Michigan State Behind the Scenes
4/16/2001 12:00:00 AM | Men's Basketball
April 16, 2001
Editor's Note: Millions watched the 2001 NCAA basketball tournament. They cheered and booed, maybe even shed a tear when their favorite team won or lost. Few get to see what goes on behind the scenes, preparing for 40 minutes of do-or-die basketball. It started with 65 teams on March 11 - and ended with one on April 2. Associated Press sports writer Larry Lage got a behind-the-scenes look at the reigning national champion Michigan State Spartans, as they fought to defend their title. Here's their story.
By LARRY LAGE, AP Sports Writer
EAST LANSING, Mich., (AP) -
Sunday, March 11, 9 p.m.
No time to celebrate for the defending national champion Spartans. Just a couple hours after learning they earned a No. 1 seed in the NCAA tournament for the third straight season, it's time to get down to work.
Michigan State plays Friday in the South Regional in Memphis, Tenn., against Alabama State. Assistant coach Stan Heath sits at his desk in a windowless office in the Breslin Center with one hand on a VCR remote control and his eyes on a television about five feet away.
He is consumed by players he has never seen, playing for a team he has never watched.
An Alabama State player dribbles the ball up the court, using the front of his jersey to wipe his face.
"I wonder if he's calling a play," Heath says, "or if he's just wiping off sweat."
This is one of the many questions Heath will ask - out loud but often to himself - as he studies opponents.
How and what do they call their plays? What play do they like to run in important situations? Who can shoot? Who can't?
How many Alabama State games do the Spartans have on tape?
"One," Heath says, disappointed.
"We make sure every conference championship game is taped because we never know who we're going to play. Other than that, we're on the phone with coaches we know across the country hoping we can get our hands on more tapes or any information we can find out about Alabama State."
Often, it's who you know, not what you know.
Assistant coach Brian Gregory sees that during the regular season, Alabama State played San Diego State, which is coached by former Michigan coach Steve Fisher and assistant Brian Dutcher.
The old rivals would become friends - if San Diego State would send Michigan State another tape of Alabama State.
Gregory pokes his head into Heath's office.
"Who is going to call Dutcher?" Gregory asks with a smile.
MEMPHIS, Tenn. -
Thursday, March 15, 9:30 p.m.
It's the night before the Alabama State game and sophomore standout Jason Richardson, with a gray New York Yankees hat on backward, has a textbook open and notes sprawled out on a table.
Nearby, freshman Marcus Taylor stares at the screen on a laptop.
Freshman Adam Wolfe already took an exam and mailed it to a professor.
The athletes are still students, after all.
Less than an hour later, they join their teammates for a meeting on the eve of their first round game.
Three Big Ten teams - Indiana, Ohio State and Wisconsin - have been upset during the first day of the tournament.
While those three teams packed their bags to head home, Michigan State's coaches don't want the same thing to happen to the Spartans.
When the Spartans won the national championship in 2000, they talked about the importance of playing every minute like it was their last.
The coaches decided that this team, this year, needs more of a sense of urgency.
"We're focusing on playing good basketball for 2,400 seconds each game," Michigan State coach Tom Izzo says. "You've got to play for every single second."
The players hover over the Alabama State scouting report, which details statistics, strengths and weaknesses of each player and diagrams of the team's plays.
Assistant coach Brian Gregory tries to say everything he can to prevent the Spartans from being upset.
"A lot of coaches across the country were probably saying the same things to their teams last night," Gregory says. "Obviously, some of them were not listening."
The players sit in three straight rows of five behind Izzo, who is seated at a table with a VCR, a projector and a stack of about 20 videotapes of Alabama State.
"There's no doubt you've seen a lot of film on these guys," Izzo says. "And there's no doubt, you're going to see more.
"Think about what we've got to do different than the other guys have done. The second you let down, you're going home."
Friday, March 16, 9:45 p.m.
Twenty-four hours later, the Spartans are victorious.
"One down, five to go!"
"One down, five to go!"
