Riding in a car with an angry Bobby Knight

It was the last play of the game, and I committed a turnover.

How in God’s name did I end up in this situation?

I went to Bob Knight’s camp as a kid - all the way from CT to Bloomington, IN. He spoke on the last day and I was mesmerized by the seeing the famous coach in person.

Some 15 years later, my friend - we’ll call him Steve - tells me Knight is speaking at a local coaches’ clinic run by the legendary Howard Garfinkle. I tell Steve I’m all-in to go and watch.

Here’s where it gets interesting.

Garfinkle gave Steve the distinct responsibility of driving Coach Knight from his hotel to the campus. If Steve carries out this task and gets to know Coach, he might end up with a coaching job somewhere, his life’s dream, courtesy of Knight’s connections. That was the other end of the bargain for Steve.

I helped Steve find a place to stay near Knight’s hotel, so Steve says that once he shows up with Coach Knight at the clinic, he’ll have me come meet the hardwood legend.

Seemed like a good deal to me.

Mind you, this was before Waze and Google Maps. This was when Garmin had just come out; we were still printing MapQuest directions. To prepare, Steve practiced the drive three times. He said he knew it like the back of his hand.

On the big day, I’m sitting in a front row seat in the gym when my phone vibrates. It’s Steve.

“Steve,” I said. “What’s up?” I was excited-nervous, readying myself to meet Coach Knight.

“Mike, where are you?” Steve said.

“I’m in the gym,” I said. A twinge of confusion permeated the call.

“How do you get to the gym?” Steve said.

I hesitated. “Walking or driving?” I asked.

“Driving,” Steve said. I could taste his dry throat, feel his sweaty palms. He was lost.

I stood up and walked to the gym’s exit, my Blackberry on my ear. I pictured Knight riding shotgun, inching closer and closer to one of his well-known breaking points.

“What do you see?” I said to Steve. “Give me a landmark.”

“I took a right at the McDonald’s,” he said. “Now I’m—”

“You kept saying ‘Left at McDonald’s’ last night,” I blurted out, the panic now shared.

Steve didn’t reply with much but a clearing of his throat, a hard swallow.

I saw a campus information booth ahead and told Steve to hang tight. I could hear murmuring in the background, an exchange of grunts between driver and passenger.

As I jogged toward a gigantic map of the area, a rustling sound took over the call. Then, the receiver was clear.

“Hello?” It was the voice from camp.

“Yes,” I said, followed by that moment when your heart slams into your sternum.

“All right, son, this is Coach Knight. We’ve been driving around this f***ing campus for the last 30 f***ing minutes, and no one seems to know where the f*** we’re supposed to be. Hell, I just talked to a security guard who didn’t know his ass from third base! Now, son, do you know where the goddamn gym is?!”

I contemplated playing dead.

“Coach Knight,” I somehow managed. “What street are you on?”

“Every goddamn road is Bayberry. Bayberry North, Bayberry West. How in the hell do I know?” He was near shouting level.

I gathered myself to make a suggestion, still surprised that I hadn’t peed my pants yet. But the suggestion never made its way out of my mouth.

A cell phone rang in the background. Process of elimination told me it was Coach Knight’s phone. He dropped Steve’s phone into his lap without hanging it up.

“Hello?” Knight shouted into his phone at whom I assumed was Garfinkle. “Are we on our way, you ask? Hell, I don’t know. You sent the moron of the year to pick me up. I have his dumb ass friend on the phone, and he doesn’t know s***, either.”

I suddenly spotted Steve’s dark red sedan. I ran over to it, waving my left arm, my right hand still holding my phone to my ear.

Steve unlocked the door behind him, and I jumped in and shut the door.

I immediately looked with amazement at Coach Knight, a big, burly man expecting me to have a solution to this dilemma. Picturing it now, he was so intimidating that I see the back of his neck on the ceiling of the car, his body barely fitting into the seat.

Steve’s hostage-like glare caught my eyes through the rearview mirror.

“Mike, where do we go?” Steve said. I had walked one block at most, but the circumstances - namely, Knight’s slow turn to look into my soul - prohibited speech.

“Uhh,” I managed, “take a right up here.”

Ten seconds later Steve took a right turn up a ramp that I didn’t recognize. Thankfully, it was correct. Garfinkle came running out, waving his arms and shouting. Steve got out of the car, ran around to retrieve Coach’s bag from back seat, only to have Coach Knight rip it from his hands.

Coach looked at us both.

“You two are the dumbest sons of b****es I’ve ever met,” he said with a nod, the period on the end of his sentence.

He walked into the gym shaking his head and exhaling. I looked at Steve, who’s world was coming to an end.

I felt a bit closer to Knight during his speech that day. ‘Close’ as in Hey, there’s the guy who wanted to kill me earlier.

At the clinic’s end, Knight did something that none of us expected. He let Steve drive him back to his hotel.

And when Steve got it right, he ended up as a member of a major basketball staff only a few weeks later.

I’m still waiting to cash in my favor with The General.