Battle at the Yum: Brotherly Love, Bluegrass Style

(LEXINGTON, Ky.) – I’ve been to a lot of games at the KFC Yum! Center over the years, and one constant remains: somebody always spills beer on me. Maybe it’s the cramped seats, maybe it’s divine retribution for my unapologetic “L’s down,” or just that smug smirk when Kentucky pulls off that inevitable upset. But whatever the reason, it’s always the same warm, yeasty baptism by Yuengling. Welcome to the Kentucky–Louisville rivalry, friends—where good manners and mutual sportsmanship go to die.

When Kentucky invades the Yum on Tuesday night, it won’t just be another non-conference matchup—it’ll be a civil war disguised as basketball. Don’t let the early date on the calendar fool you. Sure, the game won’t decide an SEC or ACC title, and yes, both programs are still figuring out rotations, chemistry, and playing through injuries. But if you think this one doesn’t matter, try telling that to the guy in the bird suit mugging for the cameras behind Kentucky’s bench.

Here’s the scary part. The Wildcats might not know what they’re walking into. Mark Pope’s shiny new roster—brimming with transfers, freshmen, and enthusiasm—hasn’t yet been immersed in the unholy water of this rivalry. You can study film all you want, but no amount of game tape or analytics prepares you for 22,000 red-clad fanatics who hate everything about you down to the shade of your underwear. This isn’t just basketball—it’s bragging rights and cultural warfare.

To the Louisville faithful, Kentucky is the privileged older brother, always hogging the spotlight, driving the fancy car, and bragging about his NBA friends. The Cardinals, meanwhile, are the petulant little sibling—scrappy, defiant, and perpetually insecure. They’ll do anything to get big brother’s attention, even if it means tossing a drink in his face or keying his Ferrari.

Speaking of Ferraris, Pope’s team is still learning to shift gears smoothly. We’ve seen flashes of brilliance—fast breaks that hum, defense that smothers, and a jaw-dropping Collin Chandler dunk—but also some of the sputtering you’d expect from a group still breaking in the new parts. Louisville, on the other hand, is in the midst of its own identity crisis under coach Pat Kelsey. Kelsey’s energy borders on cartoonish—think Red Bull-fueled pep rally meets evangelical tent revival. He and Pope are oddly similar in their intensity, their positivity, and their charming—but goofy—awkwardness.

If it weren’t for their height difference, these two might actually be long-lost twins separated at birth. Both are relentlessly upbeat. Both quote leadership manuals like scripture. And both probably wear out their assistants with midnight text chains about “culture” and “accountability.” The difference? Pope has the keys to the big blue mansion, while Kelsey’s still trying to get the plumbing fixed in the old red house down the street.

Then there’s last year’s dustup—when Pope put Kelsey in a friendly “headlock” during a midgame scrum. Add in the rumored “verbal altercation” outside a top recruit’s home, and you’ve got another colorful chapter in UK-UL lore. It’s all fun and games—until it’s not.

Expect some fireworks on Tuesday. Louisville will treat this like their Super Bowl, their one shining moment to prove they’re not entirely irrelevant. Kentucky, meanwhile, would like nothing more than to quiet the rowdy red masses and head back down I-64 with the smug satisfaction that only a rivalry win provides.

This particular game might not have the national stakes of years past. Remember, it’s happening way too early. Both teams are still under construction—a mix of promise and potential waiting for the right foundation. But pride, not perfection, will define the night. The winner gets the city for a year; the loser gets excuses.

And let’s be honest—Kentucky fans need this one. After the ups and downs of recent seasons, after the heartbreaks and early exits, Big Blue Nation wants tangible proof that Pope’s vision is more than just those “beautiful” slogans he’s been preaching since his arrival in Lexington. A win at the Yum would do wonders for morale, momentum, and those all-important selection committee resumes down the road.

Remember also that rivalries are less about rankings and more about respect—or, in this case, disrespect. You don’t beat Louisville for seeding; you beat Louisville because you can’t stand them.