Player after player repeats the mantra in the locker room after Michigan State knocks off Alabama State 69-35.
The Hornets hung close to a sloppy and seemingly uninspired Michigan State team in the first half. The Spartans didn't pull it out until the second half.
Five more wins and they repeat as national champions.
Backslaps, high-fives and hugs are exchanged as loud conversations and laughs fill the room.
Izzo walks in a couple minutes after his players and barks, "Listen up!"
Silence.
"Do you think we played different in the second half?" Izzo asks.
Silence.
"Do you have a feel for why?" he asks, making eye contact with some players.
Silence.
"Were we a little sluggish?"
"A little tired?"
"Yeah," a few players finally whisper.
After discussing other areas of needed improvement, Izzo allows himself to enjoy the moment and shouts, "One down, five to go baby!"
Back at the team's Memphis hotel, 11:30 p.m.
It's bedtime for the players, but not for the coaches.
Next up, Fresno State.
Videotapes of the Bulldog's games are removed from a large, black chest for the coaches to evaluate. Tapes of California, the team Fresno State beat, are left in the chest and will be erased.
In a small meeting room, Gregory stares at a Fresno State game on a huge screen in the dark.
To his right, Heath focuses on another Fresno State game on a 10-inch television.
To Gregory's left, assistant coach Mike Garland does the same as the television reflects off his glasses.
In the back of the room, Izzo's assistant, Dave Owens, uses a $50,000 piece of editing equipment to break down more Fresno State games to show specific players and plays.
Assistant coach Heath is hungry.
He didn't eat with the team at the hotel because he was still watching No. 9 Fresno State finish off California while the Spartans enjoyed steak and ice cream.
He sends a student manager out to find something for him to eat and settles for two, packaged $1.99 sandwiches.
Just before 1 a.m., Gregory's slumps his shoulders and rubs his eyes.
"I've got a headache," he says.
In an adjacent ballroom, Izzo chats with his predecessor, Jud Heathcote. For 12 years, Izzo was one of Heathcote's assistants and he took over when Heathcote retired in 1995.
On Sunday, Michigan State ends Fresno State's season, 81-65.
Now, the Spartans have five days to prepare for a Sweet 16 matchup against Gonzaga.
EAST LANSING, Mich. -
Tuesday, March 20, 9 a.m. Ring. Ring. Ring.
"I'm a friend of Tom's," one voice says on the phone.
"I'm a friend of Tom's," says another.
Secretaries in Michigan State's basketball office answer phones that don't seem to stop ringing.
Stacks of papers and notes overflow on their desks.
Ticket requests. Ticket requests. Ticket requests.
"Would you believe how many `F-O-Ts' there are?" secretary Beth Marinez asks.
And what's an F-O-T?
"Friend of Tom's," she says, referring to Izzo's seemingly endless list of cquaintances. "Some people don't even call asking for one or two tickets. Some are like, `All I need is seven or eight.' It's unbelievable."
Sitting in his office about 50 feet behind the commotion, Izzo looks awful.
Dark circles enclose his eyes. Gray hairs stick out at his temples. He's obviously in need of sleep that he knows he will not get.
Izzo's green leather chair almost engulfs him as his shoulders sink and his usually-emotional face is expressionless.
His secretaries joke that they slap him in the face with water to help him stay awake.
Even the numerous plaques, awards and pictures that line the walls of his large, rectangular office don't make him smile for more than a fleeting second or two.
One minute, he beams with pride when he tells a visitor that he found out freshman Zach Randolph made it to his 8 a.m. class on Monday, after arriving from Memphis only hours earlier.
The next minute, his long list of worries include Richardson's sickness (food poisoning) and whether giving his players Monday off was the best decision.
"This isn't as glamorous as people think," Izzo says.
About five hours later, Izzo finds some energy.
Shoes squeak and nets sing as the Spartans seemingly make shot after shot in practice.
Izzo stalks the court.
He squats. He walks. He talks. He shouts. He points.
Izzo physically leans on sophomore Aloysius Anagonye to show him how to play better defense.
