The Top Five Reasons NOT to Buy My Book

Let’s face it. We’re all inundated these days—with political propaganda, fast food coupons, and suspicious texts warning that your bank account’s been compromised. So when a washed-up orthodontist-turned-sportswriter announces his eighth book, your first instinct might be to mutter “bless his heart,” roll your eyes, and scroll on by.

But before you do, allow me—with all the humility I can muster—to present:

The Top Five Reasons NOT to Buy My New Book, Whining for Posterity: Life, Sports, and Other Things Worth Complaining About

Reason #5: You’ve Already Heard It All Before

Fair. At least the five people outside my immediate family who’ve read all my blogs, chuckled at my columns, and survived a few of my Facebook rants might think so. You know who you are.

You’re thinking, “I don’t need a bound compilation of recycled material cluttering up my coffee table.”

Touché. But this is the director’s cut. Whining for Posterity includes never-before-seen edits, timely updates, and slightly embarrassing bonus reflections by yours truly—organized into tidy little categories like “Life,” “Love,” “Politics,” “Religion,” “Travel,” and “Sports.”

Skip the spiritual stuff. Go straight to the football whining if that’s your thing. I won’t be offended.

Reason #4: You Don’t Like Complaining

Neither do I. That’s why I wrote a whole book about it.

Let me clarify: this isn’t just me griping about the Bengals’ play-calling or America’s healthcare system. It’s an honest, often humorous, occasionally heartfelt look at the little frustrations of life—and the big lessons hiding behind them.

Think of it as therapy, but with fewer co-pays and more Rick Pitino references.

Reason #3: You’re Holding Out for the Movie

Ah yes, the inevitable blockbuster. Picture it: Jackie Chan as me, Meryl Streep as my long-suffering editor, and John Calipari making a surprise cameo as himself.

Sadly, Hollywood hasn’t called. Yet.

So for now, your only option is to read the book. Don’t worry—it’s got plot twists, emotional payoffs, and enough laugh-out-loud moments to keep even the most distracted reader engaged. There’s something in it for everyone.

Best of all? It’s cheaper than a bucket of overpriced movie popcorn.

Reason #2: You Think I’m Just Trying to Make a Buck

Please. I’m a writer. If I wanted to make money, I’d still be straightening teeth.

Truth is, I’m donating all the proceeds from this book to charity. Not because I’m a saint—but because YOU are. Plus, I’d rather give the money away than explain to the IRS why I spent it all on road trips with the Wildcats.

So when you buy Whining for Posterity, you’re not just supporting me. You’re supporting a good cause—and giving yourself (or someone you’re regifting it to) a few laughs, a few tears, and maybe even a fresh perspective on this maddening miracle we call life.

Reason #1: You’d Rather Read John Grisham

Who wouldn’t? I’m no John Grisham.

But here’s the truth: Whining for Posterity isn’t a legal thriller. Nor is it just a collection of gripes and giggles. It’s a scrapbook of moments—some hilarious, some heartfelt—that remind us what really matters. Relationships. Family. Faith. Our dogs. The everyday absurdities that make life worth living.

At some point, we all start thinking about what we’re leaving behind. Not money or monuments, but memories, stories, and maybe a few lessons others can carry forward.

This book is my way of doing that. A little piece of my voice—whiny as it is—preserved for whoever wants to listen.

So no, you don’t have to read it. But if you do, I hope it makes you think a little more about your own legacy—the one you’re writing every day, whether you realize it or not.

Because whining, at its core, is just love in disguise. A love that refuses to let life pass by unnoticed.

So there you have it. Five completely legitimate, totally reasonable, utterly unconvincing reasons not to buy my book.

But if, despite all that, you feel compelled to grab a copy of Whining for Posterity, I won’t stop you. In fact, I’m thanking you now in advance. Flag me down and I’ll sign it for you—maybe even buy you lunch, or at the very least, offer a heartfelt “bless your heart.”

Whining for Posterity—available now on Amazon and wherever books silently judge you from your nightstand. Click here to purchase. https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FDLCGR1P

#WhiningForPosterity
#BuyItAnyway
#ComplainingWithPurpose

YMCA Blues: He is Risen—And So Is My Blood Pressure

Young man, there’s no need to feel down
I said, young man, pick yourself off the ground
I said, young man, ’cause you’re in a new town
There’s no need to be unhappy

With all due respect to the Village People, I am by no means a young man—but I’ve nevertheless fallen head over heels for my local Y.M.C.A. These days, I’m practically living at the Beaumont branch. Now that I’m retired and officially in the Medicare club, I get free membership with my supplement plan. And boy, have I been milking that perk for all it’s worth.