So yes, I’ll make the trip again. I’ll brave the hecklers, dodge the popcorn, and pray the beer showers are light this year. Because there’s nothing quite like Kentucky versus Louisville—the noise, the tension, the mutual loathing wrapped in a shared love for basketball. It’s messy, it’s emotional, and it’s absolutely glorious.

This article was originally written for distribution through Nolan Group Media publications.

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

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.

It Still Means Something”: Why the Kentucky Brand Isn’t Just a Jersey

Kentucky players celebrating the name on the front of the jersey after their big 106-100 win over the eventual national champion, Florida Gators, in Rupp Arena on January 4, 2025.

(LEXINGTON, Ky.) – In an era where players are more likely to follow Benjamins than banners, where “NIL” has replaced “MVP” in the recruiting wars, and where the transfer portal spins faster than my dog doing zoomies, one might wonder—Does the name on the front of the jersey still matter anymore?

At his recent media conference held earlier this week, Kentucky Basketball head coach Mark Pope answered that question with a resounding, heartfelt yes. And this wasn’t just your typical lukewarm head nod. No, this was the type of yes that gives you chills. The kind that makes you want to lace up your Nikes, high five your portly neighbor, and run through the proverbial brick wall.

“It matters,” Pope said. “There’s nowhere like this.”

He’s not wrong. Kentucky Basketball isn’t just a brand. It’s the program with the greatest tradition in the history of the game. It’s a baptism together with a rite of passage wrapped up in eight NCAA championship banners, 61 NCAA Tournament appearances, and the most all-time wins of anybody still playing. It’s Joe B. and Jamal. It’s Wah Wah and Wall. It’s five national championships in five different decades and a fanbase that will passionately defend the honor of Farmer, Pelphrey, Feldhaus, and Woods like they’re…well…Unforgettable.

But in this new wild west of college hoops—where loyalty is traded for luxury and bluebloods can be outbid by programs with booster billionaires—it’s fair to ask: Does Kentucky still hold sway with this new generation of coddled, roundball mercenaries raised on highlight reels and endorsement deals?

Pope thinks it does. Scratch that—he knows it does. And surprise, surprise—his answer isn’t only about tradition for tradition’s sake. It’s about transformation, character, work ethic, and servant leadership. About what happens when you willingly pour yourself into something bigger.

“If you come in here not understanding or appreciating that,” Pope warns, “I think your chances of success are not very high.”

That’s not gatekeeping. That’s the gospel according to the Pope.

Because this place is different. It asks more of you. More than just your wingspan or your vertical or your TikTok follower count. It demands your heart. Your humility. Your willingness to dive for loose balls, to play through bruises, to pass up a good shot for a great one. To give your teammate the limelight just because he’s your teammate. It demands that you surrender just a little piece of yourself—not to lose your identity, but to elevate it.

And that’s where the magic happens.

“When you learn that concept—of if I give a little bit of myself, it actually elevates myself—that’s what’s great about this beautiful, brilliant team sport of basketball,” Pope said. “The pathway to become immortal is very different than this world wants to teach us.”

Mic. Drop.

Yes, kids today are soft. There, I said it. Many may be distracted by the siren song of short-term riches. But Pope isn’t recruiting kids who just want a wheelbarrow full of cash. He’s recruiting young men who want to matter and make a difference. Who’ll leave legacy footprints in the bluegrass that echo through the rafters long after they’re gone. People like Issel, and Goose, and Macy, and Walker, and Davis.

Think about it: Where else can you become immortal at the ripe age of nineteen? Where else does a walk-on get a standing ovation just for checking in? Where else can you go from obscurity to legendary in a single March weekend? Where can you be known simply for sporting a unibrow, girls kissing your car bumper, or wearing jorts for heaven’s sake?

That’s not marketing fluff put together by the suits at JMI. That’s lived experience. That’s legacy. And it’s now being passed down from generation to generation.

