Tag: photography

Will Stein Wants You to Lose Your Mind

Will Stein Wants You to Lose Your Mind

Will Stein has a simple request for Kentucky fans Saturday.

Lose your minds.

Scream. Yell. Get to Kroger Field early. Forget the tailgate. Be in your seat for warmups. Make so much noise that Alabama quarterback Keelon Russell has to communicate using hand signals, smoke signals or perhaps divine intervention.

Stein wants 65,000 people watching his team warm up. He wants the loudest game in Kentucky football history.

“I want people’s voices hoarse when they leave here,” Stein said Tuesday. “They got to take off work on Monday because they can’t talk.”

Finally, a doctor’s excuse I can enthusiastically endorse.

There’s just one catch.

While Stein wants the rest of us behaving like complete lunatics, he wants his football team to remain approximately as emotional as a Bill Belichick press conference.

I’m not sure Kentucky fans can fathom that. After all, SEC Nation is coming to town. Alabama is paying a visit. Kentucky hasn’t beaten the Crimson Tide since 1997. The game is on national television. Surely there must be some benefit to harnessing all that emotion.

Nope.

“Emotions get you beat,” Stein said. “We want our fans to be emotional. We don’t want us, as players or coaches, to be emotional.”

I’m not sure I buy it. Not completely, anyway.

There is a difference between being emotional and being controlled by emotion. And if ever there were a Saturday when Kentucky could use a little extra juice, I’m guessing the one with Alabama standing on the opposite sideline might qualify.

Emotion can make you reckless. It can also make you run through somebody.

It can make you jump offsides. It can also make you chase a ball carrier another five yards.

It can make you try to be a hero. It can also convince you that the five-star guy lined up across from you isn’t nearly as intimidating as everybody spent all week telling you he was.

Surely Stein knows that. In fact, I suspect he knows it better than he’s letting on. Maybe “emotions get you beat” is exactly what a head coach should tell us on Tuesday. Maybe what gets said inside the Kentucky locker room at 3:20 Saturday afternoon sounds just a little different.

Wink, wink.

Because Stein himself is creating an emotional powder keg. He wants 65,000 people inside Kroger Field for warmups. He wants the place louder than it has ever been. He wants Kentucky fans screaming until they need sick leave. That’s an awful lot of gasoline to pour around the building if you don’t intend for your football team to feel any of the heat.

Stein has been preaching his thermostat-versus-thermometer analogy since he arrived. Thermometers react to their surroundings. Thermostats set the temperature.

Saturday may provide the ultimate laboratory experiment. Because the temperature inside Kroger Field figures to be 487 degrees.

Kentucky is 2–39–1 all-time against Alabama. The Wildcats haven’t beaten the Crimson Tide since 1997.

Stein was there.

He was seven or eight years old and remembers the tailgates and K House more than the actual football game.

Someone asked whether he planned to show his players highlights of that historic victory. Stein acknowledged that he probably should. Then he remembered something horrifying. None of his players were alive.

“I was asking a kid today,” Stein said. “I was like, ‘When were you born?’ In like 2004? I’m like, ‘Oh, shit.’”

There it was again.

For those keeping score at home, that’s two consecutive Stein press conferences with a mild profanity outbreak. After beating Youngstown State, he nearly dropped an F-bomb while explaining his plans to celebrate with a cold beer. This time, discovering that you’re old enough to coach people born in 2004 apparently did the trick.

Wait until somebody tells him they don’t remember Tim Tebow.

Stein insists Saturday isn’t a defining game.

“They’re all big,” he said. “Youngstown State last week was the biggest game of our season because that was the first game. Now we play Alabama.”

Come on, Coach. This one is bigger. SEC Nation isn’t setting up shop in Lexington because Kentucky is playing Youngstown State. ABC isn’t putting it on national television because it’s just another game. And 65,000 people aren’t being ordered into Kroger Field early because Stein desperately wants them to see stretching.

This is Alabama. Stein knows it. His players know it. Big Blue Nation certainly knows it.

The trick isn’t pretending Saturday is just another football game. It’s recognizing that it isn’t—and then playing like it is.

That’s where I think Stein is exactly right. Use the emotion. Don’t let the emotion use you.

So perhaps Saturday afternoon, somewhere behind those closed locker-room doors, the thermostat gets turned up just a notch. Maybe Stein reminds his players what opportunity is standing on the other side of that door. Maybe his voice gets a little louder. Maybe there’s even an adjective we aren’t allowed to print.

Then the doors open.

The players run out.

And everybody settles down.

Except us.

We’re supposed to lose our minds.

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.

Barry, You Ghosted Lexington!