On most weekday mornings, you’ll find me at the “Y” for a solid three hours. I’ve got my routine down pat—40 minutes of cardio on the treadmill or elliptical, a 50-minute weight training class, and then an hour of stretching and mobility work through either Mat Pilates or Yoga. And you wonder why I can eat like a horse and not gain an ounce. Truth be told, I’m leaner, meaner, and more flexible than ever. For the first time in my life, I can touch my toes without bending my knees. Woohoo!

In addition to all the physical benefits, I’ve also come to enjoy the social interactions that come with my membership privileges. The Beaumont staff are always super friendly, and there’s definitely something uplifting when engaging with fellow like-minded retirees who prioritize their health.

After having said all that, there is one teeny-tiny beef I have with the Y. Actually, it’s not so itsy-bitsy in my mind. Honestly, it’s a HUGE, GARGANTUAN beef. It drives me so crazy that I’m in the midst of a one-man crusade. At the minimum, the perpetrators should be sentenced to an eternity of endless burpees or sent to a silent yoga retreat in Siberia. Just thinking about their egregious offenses has sent my blood pressure soaring.

By now you’re undoubtedly thinking, I’ve got some serious issues—but here’s my complaint: Too many idiots are breaking the Y’s noise regulations.

Let me explain. Displayed prominently throughout the facility are the YMCA’s fitness floor behavioral guidelines.

Guideline No. 4: Please use courteous phone etiquette by refraining from loud phone conversations. Avoid using your cell phone while on equipment or resting on the machine between sets.

Guideline No. 6: Please use earbuds or headphones when listening to personal music devices.

Seems simple enough, right?

And yet, every single day I bear witness to the same recurring crimes against humanity: Loud phone calls about drama at work. YouTube videos blaring at 120 decibels. Full-blown coffee shop conversations between neighbors on side-by-side treadmills. Huffing, puffing, coughing, grunting—all of it flooding across the floor like a bad case of uncontrolled diarrhea.

Okay, I know it’s totally irrational for me to go apesh*t when I see someone committing blatant violations. I understand that they’re just guidelines. But for whatever reason, I just can’t restrain myself.

Look, I enjoy a warm hello and the occasional life update as much as the next guy. If it’s been a while since we’ve connected, by all means, tell me about your grandkids or your latest trip to Palm Springs. I don’t even mind updates regarding your most recent hip replacement. But let’s not turn a public gym into your personal podcast studio. I’m not your therapist or your captive audience. I’m trying to meditate, to breathe, to recite God’s word and memorize Scripture.

The treadmill, for me, is holy ground. Not only am I cruising in my target heart rate zone, but I’m also fine tuning my mind. I can’t focus and concentrate if you’re shamelessly regurgitating out loud.

Hey, I get the irony. Not very Christian of me, you say. I don’t care. Rules are rules! NO TALKING! OBEY OR GET OUT!

I know, I know—ranting about cell phone etiquette hardly seems like the path to holiness. But even in the gym, spiritual discipline matters. And wouldn’t you know it, the Bible has a few things to say about loud mouths and loose lips:

“Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.” –James 1:19-20

“When words are many, transgression is not lacking, but whoever restrains his lips is prudent.” –Proverbs 10:19

“But no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison.” –James 3:8

“Whoever guards his mouth preserves his life: he who opens wide his lips comes to ruin.” –Proverbs 13:3

“The words of the wise heard in quiet are better than the shouting of a ruler among fools.” –Ecclesiastes 9:17

Okay, I feel better now. I’m good.

So, this Easter, whether you’re in church or at the gym, may your spirit be renewed, your phone silenced, and your neighbor blessedly quiet. He is risen—hallelujah! Now please, for the love of all things holy…

Stop talking on the treadmill.

Happy Easter.

Dr. John Huang is a retired orthodontist, military veteran, and award-winning author. Currently serving as a columnist for Nolan Group Media, he invites readers to follow him on social media @KYHuangs. Explore his debut novel— “Name, Image, and Murder”—and all his books at https://www.Amazon.com/stores/Dr.-John-Huang/author/B092RKJBRD

Name, Image, and Murder

Have you ever been so engrossed in a book that the world around you fades away? For me, that’s the magic of reading fiction, especially action thrillers.