“Our guys last season set a beautiful, brilliant standard of what it means to be a Kentucky Basketball player,” Pope said. “We’re leaning on them a lot… their video, their outtakes, their clips, their comments—just to help understand that.”

Because—as former coach John Calipari famously said on so many occasions—Kentucky isn’t for everyone. And that’s precisely the point.

You can go be a great basketball player at a lot of places. Pope knows that. Heck, he’s played and coached in a few of them. But being great here? That’s a different kind of great. That’s statue-worthy great. That’s raise-your-jersey-to-the-rafters great. That’s can’t-walk-through-Kroger-without-grandma-taking-a-selfie great.

So yes, the name on the back may earn you the check. But the name on the front? That’s what earns you the chapter in Kentucky lore.

Mark Pope gets it. He lived it. And now, he’s preaching it. Loudly. Passionately. With a blend of fire and sincerity that makes you believe Kentucky Basketball hasn’t lost its way after all. It’s just waiting for the right kind of player to find theirs.

Because for all the bells, whistles, dollar signs, and distractions of this modern basketball age, one truth remains: This place is different.

And if you can understand that?

You’re going to be crazy successful.

Or immortal.

That’s the gospel truth. Sign me up, Coach!

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

This blog posting was first submitted as a column for Nolan Group Media publications.

Dear Duke Basketball

We feel your pain. Really, we do.

After all, as die-hard Kentucky fans—we’ve been there. We’re all too familiar with having our national title hopes strewn like shattered glass across the Final Four floor. We’ve seen the movie several times before—the one where the best team, with the best players, and all the media hype in the world, suddenly and shockingly crumbles into a tragic heap of nightmarish disbelief.

So many times, we’ve also been anointed prematurely. Crowned before the coronation. Celebrated before the ceremony. And then left to watch—stunned and slack-jawed, humiliated and embarrassed—as the dream slipped away and the rest of the world rejoiced.

So yes, we feel for you, Duke fans.
But make no mistake—we’re also laughing at you this morning. At least just a little.

Because it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving program.

Oh, I know. That’s petty. That’s small. That’s un-Christian. “You’re living rent-free in our heads,” you say.

That may all be true.
But c’mon—this is Duke University we’re talking about.

Ever since Laettner hit the shot, you’ve been the villain in our college hoops drama. You stole our titles back in 2010 and 2015. You—with your haughty, self-righteous air of academic superiority—deserve exactly what you’re getting. Your smug alumni looking down from their elitist Gothic towers in Durham while we wallow in our fried chicken, cigarettes, and toothless grins.

And now this.

Comfortably up by 14 points with eight minutes to go, and you manage just one field goal the rest of the game—losing to Houston 70–67 in the national semifinals. The laughingstock. The punchline. The greatest Final Four choke of all time.

So what now?

You mope about. You avoid ESPN. You dread “One Shining Moment” and try to convince yourselves that next year will be your year.

(Spoiler: It won’t be.)

But take heart, for this too shall pass. Time, as they say, cures all wounds.

We know the feeling. The second-half shooting debacle versus Georgetown in 1984? We’re coping. The shot-clock violations versus Wisconsin in 2015? Scarred, but functional. Saint Peter’s and Jack Gohlke? Perplexed, but no longer in despair.

So join us, Duke. Come sit beside us on this broken, blue-blooded bench of cold-hearted misery. Let’s swap stories about what might have been. We’ll tell you about 2015 if you tell us about 2025.

You see, for all your Ivy League aspirations and smug superiority, you’re not so different from us after all. Blue bloods with blue uniforms. Blue tears. Blue language from angry fans. And now, an equally blue postseason résumé.

The only real difference?

We’ve got eight championship rings.
You still have only five.

Respectfully,
BBN

The Epic Return

If Kentucky under Rick Pitino was Camelot—a kingdom of discipline, full-court pressure, and three-point barrages—then John Calipari’s Kentucky was Hollywood.