Later he's telling Randolph to get lower in his defensive stance.
"Lower, lower, lower!" Izzo yells.
The next day, they're on a plane to Atlanta for the South Regional semifinals.
ATLANTA -
Thursday, March 22, 8 p.m.
It's the night before Michigan State's Sweet 16 game against Gonzaga and senior Charlie Bell slowly walks into a hotel meeting room.
Five rows of chairs are arranged in straight rows, flanked by tables full of video equipment.
Empty pizza boxes rest on a table to the right. Cans of Diet Cokes and Mountain Dew are always within reach along with assorted juices near the entrance.
"Back to the war room," Bell says.
If coach Izzo doesn't have a can of pop in his right hand, it's probably because a VCR remote control is in it.
Izzo presses play to start showing clips of Gonzaga, projected on a huge screen.
Then he hits pause. Then rewind. Then play. Pause. Rewind. Play.
A laser pointer on the end of the remote is used to highlight players, such as Gonzaga's Dan Dickau and Casey Calvary.
"We will not give up easy baskets," Izzo says as Dickau and Calvary make several uncontested shots. "This looks like they're in a layup drill. That can't happen. If we're going to play like that, we're going home. We won't play like that."
Izzo's voice goes from a quiet monotone to loud and excited. And back again.
Other than Izzo's voice, there is silence. Until he asks questions.
"When they wave over their head, that's what?" Izzo asks.
"Flex," several players mumble.
A Gonzaga player touches his chest.
"What are they looking for here?" Izzo asks again.
"Slip," more players mumble.
Later, the players are sent to their rooms, where they'll watch other tournament games before falling asleep. The coaches continue to work.
Friday, March 23, about 9:45 p.m.
As Michigan State's players jog to their locker room after beating Gonzaga 77-62, they run past Penn State players waiting to take the court for their game against Temple.
Some Spartans stop to bump fists, slap hands and shout words of encouragement in the hallway.
The players that were enemies on the court three times this season, including the Big Ten Tournament game that Penn State won, become allies. If the Nittany Lions win this game, they play the Spartans on Sunday.
"C'mon Big Ten!" several Spartans shout.
"See you Sunday!" others yell.
Laughter and smiles once again create a jubilant atmosphere in the locker room.
Assistant coaches untuck their dress shirts, unbutton top buttons on their shirts and loosen ties.
Izzo walks in, hangs up his sport coat in a locker, and stands before his team with a look of concern.
The laughs and grins disappear.
Like the Spartans' first game, they didn't play well until the second half. Gonzaga led by three with just under 16 minutes left, before Michigan State proved it was too big, athletic and talented.
"What happened in the first half?" Izzo asks.
Silence.
"C'mon, we've been through a lot of wars together, talk to me," Izzo pleads. "We looked so slow out there. Were we tired?"
Izzo sighs as he looks around the room, waiting for answers from the quiet group.
"We need to play with a sense of urgency," senior Andre Hutson says quietly.
Izzo agrees.
"How are we going to come out with a sense of urgency from the start?" he asks, before giving another pep-talk.
"OK, it's over. But we have to ask ourselves: `Why did we do that?' It was mental, because it certainly wasn't physical. We battle like warriors. You're mentally tougher than that.
"We're going to get to the Final Four because there's no stopping us. We're going to play with a sense of urgency. We're going to eat with a sense of urgency. We're going to do everything with a sense of urgency."
He then calls the group together for their traditional huddle, with all of their index fingers on their right hands pointing to the ceiling.
"1, 2, 3!" Bell shouts.
"Champs!" they all shout.
Back at the team's Atlanta hotel, 11:30 p.m.
The win over Gonzaga ensures at least one more long night of work for Michigan State's coaches. Big Ten rival Penn State couldn't pull out a win against Temple, which means the Spartans have to face the Owls on Sunday for the first time in two years.
"This is going to be a night to remember," Izzo grumbles. "Any Mountain Dew in here? I need whatever has the most caffeine known to man."
Izzo and his staff need the stimulant like a college student needs it while cramming for a final exam.
