Forgive Me, Father, for I Have Doubted

Forgive Me, Father, for I Have Doubted

I owe Will Stein an apology. And possibly a fruit basket.

Shortly before kickoff against South Carolina, Kentucky’s first-year head coach told Tom Leach that his team had enjoyed a productive week of practice. The players were focused, their mindset was right, and everybody was ready to play.

Seventeen unanswered points later, I suggested on social media that the right mindset and focus must have missed the team bus. Perhaps they were still enjoying the complimentary hotel breakfast. Whatever the case, they certainly weren’t anywhere near Williams-Brice Stadium.

Apparently, they were just running late.

Kentucky 35, South Carolina 34 in overtime. It was the largest come-from-behind road victory in Kentucky football history, courtesy of a team that evidently believes the first quarter is optional and a fan base that has collectively exhausted its supply of blood pressure medication.

I’ve followed Kentucky football for more than half a century. I’ve witnessed enough heartbreaking losses to qualify for federal disaster assistance, watched promising seasons disappear faster than complimentary food in a press box, and spent countless Saturday evenings wondering why I continue subjecting myself to this particular form of recreational torture. So cut me some slack if I remain a tad bit cynical.

Just when I was ready to pronounce the patient dead, somebody brought out the defibrillator.

Kenny Minchey deserves a substantial portion of the credit. His final numbers won’t necessarily send Heisman voters scrambling for their ballots, but 28 completions in 41 attempts, 272 passing yards, and three touchdowns tell only part of the story. With the running game struggling to establish itself, Minchey had to help bring Kentucky back through the air.

And he had plenty of accomplices. Kenny Darby caught 12 passes for 96 yards and a touchdown, while Nic Anderson contributed five receptions for 80 yards and another score. Willie Rodriguez added five catches for 57 yards before delivering the two most important points of the afternoon.

With Kentucky’s comeback hanging in the balance, Rodriguez hauled in the decisive two-point conversion that turned a remarkable rally into a historic victory. Somewhere across the Commonwealth, grown men were hugging strangers, frightening household pets, and making promises to the Almighty that they’ll conveniently forget before next Sunday.

Will Stein called them his Comeback Cats. He also talked about a band of brothers, an expression I’ve generally associated with coaches who have run out of original material for their motivational speeches. But I’m beginning to believe him. This team has now demonstrated an unusual ability to absorb punishment and regroup without surrendering.

I’m not suggesting that spotting SEC opponents 17 points is a sustainable business model. In fact, I’d strongly recommend against it. But there is something rather intoxicating about watching a Kentucky football team refuse to accept the inevitable.

Which brings us to LSU.

A week ago, the Tigers’ upcoming visit might have inspired the usual combination of cautious optimism and gastrointestinal distress. Now I’m contemplating possibilities that would have seemed certifiably insane when South Carolina was running roughshod over Kentucky’s defense.

What if this team is actually good? What if Stein has assembled something special? What if the Wildcats can somehow defeat LSU and turn the remainder of this season into an extended celebration of everything we’ve spent decades believing Kentucky football could become?

Somebody confiscate my computer before I start researching College Football Playoff hotel accommodations.

Of course, there’s a rather significant difference between believing you can beat anybody and actually demonstrating that you can play four competent quarters against somebody. Kentucky has developed an impressive capacity for surviving adversity, but I’d prefer that the Wildcats occasionally experiment with avoiding it altogether.

Still, two extraordinary road victories over Texas A&M and South Carolina have changed the conversation. The dream that seemed so improbable when the season began is suddenly alive and well.

And if the Comeback Cats somehow knock off LSU next Saturday, I may have to reconsider my entire philosophy of Kentucky football.

Just one request, Coach.

Next time, please make sure the mindset and focus arrive before kickoff. My cardiologist and I would greatly appreciate it.

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 latest, Whining for Posterity, and all his books at Amazon.

The Power of the Power K

The Power of the Power K

I have never understood why a letter can make grown men emotional.

Then somebody puts a Power K on a Kentucky football helmet, and suddenly men my age start pining for a bygone era. Voices soften and eyes glaze over. Somebody inevitably says they ought to bring the darn thing back permanently.