It was glitz, glamour, and one-and-done superstars walking the red carpet to the NBA. It was the biggest show in college basketball, headlined by a charismatic director who knew how to market his stars. There were blockbuster seasons (2010, 2012, 2015), shocking flops (Evansville, St. Peter’s, Oakland), and a script that, in the end, started feeling a little too familiar.

Like any Hollywood epic, it had its golden era, its sequels that didn’t quite measure up, and ultimately, an ending that unceremoniously flopped. But for over a decade, Big Blue Nation lived under the bright lights—forever in the hunt—hoping that every season could produce the next big championship hit.

Now, the cameras have moved on, the set has changed, and Calipari has left town. But on February 1, the former leading man returns to see if the audience still remembers his name.

Of course we remember. For 15 years, Coach Cal was the man in Lexington, patrolling the Kentucky sideline with designer suits, slicked-back hair, and a bottomless supply of “YOU PEOPLE ARE CRAZY” clichés. He promised the Big Blue Nation “we eat first,” and for a while, we did—four Final Fours, a national title, an undefeated regular season, and 25 NBA lottery picks will do that. But over time, the meals got smaller, the bill got bigger, and the chef started arguing with the waitstaff. When Mark Pope was handed the keys last April, many in the fan base felt relieved, a bit like ending a long-term relationship that had irreparably soured and gone stale.

But here’s the thing about breakups—closure is never real until you see them again.

So here comes Cal, rolling into town this weekend wearing red, looking like the guy who just bought a sports car after a midlife crisis. He won’t say it, but he’d love nothing more than to walk into Rupp, stick his hands in his pig-sooie pockets, and smugly strut out with a win.

The reception? Oh, it’s complicated.

If I were emperor of BBN, I would order a rousing standing ovation when Calipari is introduced. After all, the man deserves it. He’ll be in the rafters one day. The guy devoted 15 years of his life to the program, the university, and the community. Sure, he won a lot of ball games. But he also used his enormous platform to spearhead relief efforts wherever and whenever disasters hit, and people were hurting. On a personal level, he also wrote the foreword to two of my books. With the entire college basketball world looking on, how classy would it be if everyone stood and cheered.

There will be cheers because, let’s face it, he did bring home banner No. 8. There will also be boos, because 9, 10, and 11 never followed. Some fans will clap out of respect, others will heckle because they feel like the last four years were a hostage situation. And still others—perhaps the most honest among us—will feel an odd mix of nostalgia and irritation, like when you really enjoyed the movie but felt the ending royally sucked.

Tom Leach had a very insightful take when he appeared on the Round of Shots podcast earlier last week.

“He’ll get booed just like Rick did,” predicted the Voice of the Wildcats. “It’ll be a pretty strong chorus of boos I’d imagine. There’ll be some mixed emotions for Cal on that. If you’re in that situation and you’ve coached at Kentucky, you may be a little insulted if they didn’t boo you.”

With Calipari’s massive ego, that comment may just be spot on. So, let’s cheer at his intro. But as soon as the ball is tipped, we’ll boo until our heart’s content.

Whatever happens, one thing is for sure: February 1 is must-watch theater.

Because every Hollywood story gets a sequel—whether you want it or not.

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

Back to the Future

Mark Pope and Coach Rick Pitino enjoying the good times after Kentucky’s 1996 Championship run (David Perry/Lexington Herald-Leader staff file photo).

(LEXINGTON, Ky.) – The old has gone, the new has come.

In his farewell video to Big Blue Nation, John Calipari graciously acknowledged that the Kentucky basketball program needed a change at the top. Many of you agreed with him. Postseason wins had dwindled. Fan morale was at an all-time low. After the disappointing results from the last four years, Coach Cal’s snarky quips and swaggy braggadocio had turned a bit stale for anyone still gullible enough to listen. It was indeed time for a new voice.

Exit Boss Hogg. Enter Mark Pope.

