his pockets, looking more like a man debating skim or whole milk than coaching in a national semifinal.
Hurley set up his little raised court stool like a mini office, carefully placing his two NCAA-approved cups underneath it, while laying a paper jotted with plays and notes on top of it — and never once sat down.
It is fair to argue, even, that his excessively chomped gum and hands clasped tightly behind his back absorbed a good bit of his tension. And he had a few outbursts. He screamed, “Run!” when his team opted not to do so in transition, and said with an obvious edge to Calcaterra, ‘’Joey, keep it simple,’’ after Calcaterra nearly committed a turnover. He worked the officials hard, wrapping his arm around Roger Ayers’ neck so tightly at one point, they looked like two bros rolling out of a bar trying to hold each other up. He got the stiff arm from Doug Sirmons, when at the start of a timeout, Hurley headed in Simons’ direction only to be told, “Don’t start with me.’’ He waved his arms frantically on occasion, and at one point yelled almost as if he had a burping spasm, “Heyyyyyy…. free-throw rebound,” pushing his elbows back as if positioning himself for his own make-believe box out.
But it was tame by Hurley standards, the angst never rising to the magnitude of the game. The only real outburst came after Karaban connected on an and-one to bump UConn’s lead back up to 12, 66-54. As the refs blew the whistle, Hurley spun on his dress shoes, fists clenched, arms tensed at his sides and let out a guttural yell, his face temporarily frozen as if he were doubling for Edvard Munch’s “The Scream.” He motioned to the crowd with his hands, asking them to pump up the noise even more.
Four minutes later, his team’s victory secured and his interview with CBS over, Hurley walked halfway across the court, waved to the fans and blew kisses in the direction of his wife, Andrea, before turning to head to the locker room, a smile spread wide across his face.
The picture of Zen, yes, but more a man who knows he has a team he can trust.
(Top photo: Gregory Shamus / Getty Images)