The night doesn't end for them when the players are sent to bed just after midnight.
The coaches laugh and smile more in the next three hours than they have in weeks.
"Did you really say we played like wimps on TV?" assistant coach Gregory asks Izzo.
"Yeah," Izzo replies.
Izzo's eyes then light up as he recalls a conversation with Hutson from earlier in the night.
When Hutson was getting treatment for his sore shoulder after beating Gonzaga, he heard Temple coach John Chaney screaming at his players through a thin wall during halftime, despite the fact that the Owls were up 19 on Penn State.
"Andre said, `You, are a piece of cake,'" Izzo says with a grin.
At 1:16 a.m., former coach Heathcote walks in and breaks up the chore of analyzing Temple.
"Relax guys, the coach is here," Heathcote jokes.
Fifteen minutes later, Izzo is ready for another post-game chat with his mentor.
"Let me see you a minute, coach," Izzo says as he walks out the door.
About 2 a.m., three CBS employees, including analyst Bill Raftery, provide a welcome interruption to their post-game meeting.
While the group sits in chairs in an elevator lobby, basketball stories are told and jokes are shared.
Izzo loosens his neck and leg muscles while he laughs, allowing himself to enjoy the moment.
But he dismisses himself from the group about 40 minutes later and joins his assistants for more film study.
"You almost took all the Mountain Dew," Izzo says as walks through the door.
Just after 3:30 a.m, Izzo coughs and his shoulders shake.
"I'm going to die," he says.
At 4 a.m., they finally decide to rest their eyes for a few hours.
Sunday, March 25, 5 p.m.
The players rush into the locker room after Michigan State tops Temple 69-62 in the South Regional final in Atlanta.
Jason Richardson bends his knees, tucks his right shoulder under Mat Ishbia's stomach and lifts up the walk-on like a sack of potatoes and screams, "Yeah! Yeah baby!"
Once the Spartan standout puts Ishbia back on the ground, after dancing with him on his shoulders around the locker room, he heads over to a table filled with water bottles.
With one in each hand, Richardson tried to make sure everybody in the locker room gets a taste.
The Spartans are on their way to a third straight trip to the Final Four.
Tom Izzo walks through the door, with a slight grin masking tired eyes.
"I'd love to get wet," he says, "but I've got interviews to do."
As Izzo finishes the sentence, Richardson takes one cup of water, dumps it over Izzo's head and tosses a second cup onto his face.
Izzo grabs a towel to wipe his weary face and to dry his water-soaked back.
The Spartans sit in folding chairs - three half-circles in front of their coach - still smiling, laughing and hollering, not realizing how they have emotionally moved their coach.
Three assistant coaches and a handful of other university employees stand silently around the edges of the locker room.
Izzo puts the towel around his neck, grabs it at both ends.
"Listen up."
With a white button-down shirt clinging to his torso, tousled hair and a choked-up voice, Izzo delivers a 4:28 speech to his players.
Looking as if emotions and tears would interrupt him, Izzo stares at the floor as he paces in front of a dry-erase board.
"I thought last year was something special," Izzo says. "But after the way we pushed, pulled, prodded, rallied and handled adversity and pressure, I can't tell you how pleased I am. We are not going to forget this experience. This is a time to be happy. There are not many times that I can look out at a group like this and be so proud.
"I'll never forget what Charlie Bell's mother said to me once, `All Charlie wants to do is please you.' Well, there's a lot of guys that wanted to please a lot of people in this room. For that, I am eternally grateful. We have something special here. Your legacy will be remembered as long as I coach."
As Izzo pauses to collect his thoughts, Hutson says, "You might have to call us a dynasty, coach."
After a few chuckles, Izzo continues.
"I'll put `dynasty' on there after we finish our job next week."
Izzo resumes pacing.
"We're going to remember this for the rest of our lives. But I want to tell you, we're not done yet," he says, complimenting each player individually. "They can talk about whomever they want at the university, but your names will be remembered. I appreciated what you've done. I want you to remember that.