News that the 51-year-old former Wildcat was taking over as the grand pooh-bah of college basketball’s Roman empire first leaked out late on Thursday night. With Billy Donovan still considered a viable candidate, the quick decision caught many by surprise. In fact, the mere mention of Pope as a serious choice generated more outrage initially than any debate on gun control, abortion, or unisex bathrooms.

Twelve hours later, however, the mood magically shifted. Although a few dissenters stood firm—and the “fire Mitch Barnhart” sentiments remained as ubiquitous as ever—the rest of Big Blue Nation began buying in and circling the wagons. After all, Mark Pope was one of us—a product of the glory years of the mid-90s, when the name on the front of the jersey instilled an overwhelming sense of pride, accomplishment, and honor to anyone heard cheering in the commonwealth. Plus, unlike Dan Hurley and Scott Drew, the man wanted to be here. He coveted the job.

In addition, Pope could coach. His teams at BYU played an exciting brand of basketball that spread the floor, shot threes with impunity, and actually ran in-bounds plays. On top of that, Pope was smart—a Rhodes Scholar candidate who completed three arduous years of medical school before chucking it all to pursue his coaching passion. Who in their right mind does that?

Ringing character endorsements provided the crowning coup de gras. Former teammates dubbed Pope as the ultimate leader with an infectious positivity that could move mountains. His former college coach—known for a few scandalous indiscretions of his own—attested on video to Pope’s moral integrity and grit.

Through it all, one important question loomed: Could Pope recruit? Time will soon tell. But given the blue-blooded resources now at his disposal, I’d say the chances are excellent. A just-announced $4 million injection into the Big Blue NIL fund certainly makes success more probable. He’ll need every penny, though. After John Calipari flew the coop, the cupboard for next year is frighteningly bare.

Putting all that aside, here’s what’s most astounding to me. Pope’s hiring is more than just a changing of the guard. His blink-of-an-eye ascension to the throne has resulted in something extraordinary. It’s miraculously galvanized the entire fan base in one unexpected fell swoop, giving every citizen of Big Blue Nation a lifesaving shot of adrenaline just when they needed it the most. By handing Mark Pope the keys to the kingdom, we’ve reconnected with our glorious past and recaptured everything that was once true, right, noble, pure, and admirable about the program we all knew and loved.

Okay—I’ll admit it—I’ve undoubtedly tasted the blue Kool-Aid. But here’s the thing. I’m not quite swallowing it just yet.

Ultimately, Mark Pope will be judged on one thing only—national championships. Adolph Rupp garnered four of them before being forced into retirement in 1972. Since then, four of Rupp’s successors, Joe B. Hall, Rick Pitino, Tubby Smith, and John Calipari have added additional national titles to Kentucky’s trophy case.

Will Mark Pope be the fifth?

It’s a daunting question for a new hire right out of the gate—especially to one who hasn’t won a single NCAA tournament game. But it’s also not unfair to ask it under the circumstances. Because the bar is always set unreasonably high in the Bluegrass. Mind you, the program with the greatest tradition in the history of college basketball doesn’t hang banners for Sweet 16s or Elite Eights. You won’t find participation trophies for Final Fours.

Mark Pope knows all that. And yet, he’s still willing to forsake the comforts of Provo, Utah—where expectations are much more pedestrian—to plunge willy nilly into the soul-sapping vortex that awaits him back in Lexington.

“UK changed my life forever as a human being,” Pope said in his introductory statement. “The love and passion I have for this program, this University and the people of the Commonwealth goes to the depth of my soul.”

For that reason alone, all Kentucky fans need to rally behind him. I’m all in for now. And for the sake of the kingdom, you should be too.

Dr. John Huang is a retired orthodontist, military veteran, and award-winning author. This blog post was originally written as a sports column for Nolan Group Media publications. You can follow Dr. Huang on social media @KYHuangs and check out all his books at https://www.Amazon.com/stores/Dr.-John-Huang/author/B092RKJBRD

United We Stand, Divided We Fall

It’s high time for John Calipari to do the honorable thing (Dr. Michael Huang Photo).

(LEXINGTON, Ky.) – A house divided cannot stand.