Barry, You Ghosted Lexington!

I promised my concert-going days were over after seeing Boy George and Culture Club at the Hollywood Bowl.

I meant it.

I had retired.

No more Ticketmaster.

No more service fees, convenience fees, processing fees, breathing fees, and “because we can” fees.

Then Kanisa mentioned Barry Manilow.

My wife always loved Barry.

So there I was, sheepishly logging back into Ticketmaster one last time, thinking, What’s the worst that could happen?

Never…ever…ask that question.

I wasn’t there because I’m a Fanilow.

Truth be told, I packed a book. Nothing says, “I’m here under protest,” quite like bringing reading material to a concert.

But the biggest disappointment wasn’t mine.

It was Kanisa’s.

Because of her mental health struggles, simply getting out into the world isn’t easy anymore. Concerts, ballgames, restaurants, and other special outings have become few and far between. Those moments of normalcy—the ones most of us take for granted—have become precious.

That’s why this night mattered.

I wasn’t nearly as excited about hearing Barry Manilow as I was about watching Kanisa. I couldn’t wait to see that smile on her face when the lights dimmed and the music started. For a couple of hours, I wanted her to forget the burdens she carries every day and simply enjoy being part of the crowd.

Instead, before the first note was ever played, that moment disappeared.

With less than an hour before showtime…

Boom.

Concert canceled.

The explanation?

“Due to unforeseen circumstances.”

That’s it.

Four words.

I’ve gotten longer explanations from disgruntled coaches after devastating losses.

At first, I wasn’t upset. I was worried. After all, Barry Manilow is 83 years old.

Eighty-three!

I’m thrilled when I can get through Costco without looking for the Advil. Barry has been flying around the country performing multiple 90-minute concerts before thousands of fans.

That’s incredible.

So naturally, my mind immediately went to the worst-case scenario.

Please don’t let this be another Elvis.

Nobody wanted to hear those words. If Barry had suffered a medical emergency, this column wouldn’t exist. We’d all simply be thankful he was okay.

Then came the plot twist.

Barry showed up the very next night in Cincinnati.

And apparently put on a terrific show.

Wait…

What?

Now you’ve got me confused.

Lexington gets four mysterious words.

Cincinnati gets “Copacabana.”

How exactly does that work?

And before someone says, “Well, unforeseen circumstances happen,” you’re absolutely right.

They do.

But this also wasn’t Barry’s first Lexington cancellation. His appearance in March had been rescheduled as well.

At some point, “unforeseen circumstances” starts sounding like the entertainment version of, “Your call is important to us.”

Meanwhile, thousands of fans had already spent enough money to finance a small used car. The tickets, hotels, parking, dinner gas, time…and, of course, those lovely Ticketmaster fees that somehow survive every cancellation known to mankind.

People weren’t just buying a concert. They were buying an experience. Instead, they’ll get an email.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I probably was the least disappointed person there…for myself.

Remember, I brought a book.

Had they announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, Barry Manilow has canceled. In his place will be a three-hour lecture on Kentucky tax law,” I probably would’ve found a comfortable seat to finally finish my book.

But I was deeply disappointed for Kanisa. And for the thousands of people around us. Some had waited years. Some had driven hours. One lady proudly told us she had seen Barry more than a dozen times. She wasn’t angry. She looked crushed.

It was the disappointment—not the inconvenience—that stayed with me. It was the sadness of watching people walk away from Rupp Arena carrying the excitement they’d brought with them.

Here’s what’s frustrating.

I’m actually thrilled Barry appears to be healthy.

Seriously.

At 83, I hope he’s performing for as long as he wants.

If I’m still traveling anywhere at 83 besides my primary care physician’s office, somebody should throw me a parade.

But if you’re healthy enough to entertain Cincinnati a day later, surely Lexington deserves more than four words.

Throw us a bone.

Tell us the bus broke down.

Tell us the stage lights exploded.

Tell us Barry ate some bad lettuce.

Anything.

Just don’t leave thousands of paying customers filling in the blanks themselves. Because human nature almost always fills those blanks with something worse than the truth.

As for refunds?

Absolutely.

That’s the easy part.

But refunds don’t replace the hotel bill, the parking fees, or the dinner at Jeff Ruby’s. They don’t give people back a night they had been anticipating for months.

I’m not requesting compensation for pain and suffering. These things happen in the world of live entertainment. But common courtesy doesn’t cost anything. An honest explanation is free.

Barry Manilow has spent decades singing, “I Write the Songs.”

Lexington isn’t asking him to write another one.

We’re just asking him to finish the sentence.

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.