"You can start talking about our program being special because I'm ready to admit that we have done something special. But make sure they know we're not done yet, right?"
The players respond, in unison: "Right."
Izzo pauses again, but keeps pacing and eventually starts talking quietly again.
"This hit me a little different than last year and I want you to know that and remember that," he says. "Put this moment in the back of your head. No matter what happens the rest of your life, no one can take this moment from you. You're only going to know it when you come back. But I'm going to make sure that we still have some games to play and some winning to do."
Izzo calls the group together for a huddle.
As each player raises his right hand and points his index finger toward the ceiling in a sea of hands, Bell says, "1, 2, 3." and the Spartans shout: "Champs!"
Five days until Minneapolis and the Final Four.
MINNEAPOLIS -
Friday, March 30, 9:30 a.m.
In yet another team hotel in yet another city, the back legs of coach Izzo's chair are about six inches off the ground as he leans forward and taps his right foot.
A remote rests in his right hand and his left hand holds up his chin.
On a huge screen, a tape of last year's Michigan State-Arizona game is playing.
The Spartans lost that one, and Izzo wants his players to see that they still had a chance to win, despite playing a poor game.
"This time, we've gotta be tougher, more aggressive and more hungry than they are," Izzo says.
On the scouting report, "We're Not Done Yet," is printed in bold letters along with "Never being satisfied brings greatness."
Motivational thoughts and messages are typed on the cover sheets of all the scouting reports.
"You have set this program apart from all others because as individuals and as a team you have never been satisfied," the scouting report reads. "There was always another game to win, another championship to take and another record to break. ... Getting here is great. Winning here is what you are all about."
After 10 minutes of watching film, the players head to Capitol Ballroom C.
Five round tables, an empty buffet and an ornate chandelier are on one side. In a room fit for wedding receptions, student managers have created a makeshift court with masking tape.
A baseline, free throw lane and 3-point line help prepare the players for the game.
The "court" allows the Spartans to practice the particular defensive schemes and offensive sets they're going to use.
The Spartans prepare for Arizona's out-of-bounds plays called, "Iowa," "X1" and "2" and offensive sets such as "Rice" and "X2."
Richardson jogs on the carpeted floor in flip flops, shorts and T-shirt.
Izzo paces the baseline like he's at the Breslin Center.
"What are you doing on the lob play?" Izzo asks Richardson.
"X-ing out," he replies.
"Good. Good," Izzo says.
After another huddle that finishes with the team shouting "Champs!" the players are dismissed at 10:30 p.m.
As about 100 Michigan State fans party in a bar on the lobby level of the hotel, Izzo walks with assistant coach Gregory just one floor above.
"I'm a little nervous," he admits, oblivious to the partying going on around him.
Saturday, March 30
It doesn't take long for Izzo's worries to be validated.
Arizona is good. Really good.
The Spartans play poorly in the first half, but trail by just two points.
They play even worse in the second half and the Wildcats make them pay for it.
This is not Alabama State or Gonzaga.
As Izzo stomps his feet and runs his fingers through his hair, his players who have been quiet all season are still silent.
They don't get together for on-the-court huddles. Nobody appears to say, "Keep your head up, we can come back!"
The game is slipping away from them and they are unable to do much about it.
When Richardson soars for an alley-oop pass, as he had done numerous times before, the ball slips through his hands and bounces toward the band.
All Izzo could do is bury his face in his hands.
After a 19-point loss, he says his team picked the worst time to play their worst game.
In the locker room afterward, silence - except for Izzo.
Izzo spoke to his players in a conversational tone, never once raising his voice, according to Michigan State sports information director John Lewandowski.
"I want to apologize to you guys because I don't know what happened today. It started from the beginning of the game and never changed. We didn't play in any way, shape or form like we're capable of playing.
"Maybe you guys were tired. You must find a way not to let today ruin this year. ...
"I wish I could give you seniors one more chance to play because you guys have done a lot for college basketball. You guys have been first class all of the way. I'm proud of the way you guys have conducted yourselves, both on and off the court."