Transporting myself into a make-believe world through the pages of a good book relaxes and comforts me to no end. Whether it’s espionage, crime, horror, legal drama, or romance, if there’s action and intrigue, I’m all in.

Early on, Frederick Forsyth and Dean Koontz captured my imagination. Now, I find myself gravitating more toward the likes of Michael Connelly, David Baldacci, Daniel Silva, Harlan Coben, and Lee Child. Of course, I’ve hungrily devoured all of John Grisham’s works and still marvel at Greg Iles’ versatility. Inspired by their talent and success, I dared to dream of following in their footsteps.

Today, I’m happy to announce that my dream has come true. I’ve entered the sacred realm with my debut novel, “Name, Image, and Murder—The Court of No Return.”

In the hallowed halls of Praise The Lord University (PTLU), where the fervor of basketball and the sanctity of religious values intersect, a murder rocks the foundation of an institution seeking fame, glory, and salvation. “Name, Image, and Murder” peels back the layers of this captivating mystery, uncovering a tale of deception, ambition, and the high-stakes game played in the shadows of divine judgement.

At the heart of the story is the grisly demise of Coach William Gallucci, the larger-than-life figurehead of PTLU’s burgeoning basketball dynasty. His lifeless body, a canvas of violence, lies at the epicenter of a meticulously crafted narrative that intertwines the new-world order of college sports with the hypocrisy pouring forth from our religious institutions.

As seasoned, enigmatic, and sharp-tongued sports reporter Kyle Sexton unravels the threads of the murder, he discovers a web of scandal, betrayal, and the relentless pursuit of glory that transcends the boundaries of the game we love.

Intrigued yet?

I hope so because “Name, Image, and Murder” examines the collision between religion and sports—two areas in which I’m well familiar. At its core, the book is a riveting mystery thriller that explores the darkest corners of ambition, the consequences of unchecked power, and the ultimate price of salvation. Blending suspense, satire, and social commentary, it captivates from the first page to the explosive climax, challenging perceptions of fame, faith, and the often-tumultuous intersection between the two.

We’re all a product of our life experiences, so you might recognize personalities from my personal journey in the cast of compelling characters. In fact, you might even see yourself. Just remember, though, before you start making assumptions and casting aspersions my way—it’s all fiction, all make-believe, a product of both our overactive imaginations.

That’s part of what makes the book such a fun read. You don’t have to be a Kentucky fan, or even a sports fan to enjoy the ride. Just ask my daughter Katie—a much more accomplished author than me—who, after meticulously combing through the manuscript, gave her enthusiastic stamp of approval to her dear old dad.

My previous six books were non-fiction https://www.Amazon.com/stores/Dr.-John-Huang/author/B092RKJBRD , and I always envied the long lines of readers visiting fiction writers at book festivals. I told myself on those occasions, “I want what they’re having.” Now, here’s my chance.

I need your help to make “Name, Image, and Murder” a rousing success. Start by getting your copy here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D76DGW6T.

Then, if you enjoy it, please leave a review, share it with friends, and join the conversation using #NameImageAndMurder. Let’s make this journey together by spreading the good word.

If you don’t enjoy it, I want to know why. Writing fiction is a completely new experience for me, and I want to get better at each step of the way. Katie tells me I need to brace for criticism. I’m ready for it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Happy reading!

A Walk in the Woods

Left to right: me, Beau, Trent, Mike (kneeling), Billy, and Andy in front of Charit Creek Lodge.

This blog posting is based on a recent real-life event. The names have been changed to protect me from the wrath of my friends.

Throughout my entire life, I’ve had a love-hate relationship with nature. On one hand, I love being outdoors, traveling the world, and gazing at the marvelous wonders of God’s creation. On the other hand, I’ve always hated up-close encounters with mosquitos, poison ivy, and the occasional venomous snake.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m no pansy, no stranger to sleeping on hard ground. As kids, our family camped in a tent all the time. We spent many a weekends and summer vacations “roughing it” at the various state and national parks. On top of that, nearly ten years in the military hardened me to the rigors of outdoor latrines, forced road marches, and barely palatable meals out of a pouch.

Even now, I still don’t mind at all carrying a heavy pack and eating beef jerky during the course of an arduous hike up a mountain. But at the end of the day, I’d much prefer retiring to a big bowl of lobster bisque, a pulsating hot shower, and some smooth satin sheets at your neighborhood Embassy Suites—if you know what I mean.

