IT'S been a decade since Ladell Andersen coached basketball, yet he still peers over the rims of his glasses, educating you as he goes. He discusses the sideline fast break, the 1-4 offensive set, the art of free throw shooting. And along the way he veers off to explain why he would love to still be in the chase."I would love to coach as an assistant in the NBA, knowing that I'd be a darn good assistant coach," says Andersen.
And if they offered him a job as a head coach, he doesn't mind saying he'd be darn good at that, too.
Andersen has been in basketball, playing, coaching, administrating or scouting, longer than BYU coach Steve Cleveland, Utah coach Rick Majerus and USU coach Stew Morrill have been alive. The man grew up shooting baskets in Malad, Idaho, on a homemade hoop, with a dirt court - unless there was snow on the ground, in which case the court was made of ice. He never quite got the whole hoop thing out of his system.
Here he is, living the good life, lunching at the Bloomington Country Club, golfing, watching his collection of 150 movie classics, working on his book about free throw shooting - and still he wants to climb back into the cauldron.
"I'm not good at a lot of things, but I'm straight-A in basketball," says Andersen. "You want to go to the blackboard? I'll go to the blackboard and diagram plays with anybody."
If it sounds like Andersen, the former coach of the Utah Stars, Utah State Aggies and BYU Cougars, just can't step away, well, you're only partially right. He's fine. He lives in St. George, retired. He listens two or three hours of Rush Limbaugh every day. "Love the guy," he says. He goes with his wife to see showcase homes.
People ask how often he golfs and he says whenever he wants. Some weeks he doesn't golf at all. Some weeks he golfs every day, depending on his mood. He doesn't have a boss, doesn't have to go to practice, doesn't worry about player eligibility or the booster club and, best of all, doesn't need to worry about wins. Heck, he doesn't even need to worry about money.
It's the sort of life most Americans aspire to: sun, golf, lunch at the club.
Andersen isn't complaining. He's in three halls of fame. His coaching shirt hangs in the Smithsonian. Sports Illustrated referred to him as the "Rupp of the Rockies." He had several USU teams ranked in the Top 10 and his BYU team was once ranked No. 2 in the nation. He's a consultant/scout with the Jazz, but only when he wants to.
"But if I had my druthers, I'd rather be at Denver as an assistant coach with the Nuggets," he says. "It's kind of me, it's what I like to do. But they have to feel the same way. I could help that organization."
Andersen, of all people, understands why Frank Layden, after 10 years away from coaching, took the job as coach of the Utah Starzz. If there's a working equivalent to Andersen's retirement, it was Layden's job. He would make public appearances, give speeches, act like a diplomat.
When hired by the Starzz, Layden, like Andersen, had pretty much done it all. It's a status you only gain over time. Neither has much left to prove. At that stage, coaching is for love, not money, fame or career advancement. They don't even need to worry about getting fired; that's for young coaches raising kids and paying mortgages.
And so when Layden got the Starzz job last month, Andersen smiled. He knew the grip coaching has on those who spend decades in the gym. There are too many things complicating the job, so one day you get fed up and leave. It may be a troublesome player or the travel or the administration or the media, and you just quit. Give it up to live the life you always wanted. So long to living by clocks - alarm clocks, office clocks, scoreboard clocks. Hello to two-hour lunches and sleeping late.
And then it comes creeping back. You wake up mornings and realize there aren't any more challenges. Nobody asks you how your team's doing. You start realizing that adding up your golf score really isn't the same as keeping track of the time, the score, the number of personal fouls and the free throw percentage of every player on the other team - all at once. You remember what it was like when it was all coming down to a final shot and you had them in the huddle, making your plan.
And when it worked, there was no better feeling in the world.
Andersen allows that, yes, he would love to be coaching again. Sixty years of hoops can do that to you.
Then he gets up to leave - unless you want to stay longer. He has the time. Maybe later in the afternoon he'll play golf. Maybe he'll catch a movie. Then again, maybe the Nuggets will call. He can always hope.