Not all exits are made equal. We see it time and again; veteran players losing a step, or veteran coaches watching the game pass them by. The more graceful among them transition easily into other roles, refusing to chase the limelight that had so effortlessly followed them in their prime. Vince Carter, for example, easily assumed the role of a depth piece, spot-up shooter, and font of wisdom for younger teammates in the NBA, even after the march of time had returned him to near-mortal levels of athleticism,
and walked off the court when he decided it was over. Coach Roy Williams did the same, even though his career lasted quite a bit longer after Coach had lost the explosive hops to hang his elbow in the rim. A graceful exit; a well-considered and thoughtful step into that which comes next. It’s all I wish, both for my favorite players and for myself.
This kind of exit, at your own pace and on your own terms, is absolutely to be respected, especially as we turn the page to the other side. This side is the Brett Favres method (prior to the abominable welfare fraud in Mississippi) — a refusal to hang it up when everyone but you can tell it’s over. This is the Wizards and the Hornets with the shell of Michael Jordan. This is when we see members of sporting pantheons take a hammer to their own statues in the vaunted halls.
This is Bell Belichick, head coach of the North Carolina Tar Heels.
The sun rises, even when we would prefer it didn’t, on the coast of Carolina. It’s a beautiful thing, the sky glowing orange with anticipation, welcoming the day before the sun rises dripping from the ocean. I could watch it a hundred times and it could never get old. Like each wave that crashes on the sand beneath it, each sunrise is distinct and wonderful, full of all of the promise of a day to come.
The sun sets, however, on the west coast. After charting its course through the sky, the sun falls as though fumbled into the endzone, splashing into the Pacific and drawing the curtains on another day. There is a finality to a sunset that isn’t present in its more hopeful predecessor; an undeniable sign that the day is done, time marches on, and we’re on to Virginia.
The sun set in Berkeley on Friday night, and by all reports there was no one riding off into it. That’s a shame, to be sure; another embarrassing loss, held up as progress by fans and bloggers that are themselves held up as hostages by the abysmal football being played by the team in light blue.
The sun dawned cold yesterday morning, the chill only tempered by the knowledge that the Tar Heels had already taken their customary loss for the weekend. Nothing has changed in Chapel Hill, and the earth continues to spin around that heavenly body, ever offering another sunrise and another sunset until it burns out.
Perhaps Coach Belichick will be riding off into one of these sunsets sometime soon.