So, you can understand my hesitancy in signing up for an overnight stay at the Charit Creek Lodge in northern Tennessee. The Embassy Suites it’s not. Like many other accommodations run by the National Parks Service, it’s a mere couple of bunk-bed cabins in an isolated clearing out in the middle of nowhere. You have to hike in from a designated trailhead, there’s no electricity, internet, or cell service on site, and many hungry bears supposedly roam the surrounding trails toiling for food.

There are eight of us preparing for this sojourn for the soul, mostly acquaintances from church looking to reconnect with each other and disconnect from life’s stresses for a mere couple of days. Shortly before we embark, however, two guys drop out due to sore back issues, making me question whether my bad bout with plantar fasciitis should make me pull the plug as well.

Despite my lingering reticence, I decide to go for it and head out on the three-hour drive to the remote vantage point along the Big South Fork of the Cumberland River. My five other fellow hikers arrive shortly thereafter, locked and loaded and raring to go.

*John, Andy, Mike, Beau, Trent, and Billy*

Mike, our fearless leader and trip organizer, is the antithesis of myself. He loves being out in the elements more than life itself. Don’t be fooled by his calm and disarming grandfatherly appearance. Inside, he’s as energetic as an ambitious young Sherpa, looking to summit the next Mount Everest in the blink of an eye.

We all fall in step onto the meandering forest path. Beau, an accomplished trail runner, leads the way. He could cover this ground in no time flat but takes pity on the rest of us huffing through the dense forest foliage. Fortunately, Beau gives us plenty of rest breaks as we admire the towering rock cliffs and rhododendron blooms engulfing our senses.

Speaking of senses, I fall in behind Billy, who’ll talk your ear off. At seventy-eight years young, he’s still going strong—hiking these trails while guys half his age relax on the couch and suck air. You talk about the ultimate flex. And I thought I was keeping myself in relatively decent shape. Go ahead, Billy, kick sand in my face.

Andy and Trent complete the ranks. Every group like ours needs an Andy—an experienced paramedic at your beck and call who’s ready to treat the inevitable twisted ankle or surprise bee sting anaphylaxis with equal aplomb. Our group is blessed also with somebody like Trent—agreeable and amenable and SO DARN NICE. If you can’t get along with Trent, you’ve got a big problem.

We arrive at the lodge in plenty of time for dinner. Gary, our host, runs an impressive one-man show. This evening, he’s the concierge, housekeeper, and chef all rolled into one. And boy, can he cook. I was expecting spam and celery sticks. Instead, we get roasted pork tenderloin, a scrumptious bean casserole, macaroni and cheese baked with love, and biscuits to die for. Throw in some chocolate cake for dessert, and we’re definitely in culinary heaven.

What’s more, I find out that Charit Creek Lodge has running water—hot showers and flush toilets included in the nightly rate. HALLELUJAH! That indoor toilet seat never felt so comfortable. Now, just find me a way to snuff out snoring from my bunkmates, and I’ll check out a very happy man.

Honestly though, as great as the scenery, food, and accommodations were on this trip, the best part about this awesome experience was the fellowship involved. There’s something to be said about camaraderie and esprit de corps—especially among a group of such godly and spiritual men friends in such an austere and natural setting. Sitting in those rocking chairs on our moonlit cabin porch, we had some insightful and brutally honest discussions regarding our faults, our failings, and surviving some rather horrific life’s challenges.

But through it all, God also showered us with wisdom, humility and compassion toward each other. As iron sharpens iron, we also sharpened one another with our stories of survival and triumph. Our Lord reminded us that although the gate to eternal life remains narrow, many great saints have already blazed a wide path for those of us who wish to follow through together. It’s a distinct honor and privilege for us to plod on through.

After some gully-washing thunderstorms and a hike to the magnificent twin arches the next day, I headed back to civilization with a sense of renewal and encouragement. I guarantee you all six of my brothers did likewise. We all understood how we’d just been enormously blessed.

If you’re considering a similar type of “retreat-type” experience in the near future, don’t hesitate to hold it at the Charit Creek Lodge http://www.ccl-bsf.com/. Mosquitos, thunderstorms, snoring bunkmates—and bad feet—be damned, a walk in the woods always works wonders for your soul.