Whether attributed to Abraham Lincoln or Jesus Christ, those are wise words—and Big Blue Nation should take heed.

After another demoralizing and embarrassing first-round flameout in this year’s NCAA tournament, the Roman Empire of college basketball finds itself hopelessly divided, poised on the precipice of a potential epic collapse.

In one corner are the staunch “Fire Calipari” proponents, claiming that the Hall of Fame coach has lost his fastball. The worst regular season in program history (9 – 16 in 2021), the worst postseason losses in program history (Saint Peters in 2022 and now Oakland in 2024), and one paltry NCAA tournament win in the last five years does not the Gold Standard make.

In the other corner are the loyal Coach Cal stalwarts. Despite the lack of recent postseason success, he’s still the best person for the job. Four Final Fours and a National Championship builds you a lot of equity. The man is still one of the best recruiters out there. Plus, look at all the charitable work he’s done for the community. Who’re you going to get that’s better?

So, we’re at a virtual impasse—hopelessly divided, right? A $33.3 million buyout of Calipari’s lifetime contract only adds to the existing quagmire. That’s not chump change, and the University of Kentucky—even if generous boosters come up with the goods—cannot afford to squander that amount of money just to cover up Mitch Barnhart’s horrific boo-boo.

How, then, do we unify and rally the fanbase? If Calipari stays on as coach, I’m afraid that simply wouldn’t be possible. From what I’ve gleaned in talking to fans and media alike, the atmosphere is just way too toxic. Expecting him to change his polarizing methods at this stage is simply wishful thinking on our part. Who’s coaching at Kentucky next year is a topic for another time. It just can’t be John Calipari.

The honorable thing would be for Calipari to graciously step down. When you’ve tarnished the empire’s reputation, it’s time to fall on your sword. But we know he’s way too proud and stubborn to do that. Plus, that wouldn’t be really fair to him. Both parties agreed to the financial terms in advance. Calipari loves money, and I doubt he’d settle for a penny less to just walk away.

Upon further review, perhaps the buyout isn’t as daunting as it first appears.

First of all, there’s an offset in the contract, meaning that if Calipari would get another coaching job somewhere else, his new salary would count toward the buyout. Even at 65 years old, I don’t think Coach Cal is ready to retire to his private island, watch Alaska shows, and play with his dogs all day long.

Secondly, we’re not talking about a lump sum payment. The buyout would be paid in monthly installments over the next five years. That’s certainly manageable in the university’s $6.8 billion mega budget.

The key, then, is to find a good compromise, one that allows both parties to save face and walk away feeling good. The university can’t be seen as pissing money away in an irresponsible fashion, while Calipari can’t lose out on the cash he thinks he was promised and deserves. In addition, any boosters paying Calipari to go away also expect and demand a good return on their investment.

What if the university or the boosters pay Calipari the full buyout amount and then Calipari agrees to donate a portion of it over to whatever charitable cause he wishes? That way, the university feels that money was actually put to good use—which it would be. Calipari gets what he’s owed, further enhances his charitable legacy, and rides off into whatever sunset he chooses under the good graces of a forever thankful UK fan base.

What distinguishes that UK fan base from all the other pretenders is our unbridled passion. What binds us together is our like-minded heritage and culture. We derive deep pleasure and satisfaction in having our identity tied in with the program—the program with the greatest tradition in the history of college basketball.

That tradition is slowly slipping away. It’s time for Mitch Barnhart and John Calipari to stop the bleeding. Lock yourselves in a room and either sing kumbaya or punch each other silly. But don’t come out until you’ve reached a tenable solution.

As die-hard Kentucky fans, the onus is on us also. Whatever Barnhart and Calipari decide, it’s important for Big Blue Nation to stick together, to circle the wagons, and to come back next year more passionate than ever.

“United we stand, divided we fall” is our state motto.

Now the legacy of our basketball empire depends on it also.

Rekindled Passion in Wildcat Nation

Tre Mitchell celebrates with teammates in a 22-point effort in victory over Saint Joseph’s.