Never mind that it is basically a K with another K hiding inside it. To Kentucky football fans of a certain vintage, it might as well be the family crest.

The Power K comes from a different Kentucky football world. There were no transfer portals, collectives, helmet communication systems, or $40 million rosters. Nobody spent the offseason wondering which five-star quarterback might be available for the right NIL package or which embattled head coach would ride off into the sunset with a ridiculous multi-million dollar buyout.

We spent it wondering whether we could beat Vanderbilt.

Sometimes we couldn’t.

This is important to understanding the Power K.

Kentucky basketball nostalgia is easy. You remember winning championships, raising banners, and attending Final Fours. You watched Goose Givens score 41 points in a national championship game, the Unforgettables nearly beating Duke, and Tony Delk raining threes. There is generally a trophy somewhere in the memory.

Kentucky football nostalgia requires considerably more imagination.

There were good teams, of course, great players, and memorable wins. There were a few seasons when Kentucky legitimately mattered nationally.

Derrick Ramsey quarterbacked one of them.

I had the privilege years later of helping Derrick tell his story in a book, and maybe that’s one reason the Power K hits me differently now. I don’t just see a logo when I look at those old pictures. I see Derrick wearing it. A kid from Hastings, Florida, who came to Kentucky via Camden, New Jersey, and ended up quarterbacking the Wildcats to a 10-1 season.

There he is in those old photographs, that Power K sitting on the side of his helmet.

Derrick was young, strong, and full of possibility.

Weren’t we all?

That’s the sneaky thing about nostalgia. We think we’re remembering football when we’re really remembering ourselves.

The Power K takes me back to Commonwealth Stadium before somebody decided stadium names should sound like supermarkets. It takes me back to parking in somebody’s yard, listening to Cawood on the radio, and believing every September that this might finally be the year.

Usually it wasn’t.

And still we came.

That’s the part younger Kentucky fans may never completely understand. Kentucky football did not require loyalty because it won. Kentucky football required loyalty because it was ours.

We sat through the losses. We froze our fannies off sitting directly on those cold metal bleachers in November. We watched Tennessee and Florida beat us in ways that occasionally violated several provisions of the Geneva Convention. We studied recruiting classes filled with players we’d never heard of and somehow convinced ourselves that half of them were underrated.

Then we came back the next Saturday. And the next year. And the year after that. Maybe that’s why an old K can do something that a slick new logo never will. Look at it long enough and you can almost see the people who used to sit beside you.

Your dad.

Your old college roommate.

The buddy who had the parking pass.

The guy who always brought the bourbon, purely for medicinal purposes.

You remember walking into Commonwealth Stadium together when the trees were turning and the air had that unmistakable October chill. You remember the band. The roar. The blue jerseys. The Power K flashing under the lights.

You remember thinking there would always be another Saturday.

There isn’t.

That’s what gets me now.

Derrick Ramsey is 20 years old forever in those photographs. Art Still is bearing down on another quarterback. Cawood is still behind the microphone. Commonwealth Stadium is still Commonwealth Stadium.

And somewhere in those stands is a younger version of me, with more hair and fewer worries, believing with absolutely no supporting evidence whatsoever that Kentucky is about to win.

I’d give a lot to sit next to that guy again.

Just for one Saturday.

So, yes, bring back the Power K whenever you want. Put it on the helmets. Paint it at midfield. Sell it on shirts to aging Kentucky fans who already own far too many Kentucky shirts.

We’ll buy another one. Because you’re not really selling us a logo. You’re selling us a ticket back.

And for just a moment, when that old Power K comes running out of the tunnel, we’re all young and carefree again.

Dr. John Huang is a retired orthodontist, military veteran, and award-winning author. He currently serves as a columnist for Nolan Group Media and invites readers to follow him on social media @KYHuangs. His latest book is Whining for Posterity, available on Amazon.

Cancel the Season

Cancel the Season

DISCLAIMER: This column is satire. Anyone taking it literally should immediately cancel the season.

(LEXINGTON, KY.) – For those of us who love the Wildcats, it was fun while it lasted.

For eight glorious days, Kentucky basketball had everything. There was plenty of momentum, optimism, talent, and depth. Mark Pope had assembled a loaded roster, complete with Final Four expectations and perhaps even another national championship banner dangling somewhere off in the distance.