Dr. John Huang is a retired orthodontist, military veteran, and award-winning author. He currently serves as a freelance reporter and sports columnist. He is the author/coauthor of four books, Cut To The Chase, Kentucky Passion, From The Rafters Of Rupp, and Serving Up Winners. You can follow him on Twitter @KYHuangs.

Serving Up Winners

I once asked Larry Vaught, the esteemed and well-respected Kentucky sportswriter, why he didn’t write books for a living. After all, he’s supremely gifted, survived multiple media wars, and has enough golden stories stockpiled in his memory arsenal to fill Fort Knox.

“Too much work,” he replied dismissively. “I live a good life. Why ruin it?”

Larry was absolutely right. If you want to dive head first into a project that will eat up your valuable time, drive you batty in the process, and provide pennies on the dollar in royalty returns, then writing a book is right up your alley. In other words, DON’T DO IT…unless…

Unless you have a story to tell.

I’ve always loved tennis. I was quick on my feet and could endlessly run that baseline. What I lacked in true skill and athleticism, I more than made up with interest and enthusiasm. I was so dedicated to that fuzzy yellow ball that one summer I even received a free t-shirt as champion of the intermediate division of my Shillito Park recreation league. I was your proverbial student of the game and followed its stars with unbridled passion.

So, imagine my surprise when the great Coach Dennis Emery approached me to collaborate on his upcoming book project. Realizing that this was the great Dennis Emery—the winningest tennis coach in University of Kentucky history and one of the most decorated coaches in the collegiate game—I jumped at the chance.

Here was a Hall of Fame inductee with six hundred and fifty-five head coaching career wins, twenty-three NCAA tournament appearances, and three SEC championships teaching me intricacies about the game I loved and telling me stories about the greats I idolized.

Here was a legend who had coached thirty-nine All-Americans, three of whom advanced to the NCAA tournament singles final. Talk about living the dream. As John McEnroe once famously said, “You cannot be serious!”

What resulted is a book that both of us are extremely proud of. It’s first and foremost a labor of love. It’s a legacy book where Coach Emery wanted to share his tennis experience with other up-and-coming coaches looking to develop players and build their teams. As the youngest full-time head coach in the history of college tennis, he took a dormant program with no facilities and built it into a national juggernaut.

“Coach Emery transformed the University of Kentucky’s men’s tennis program into one that is a perennial power and competes at the highest level annually,” Kentucky head basketball coach John Calipari wrote in the book’s foreword. “And the greatest testament to him and what he built? It has sustained success even with him no longer at the helm.”

If you hadn’t noticed, Kentucky Tennis remains a highly ranked program and still competes regularly for conference and national titles. And yet, it consistently flies under the radar. Given its accomplishments on the court, it’s arguably the most under-appreciated athletic program on the Wildcat campus. Not surprisingly then, there is little recorded about the star players of the past and their epic achievements. Anyone looking into the program’s history will soon discover that there’s simply no place to dig.

“It dies with me,” Coach Emery sadly lamented when I shared that reality with him.

No it doesn’t, Coach. Let’s preserve it right here. Let’s share it with the rest of the world.

BOY, DO WE HAVE A STORY TO TELL!

Click here to purchase your copy https://www.amazon.com/Serving-Up-Winners-Building-Program/dp/B0BYRDRKWF

Dr. John Huang is a retired orthodontist, military veteran, and award-winning author. He currently serves as a freelance reporter and sports columnist. He is the author/coauthor of three other books, CUT TO THE CHASE, KENTUCKY PASSION, and FROM THE RAFTERS OF RUPP. You can contact him at www.Huangswhinings.com or follow him on Twitter @KYHuangs.

Heartbreak At “The Grove”

I traveled down to Mississippi with my good friend and media colleague, Lonny Demaree (right). The Ole Miss fan in between us gave us a personal tour of “The Grove.” The people tailgating were super friendly. Unfortunately, there were just way too many of them.

(OXFORD, Ms.) – When Kentucky first released its current 2022 football schedule, there was one road game I circled immediately. Ever since I started this media gig, a trip to Ole Miss remained at the top of my bucket list of SEC venues to visit. Not only had I never been to Oxford, but stories I heard of tailgating in The Grove were legendary in my mind.

