In 1977, UNC was the favorite in the national championship game vs. Marquette. Dean Smith was fresh off of the 1976 Olympics and a gold medal.
On the other bench was Al McGuire, a guy who ran on naked emotion. Unlike Smith he wasn’t particularly organized and often seemed impulsive.
It was true to an extent, but McGuire was a fascinating figure. He was a coach but had the soul of a poet. And he expressed himself like no one else in the game. He spoke with flamboyance, a poet with a touch of PT Barnum. He might leave practice to his assistants, get on his Harley and stop to hang out with some hippies at a park.
You just never knew. McGuire was highly unpredictable.
In December of 1976, he announced his plans to retire and move into business, an odd choice for a guy who followed his instincts even if it seemed baffling at times.
So when he got his team to the NCAA finals, it was a big deal. And when Marquette was closing UNC out, as you’ll see, McGuire started crying on the bench. People tried to comfort him but he waved them off.
After the game he said going out like that in his last game was “seashells and balloons.”
He lasted less than a year with Medalist Industries. It’s hard to believe that he thought he could live a corporate life.
He soon took a job with NBC which paired him with earnest straight men Billy Packer and Dick Enberg.
As usual, McGuire was the grenade. Enberg was the ultimate pro. Packer was knowledgeable and superbly prepared but dull as a broadcaster.
McGuire added an element of unpredictability. During one game he denounced short selling stocks as “unAmerican.” He might rub Packer or Enberg on the head to muss their hair. During one trip to Duke he delighted the Cameron Crazies by coming out dressed as a Lion tamer, complete with a pith helmet, a chair and a whip. “Get back you animals. Get back!”
They loved it. And they loved him.
He would fumble to remember the names of players and in a general sense was lousy at his job. Certainly he wasn’t going to work hard like that grind Packer.
Didn’t matter.
His personality was so engaging, his understanding of the game so keen and his sense of humor so sharp that no one cared. And his chemistry with the stuffier Packer and Enberg, and his ability to puncture their pomposity, made for brilliant television.
McGuire died in 2001 after a long battle with leukemia. He was a huge loss, obviously to the game, but also to American culture. He was free in a way that most of us can only dream of.