Then Mark Mitchell ruined everything.

He went back to Missouri.

Missouri.

I haven’t felt this betrayed since Rick Pitino put on a Louisville tie. Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration—just a little embellishment on my part.

Just over a week ago, Mitchell was coming to Kentucky, and suddenly everything surrounding Mark Pope’s third season seemed to fall perfectly into place. Malachi Moreno was back. Milan Momcilovic was here. The roster was loaded. Pope was cooking. J. Batt was fighting the SEC. Greg Sankey was getting dragged into courtrooms.

Big Blue Nation had rediscovered its swagger.

And Mark Mitchell—the two-time All-SEC forward who averaged 18.3 points last season—was going to be the final piece.

Not merely a piece.

The piece.

At least that’s what we convinced ourselves because that’s what Kentucky fans do better than anybody.

Give us one five-star recruit, one transfer portal commitment, or one grainy summer practice video showing somebody hitting three consecutive jump shots, and we’ll have the championship parade route mapped out before dinner.

Mitchell was considerably more substantial than that. He gave Kentucky another proven scorer at the four position, another experienced body, and another legitimate SEC star. His commitment didn’t merely improve Kentucky’s roster. It changed the way we looked at the season.

Kentucky wasn’t merely going to be good anymore. Kentucky was going to be scary. Maybe even national championship scary.

Then Monday arrived, and we all heard the news. “Mark Mitchell is returning to Missouri.”

Excuse me?

I thought we had a deal. I thought the paperwork was signed. I thought the courts had spoken. I thought Greg Sankey had been defeated. I thought J. Batt had stormed Birmingham, planted a UK flag in the SEC offices, and returned to Lexington carrying Mitchell over his shoulder.

Apparently not.

Instead, Mitchell is returning to the same school he was supposedly leaving, and Kentucky is once again holding an empty roster spot and wondering what the heck just happened.

This is unacceptable. Someone must be blamed.

Mitchell? Sankey? The SEC presidents? The NCAA? The transfer portal? The judicial system? Mark Pope? Pope Leo? Missouri?

YES! Let’s blame Missouri.

It’s easier.

Missouri joined the SEC in 2012 and I’ve never completely understood why. They’re somewhere out there west of St. Louis, occasionally beating Kentucky in something and otherwise minding their own business.

Now they’ve stolen OUR power forward.

I move we revoke their conference membership—effective immediately.

And please don’t bother responding with any rational explanations. I know Mitchell’s situation became tangled in an absurd web of NCAA eligibility rules, court rulings, and SEC transfer restrictions. Returning to Missouri apparently provides him a cleaner path toward actually playing basketball this season.

That’s fine, but I don’t want rationality right now.

I WANT OUTRAGE!

Because eight days ago, Kentucky basketball had momentum. Real momentum.

Now?

Season over.

Don’t even play it. Cancel Big Blue Madness. Board up Rupp Arena. Tell the pep band to stay home. Return all season tickets. Turn the Craft Center into pickleball courts.

Aargh, Kentucky basketball has lost Mark Mitchell.

How can we possibly go on?

Of course, we will.

That’s the funniest part of this entire ridiculous episode. Kentucky had a really good basketball team before Mark Mitchell committed. Kentucky had a really good basketball team while Mark Mitchell was committed. And Kentucky still has a really good basketball team now that Mark Mitchell apparently has decided he’d rather spend another winter in Columbia, Missouri.

The Wildcats still have Moreno, Momcilovic, Zoom Diallo, Alex Wilkins, and Kam Williams. They still have plenty of talent. They still have legitimate reasons to believe this season could become something special.

But that’s tomorrow’s perspective.

Today, we mourn.

Eight unforgettable days.

August 22, 2026 — August 31, 2026.

Mark Mitchell’s Kentucky career.

Zero games.

Zero points.

Zero rebounds.

Zero turnovers.

And somehow, one of the most exhausting Wildcats I’ve ever covered.

Rest in peace.

We barely knew ya.

Dr. John Huang is a retired orthodontist, military veteran, and award-winning author. He currently serves as a columnist for Nolan Group Media and invites readers to follow him on social media @KYHuangs. His latest book is Whining for Posterity, available on Amazon.