Described frequently as the “Holy Grail of tailgating sites,” The Grove takes on a life of its own during Ole Miss football Saturdays. Geographically speaking, it’s located right in the center of a picturesque college campus and consists of stately oak, elm, and magnolia trees providing the perfect mixture of ambience and shade. What really distinguishes it from any other park-like setting, however, is the massive mix of partygoers and football fanatics reveling within its boundaries on gameday.

When I first walked through the maze of tents, TVs, and tailgaters three hours before kickoff, I was a bit taken aback. I immediately sensed that this place was out of control. Because in my mind, I somehow pictured ornate canopies in spacious meadows filled with aristocratic gentlemen and southern belles. Everyone’s dressed to the nines with unlimited access to their favorite food and drink (think Picnic with the Pops on steroids).

Instead, I was greeted by a virtual madhouse of sweaty football humanity. Frat boys, slick donors, soccer moms, average Joes, grandmas, former jocks, and current drunks all crammed shoulder to shoulder under an assortment of cover you might find in the various tent cities of worldwide refugee camps. It’s only 8:00 a.m., and the area is already so jam packed that there’s no room to walk, turn around, or breathe. Fifty feet into the morass, and I had seen enough.

Life in the press box at Vaught-Hemingway Stadium turned out to be just as unpleasant. With their heartbreaking 22 – 19 defeat at the hands of their Rebel hosts, the Wildcats once again snatched defeat from the jaws of victory.

What was maddingly frustrating for the 12 – 15,000 Big Blue faithful who made the trip down South was that despite the inopportune red zone fumbles, the lack of protection by the O-line, and the kicking game meltdowns, Kentucky still had a chance to win the game at the end. Sure, Barion Brown’s 245 all-purpose yards, Chris Rodriguez’s return to action, and the defense making some critical stops are continued causes for future optimism. But make no mistake—this loss hurts. It hurts really bad.

Many say to rejoice and be glad because Kentucky had never been ranked this high (No. 7 in the nation) before. I say cry and lament because it’s an opportunity squandered as the Wildcats may never find themselves in this lofty position again.

But I’m here primarily to report on the tailgating, so immediately upon hearing the final horn, I hightail it back over to The Grove to meet a few of my friends who have traveled down from Kentucky. It’s a miracle I’m even able to hook up with them amidst the exuberant masses pouring forth from the stadium exits.

We finally settle into our pre-purchased spot at The Grove, our feet navigating the mound of dry dirt and dirty straw masquerading as the plush carpet of green grass I had previously imagined in my dreams. As reality hit, I realized there would be no chandeliers nor champagne, no caviar nor Cuban cigars. Maybe I was still sulking from the Ole Miss beatdown, but to be honest, The Grove was ridiculously overrated. The tailgating around the bucolic rolling hills surrounding Kroger Field—with plenty of room for cornhole and tossing footballs—was far better in my mind.

Then suddenly, I noticed a subtle change in my mood. As I chatted with my friends and they introduced me to their friends, I discovered that the thoughts of despair surrounding Kentucky’s loss magically dissipated. This was exactly what the doctor ordered. No longer was I lamenting “what could have been.” Now I was savoring the moment—good times with good people, good food, and good conversations. The final score no longer mattered. Enjoying the journey is what ultimately counts.

Here’s what I learned on my trip to Oxford. When experiencing The Grove, it’s not about the fancy tents, or the majestic oaks, or the renowned party atmosphere. It’s more about the company you keep. Seriously, you can have a fabulous time tailgating under an asphalt bridge. Just make sure it’s with people you like and care about.

For that reason, I hereby anoint Kroger Field as “the mecca of tailgating sites.” I’ve been to the “holy grail.” Trust me, Kentucky Football tailgating is as good as it gets.

Dr. John Huang covers professional sports for Sports View America. He’s also a columnist for Nolan Group Media and serves as editor-in-chief of JustTheCats.com. Check out his latest Kentucky Basketball book, KENTUCKY PASSION, at https://www.amazon.com/Kentucky-Passion-Wildcat-Wisdom-Inspiration/dp/1684351669 . If you enjoy his coverage, you can follow him on Twitter @KYHuangs.

Books and Pizza

Two of my favorite life activities are writing books and eating pizza. Whenever I combine the two passions, it makes for one glorious day. Occasionally, my joy overflows and I feel compelled to share. Sunday was one of those times.

It’s Palm Sunday, and I’m headed out riding—not on my ass—but in my trusty white convertible. The temperature’s not quite warm enough to cruise with the top down, but the sun is shining, and the central Kentucky countryside is resplendent in all its verdant glory.