(LEXINGTON, Ky.) – The passion is back.

In Kentucky’s 96 – 88 overtime victory the other night against the Saint Joseph’s Hawks, there was a point in the game that I thought the Wildcats might actually lose. With 30 seconds left in regulation and his team trailing by a point, D.J. Wagner shot a layup that would have given the Wildcats the lead.

He missed.

Fortunately for Big Blue Nation, Tre Mitchell grabbed the errant rebound and slammed it home for a one-point lead.

What was significant about this moment wasn’t that Kentucky ultimately prevailed in overtime and avoided the monumental upset loss at home. But rather, the significance was that—for the first time in a while—I actually cared again whether Kentucky Basketball won or lost.

And so apparently did a bunch of other Wildcat fans watching around the commonwealth. It’s been a while since we’ve all collectively felt the joy—that nail-biting, gut-wrenching nervous energy excitement of actually giving a crap. When Kentucky wins, we’re on cloud nine. When Kentucky loses, we’re depressed for a week.

As weird as that sounds, I miss that feeling.

I can’t tell you how many times over the past couple of seasons that I heard former die-hard fans tell me that joy was gone. Half the time, they didn’t even know when the Cats were playing. That’s sad. When it comes to Kentucky Basketball, there’s nothing worse than fan apathy.

Let’s face it, we’re all tired of hearing about 9 -16 seasons, first-round exits to Saint Peter’s in the NCAA tournament, and Kansas surpassing us as the all-time winningest program in college basketball. Everyone and their brother is totally frustrated by situations where Shaedon Sharpe doesn’t play at all or where Devin Askew plays too much. We’re devastated and demoralized that Final Fours—much less national championships—have apparently become things of the past.

Amidst the gloom and doom of it all, we’ve all forgotten the exhilaration of seeing the last shot go in, the elation of shooting (and making) a bunch of three-point daggers, and even the excitement of successfully running a simple inbounds play.

In one fell swoop the other night, all those emotions came flowing back.

I guarantee you this current team will recapture your passion. They’re agile, mobile, and versatile. Sure, they’re young, but they’re also extremely fun to watch. Talent is overflowing in the backcourt. Antonio Reeves can shoot with the best of them, and “dawgs” like Wagner and Rob Dillingham don’t frequently appear together out of thin air.

Reed Sheppard, however, may be better than anyone, and he’s already a fan favorite. Check out the buzz whenever he’s on the floor.

And don’t forget about Mitchell—the star of the game. The West Virginia transfer can definitely stretch the floor with his three-point shooting. Don’t ever underestimate his maturity and leadership either. It’s all part of the championship puzzle.

On top of all that, Coach John Calipari seems to be letting them play. Random basketball he calls it.

“Random is we are spacing the court, and we are playing off of one another,” the Hall of Fame coach explained. “It is kind of like you have five 3-point shooters. Do you know what you would do? Shoot a lot of 3s.”

One man’s “random” may be another man’s “rolling the balls out.”

Either way, it’s exciting for the program with the greatest tradition in the history of college basketball to be relevant again. It’s appropriate for Kentucky to recapture the all-time wins mantle. And it’s certainly exciting and appropriate for the most passionate fans on the planet to care about their team again.

Is it sustainable? I hope so.

If Kentucky gets a healthy seven-footer (or two or three) back into the lineup, then it certainly will be. Then and only then will all be right with the world.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Dr. John Huang is a retired orthodontist, military veteran, and award-winning author. He currently serves as a reporter and sports columnist for Nolan Group Media. His latest book, “They Call Me Mr. Secretary,” has been met with great anticipation. You can follow Dr. Huang on social media @KYHuangs and check out all his books at https://www.Amazon.com/stores/Dr.-John-Huang/author/B092RKJBRD

And the Oscar goes to…

Whether Oscar Tshiebwe makes it in the NBA or not, one thing’s for sure: great will be his reward in heaven (Dr. Michael Huang Photography).