Because of Me?

Because of Me?

When Will Stein was asked at SEC Media Days why Kentucky football will succeed now after years of inconsistency, his answer wasn’t long.

“Because of me.”

That’s certainly one way to grab a headline.

My first reaction? I actually laughed.

My second reaction? I’m still not sure what to think.

On one hand, I appreciate confidence. You don’t become an SEC head coach by doubting yourself. If you don’t believe you’re the right person for the job, why should anyone else? Fans have spent years begging for coaches with swagger, vision, and the ability to convince recruits that Kentucky can compete with anyone.

Will Stein clearly believes all of that.

In today’s college football landscape, maybe he almost has to.

Coaches aren’t just coaches anymore. They’re CEOs, fundraisers, recruiters, salesmen, and motivational speakers rolled into one. Every microphone is another recruiting pitch. Every quote is designed for social media. Every appearance is another chance to create momentum.

Perhaps “Because of me” wasn’t really directed at reporters.

Perhaps it was directed at every high school recruit listening.

Still…

There is a fine line between confidence and arrogance.

Stein has already made comments suggesting that everyone wants to play for Will Stein. Now comes, “Because of me.”

At some point, the words begin to pile up.

And eventually, they demand results.

The Bible offers a timeless warning: “Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall.”

Those words weren’t written for football coaches, but they apply remarkably well. The higher you build yourself up publicly, the farther you have to fall if things don’t work out.

That’s what gives me pause.

Kentucky football doesn’t have the luxury of making bold proclamations without consequences. This isn’t Alabama. It isn’t Georgia. It isn’t Ohio State.

National audiences are already skeptical of Kentucky football. Many expect the Wildcats to finish somewhere in the middle or bottom of the SEC. Every confident sound bite becomes another receipt waiting to be pulled out if the season starts 2-3 or 3-4.

The internet never forgets. Neither do opposing fan bases. If Kentucky wins, Stein will look like a genius. If Kentucky struggles, those same quotes will be replayed endlessly. The memes practically write themselves.

That’s the risk.

Personally, I’ve always preferred coaches who let their teams do the talking.

Nick Saban rarely made games about himself. Mark Stoops built Kentucky largely by embracing an underdog mentality. Even Mark Pope, as energetic as he is, usually redirects praise toward his players, the program, or Big Blue Nation. Most coaches instinctively redirect the credit away from themselves.

Stein’s approach feels different.

More personal.

More confrontational.

More “watch me.”

Maybe that’s exactly what Kentucky needs.

Maybe the program has spent too many years trying to prove it belongs instead of acting like it already does. Confidence can be contagious. Players often reflect the personality of their coach. If Stein genuinely believes Kentucky is about to become something special, perhaps that belief spreads throughout the locker room.

I’d love nothing more than to look back in December and say his confidence was completely justified.

In fact, Kentucky fans should hope that’s exactly what happens.

Because if Stein backs up every word with victories, nobody will care how bold his quotes sounded in July.

Winning has a remarkable way of turning arrogance into leadership.

But until then, I’m reserving judgment.

Confidence is essential.

Cockiness is entertaining.

Results are everything.

One thing is certain: Will Stein has ensured that people are paying attention.

Now comes the hard part.

Living up to “Because of me.”

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 latest, Whining for Posterity, and all his books at Amazon.

The House Always Wins

The House Always Wins

What good is it for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?

Remember when the worst thing to happen in a basketball game was Perry Stevenson goaltending a free throw or Christian Laettner stomping on someone’s chest? Those were simpler times. Now we’ve got Chauncey Billups and Terry Rozier being investigated for sports gambling.

Welp, shame on us. We got what we asked for.

When we opened the floodgates to legalized sports betting, we were told it would be harmless fun—a way to “enhance fan engagement.” The marketing geniuses promised us responsible wagering, clean oversight, and a little extra tax revenue for our schools. What we actually got was a nation of addicts-in-training, daily fantasy junkies, and people screaming at their phones during the fourth quarter of a meaningless midweek NBA game because they needed one more rebound to hit the over.