Beside me is Kyle Macy. Yeah, THE KYLE MACY, arguably the most popular Kentucky basketball player to have ever worn the uniform. Kyle and I did a book together titled From the Rafters of Rupp, and we’re headed up the backroads of horse country to Cynthiana, Kentucky, to do a book signing.

You never know how these appearances will pan out, so I’m wound tighter than a banjo string. Kyle, however, is just Kyle—cool, calm, and as collected as ever. We arrive about twenty minutes early at our pre-arranged venue. Kyle is confident we’ll sign a million books. I’m just hoping we won’t be the only ones there.

As usual, my worries are unfounded as a nice crowd materializes. Kyle dazzles them with his wonderful gift of gab. It amazes me how surprisingly candid he is when talking about UK Basketball. It’s obvious he loves the program—but as you’ll see in the book—he’s not afraid to speak his mind either. I, on the other hand, have been guzzling the blue Kool-Aid. I know the people aren’t here to listen to me anyway, so I stick to the party line whenever I’m asked a pointed question. Kyle rolls his eyes and tells me I’ve still got a lot to learn.

The Next Chapter Bookstore (thenextchapter41031.com) is a real gem. It’s relatively new, having opened in November of 2020…and having expanded to their fabulous new location in October of last year. The three owners—Jennifer Renaker, Ashley Peak, and Sherry Judy—greet us like long-lost cousins. You can feel the love they’ve poured into this business enterprise, as they bounce around energetically making everyone feel welcome. I see my other UK basketball book, Kentucky Passion, prominently displayed on the front shelf. Yep, this place is awesome. THIS PLACE IS AWESOME, INDEED! I’ll be back for sure.

After the books are signed and everyone’s happy, Kyle and I prepare for part two of our Sunday afternoon doubleheader. We’ve been invited for some homemade pizza at the house of the King. Doug Hampton is a former basketball referee and world-famous auctioneer. He’s also a New York Pizza School graduate and is well-known for his mouth-watering pies.

Before we indulge, however, we stop off on a parcel of holy ground. This is Joe B. Hall country, and no visit to Cynthiana would be complete without a visit to his mural. It’s much bigger and grander than I had imagined. Prior to his recent passing, many considered Joe the most beloved coach in America https://huangswhinings.com/2020/02/20/the-most-beloved-coach-in-america/. Kyle played for Coach Hall on that 1978 national championship team, and he assures me that Joe B. was as classy as they come.

The Dugan’s Pizza experience was downright heavenly. To be perfectly honest, it may just be the best pizza I’ve ever had. The dough was exquisite—tantalizingly chewy on the outside with a delectably airy and fluffy middle. The sauce was orgasmic, a puree of ripened tomatoes enhanced with the perfect blend of basil and garlic. And man…that cheese…the thought of that caramelized specialty brick cheese oozing together with the stringy mozzarella and sprinkled liberally atop with parmesan has me quivering as I write. Top everything off with a thick juicy slab of bacon or some flavorful pepperoni, and let’s fight to the death for that last corner square.

Predictably, Kyle and I gorge ourselves. He has four slices. I’m five-and-done. We both then cruise back towards Lexington disgustingly fat and happy. But WAIT…Kyle has a sweet tooth. He’s not done yet. We go for broke, pull up to the nearest Dairy Queen, and order our Blizzards. Just our luck—their ice cream mixer is broken.

I’m a bit ticked off, but Kyle shrugs it off. The guy is literally one cool cat. I figured with all the accolades and adoration he’s received over the years, these types of outings would get old in a hurry. I ask him if he enjoyed the day.

“Absolutely,” he answers me. “It’s always fun meeting people and talking about UK Basketball.”

I’m no Kyle Macy, but I’ll second the motion. Life is all about relationships—nurturing existing ones and formulating brand new ones. That’s easy to do with the folks in Cynthiana. They’re some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet. Plus, they bought all our books and fed us the best pizza south of Brooklyn. You can see why I’m feeling truly blessed. I’m living the dream.

Kyle and I will be at it again next week. Bullitt County, here we come. Crank up those Oreo Blizzards.

Books and ice cream, anyone?

Head on over to The Next Chapter Bookstore and pick up your signed copy of #FromTheRaftersOfRupp or #KentuckyPassion. Can’t make it out? Order here https://www.acclaimpress.com/books/from-the-rafters-of-rupp-the-book/