(LEXINGTON, Ky.) – Now that Oscar Tshiebwe’s University of Kentucky basketball career has officially ended, I thought it’d be the perfect time to briefly reflect and reminisce on his time as a Wildcat. If you hadn’t yet heard, the former National Player of the Year announced his intention of entering the 2023 NBA draft, thus foregoing his final year of eligibility at the school of his dreams.

In his goodbye message put out by the University of Kentucky, Oscar predictably thanked God, his family and friends, Coach Cal, and the UK fanbase for his time wearing the blue and white.

“I wouldn’t want to play for anyone or anywhere else,” he poignantly wrote. “Thank you BBN for everything and I am so lucky to always call Kentucky home.”

I’ll be truthfully blunt. I don’t think we’ll ever see a player like Oscar again. On the court, he was a rebounding machine, garnering double digit caroms at an all-time pace. He ended up with 952 boards in 66 games—the sixth most in program history. If he returned for another season, he would have most likely broken Dan Issel’s 53-year school record of 1,078.

Oscar was no Dan Issel. Or even Anthony Davis for that matter. He certainly didn’t have the accomplishments that Davis had, nor the victories or championships. But he had every bit as much heart and soul and drive and purpose as anyone I’ve watched during the course of my half century following the team.

His prowess around the backboards notwithstanding, it was Oscar’s actions off the court that will always stand out to me. The guy was as humble as Saint Paul, always taking the time to answer questions, sign autographs, and pose with adoring fans. He was polite and courteous to a fault. In his postgame interview sessions, Oscar would sit there patiently answering every reporter’s question—regardless of how inane or repetitive—until the clock struck midnight and beyond.

On top of all that, Oscar did everything with a smile. The guy was just so nice. He’d look you in the eye, and with that melodically lilting African accent, wax poetically about fight, playing hard, and his love of the game. You just somehow knew that everything he told you was genuine, unscripted, and coming from the heart. Remember the time he called out his teammates for lack of fight? You knew that didn’t come from the public relations gurus at UK.

Most importantly of all, Oscar wore his faith on his sleeve. Coach John Calipari frequently speaks of finding your “why”—your motivation for doing what you do. Oscar’s “why” was to give glory to God each and every day. He certainly did that in both word and deed. We should all be so passionate in our faith and our testimony.

Imagine Oscar’s journey from his native Democratic Republic of the Congo to Lexington. Put the basketball part aside, do you know how difficult it is to adjust to life in a foreign country? Not only did Oscar survive, but he also thrived—learning the laws and customs, making friends by the boatload, earning a college degree, and speaking publicly in front of large crowds about important spiritual matters like loving your neighbor.

Christians are known for being two things: hypocritical and judgmental. Oscar was neither. One minute you’d hear him talking about caring for the sick and the poor, the next minute you’d see him helping at a soup kitchen or raising money for a worthwhile children’s charity. Just because you were different from him, he’d never denigrate or belittle you. It didn’t matter if you were Muslim or Buddhist, Hindu or Wicca, he’d talk to you as a disciple of Jesus anytime, anywhere, anyhow.

Okay, so maybe he had trouble defending the pick and roll and he never experienced the postseason success everybody anticipated, but I’ll take eternal glory in heaven over divine hardwood presence any day of the week.

In the end, Oscar knew how important winning basketball games was to UK fans. But he always managed to keep the main thing the main thing. Because of that (and his rebounding), we’ll eventually see his jersey hanging in the hallowed rafters of Rupp Arena.

For now, The Oscar is going to the NBA. Here’s hoping he makes it big. As an all-time great for the Kingdom of God, he’s already my MVP.

Dr. John Huang is a retired orthodontist, military veteran, and award-winning author. If you enjoy his writing, please check out his most recent Kentucky Basketball devotional book at https://www.amazon.com/dp/1684351669

This blog posting was originally submitted as a UK Basketball Column for Nolan Group Media publications.

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Tag: UK basketball