And yes, I get it. Gambling itself isn’t inherently evil. It’s not like betting on Kentucky to cover the spread automatically condemns your soul to perdition. But let’s not pretend we didn’t invite the devil in when we started normalizing this stuff as if it were just another harmless hobby.

I know because I’m wired that way myself. I’ve got an addictive personality. Always have. I still remember the euphoric rush of winning my first NCAA tournament bracket—strutting around like Einstein in sneakers because I had correctly predicted some 11-seed Cinderella run to the Sweet 16. Then came fantasy football. Oh, the sweet taste of victory on Monday night! I’d sit there with one player left in the lineup, calculating yards and touchdowns like a Wall Street trader watching his stock portfolio. When my guy scored, I’d practically levitate off the couch.

You see, that’s the problem. It’s never enough. You always want a little more action, a little bigger hit of adrenaline, the proverbial dopamine rush. For people like me, that’s a slippery slope. One day you’re betting a friendly five bucks with your buddies; the next day you’re mortgaging the house because the Bengals can’t possibly blow another lead.

The truth is, gambling can ruin lives. It destroys families, wrecks bank accounts, and turns decent people into liars and thieves. It feeds on desperation and ego—the belief that you can beat the odds, that you’re smarter than the system or your neighbor down the street, that this next parlay will finally get you even. Spoiler alert: the house always wins.

And when that “house” happens to be tied to the integrity of our sports, that’s when things really go south. If you can’t watch a game without wondering whether the ref’s call was clean, or whether the player missed that shot on purpose, what are we even cheering for? The beauty of sports has always been its purity—hard work, skill, competition. Gambling muddies that. It injects suspicion where there should instead be joy.

Money, of course, is the root of it all. It always is. Money draws in the riff raff, the hustlers, and the shadowy figures waiting in the alleys of every major sports scandal. Organized crime didn’t just disappear when we legalized betting; it just put on a nicer suit and opened an app. The lure of easy cash will always attract those looking to exploit the system—and sadly, some of those people will have locker room access.

When I was growing up, sports were an escape from the mess of the world—a pure and noble pursuit of excellence. Now they’re just another line item in somebody’s betting portfolio. Every pitch, every possession, every field goal attempt is a potential profit or loss. Even the broadcasters can’t resist dropping the over/under like it’s part of the game itself.

And while we’re pointing fingers, let’s not forget the sports radio guys who spend half their shows preaching about “responsible gambling” while the other half reading ad copy for the very apps causing the mess. Spare me the sanctimony. You can’t sermonize about integrity one minute and then tell me to “hammer the over” with a promo code the next.

I’m not naïve. I know you can’t unring the bell. Gambling is here to stay. The toothpaste is out of the tube, and no amount of moral handwringing is going to put it back. But we can at least be honest about what it’s doing to us. For every “responsible gamer” out there treating it like entertainment, there are dozens more suckers sinking deeper into the quicksand.

I suppose it’s fine if you know your limits—if you can place a small wager and walk away without checking your phone every five minutes. But for most people, those limits blur over time. The lines between fun and fixation disappear, and before long, you’re chasing losses like Calipari after Covid.

So yeah, when I hear about Chauncey Billups and Terry Rozier getting tangled in the gambling web, I’m not shocked—I’m sad. Sad for them, sad for the sport, sad for the fans who still believe in fair play. Because the more this stuff spreads, the more we risk losing what made us fall in love with sports in the first place.

I’m not preaching here. Like I said, I’m as susceptible as anyone. If gambling apps had been around when I was younger, I might have been one of those guys refreshing DraftKings under the table during Sunday service. (I’m joking… mostly.) But maybe that’s why I’m so wary of it now. I know how easy it is to get hooked, how quickly something innocent can become destructive.

So as these investigations unfold, I’ll be watching—not for the point spreads or the odds, but for the soul of the game itself. Because if we keep going down this road, if we keep letting money and manipulation call the shots, one day we might wake up and realize the thrill is gone. The joy’s been replaced by suspicion, and the purity of the game by the price of the bet.

And when that happens, it won’t matter who wins or loses. The house will have already won.

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 latest, “Whining For Posterity,” and all his books at https://www.Amazon.com/stores/Dr.-John-Huang/author/B092RKJBRD