Mark Pope’s Ferrari: Kentucky Basketball’s Drive for a Championship

Mark Pope’s Ferrari: Kentucky Basketball’s Drive for a Championship

(LEXINGTON, Ky.) – When Mark Pope stood before the assembled media the other day and said, “We got a great Ferrari and we can’t wait to take it for a spin,” I thought he was referring to the team’s on-court performance. You know—sleek offensive design, turbocharged energy, cornering on a dime. What I didn’t realize was that the real Ferrari might be the one he’s been paying for—rumored to be worth about $22 million in NIL payouts.

Apparently, this isn’t your dad’s Kentucky basketball team, cobbled together with a few well-placed ten-dollar-handshakes. Nope, this is a shiny new model, custom-built with top-of-the-line NIL features, luxury international imports, and more horsepower than a herd of wild stallions. Pope, of course, is the guy behind the wheel—white-knuckled, grinning ear to ear, and just itching to mash the accelerator.

Unfortunately, he may have already dinged the fender.

Before Big Blue Nation could even buckle their seatbelts, the Ferrari hit a pothole during the Blue-White Scrimmage in Memorial Coliseum. Starting point guard Jaland Lowe, the Pitt transfer recruited specifically to pilot this high-powered offense, went down with a shoulder injury. It didn’t appear to be a fiery crash—but still—you never want to see your lead driver headed to the pit before the first lap.

And what a lap it was. The Blue-White game—usually a glorified layup line wrapped in applause—felt more like a demolition derby this year. Players were crashing the glass with impunity, fighting through screens like the bench was calling, and snarling like the game meant a trip to the Final Four.

I’ve covered a lot of Blue-White scrimmages in my day, but I’ve never seen one that intense. The pace was frenetic, the emotions were high, and the competition was fierce. Pope has these guys revved up like they’re chasing Banner No. 9, rehearsing for One Shining Moment before the first ball is even tipped.

And that’s the rub, isn’t it? The new head coach hasn’t just brought a fresh energy—he’s brought a fresh philosophy. Gone are the days of “these guys are young” or “trust the process.” Pope doesn’t do slow builds or cautious optimism. He’s out there saying, in essence, “We’re Kentucky. We play to win it all—every game, every drill, every scrimmage.”

That kind of bravado plays beautifully in October. It’s the stuff fans dream about while their football team self-destructs. But it’s also a lot to live up to over the grind of a five-month season.

Because as thrilling as it is to hear your coach talk about Ferraris, championship hunts, and competitive fire, there’s a fine line between confidence and burnout. The season’s an endurance race, not a drag strip. The question isn’t whether this team can go 200 mph—it’s whether they can stay on the track long enough to see the checkered flag.

Now, before you accuse me of pouring water on Pope’s premium fuel, let me be clear: I love the swagger. After years of seeing a fan base divided between believers and doubters, there’s something downright refreshing about having a head coach who plants his flag, goes for the jugular and says, “These guys want to win, always.” No hedging, no excuses, no talk about youth or rebuilding.

Pope’s message to his players—and to all of us—is unmistakable: Kentucky basketball doesn’t back down. Whether it’s an intra-squad scrimmage on the UK campus or a March showdown in Madison Square Garden, they’re going to play with everything they’ve got.

But maybe, just maybe, he could keep one hand on the brake for a bit.

Because here comes Purdue—No. 1 in the country, with the nation’s top point guard in Braden Smith—rolling into town Friday night for the first exhibition. On paper, it’s a game that doesn’t count. But try telling that to a fan base that treats October tune-ups like NCAA Tournament play-ins. Win by 20 and the hype train leaves the station at warp speed. Lose by 20 and the “Ferrari” gets called a lemon before Thanksgiving.

That’s just life in the Bluegrass, where basketball is religion and patience is in short supply. Pope knows that better than anyone—he lived it as a player, and now he’s living it as the man in charge.

So, should he tamp it back a bit? Probably not. This is who Mark Pope is—the mad scientist, analytics guru, relentless, and unafraid to dream big. He’s not the kind of guy to idle in neutral while everyone else takes the safe route.

Besides, Ferraris aren’t built for cautious Sunday drives. They’re built to turn heads, scorch the pavement, and leave the competition in the dust.

Still, if there’s one lesson to remember, it’s that championship seasons aren’t won in October—they’re tuned there. Let’s just hope by the time March rolls around, the paint isn’t scratched, the tires aren’t bald, and the driver hasn’t run out of gas.

Because as any Kentucky fan knows, it’s not about how loud the engine roars at the start. It’s about how fast—and how fearlessly—you finish.

—and the only finish line that matters this year runs through Indianapolis.

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