Upon further review: Nolan Richardson: race, education, basketball

This is a story about academe. This is a story about race. This is a story about America.

And Nolan Richardson lost his job in America Friday.

Following a 71-58 loss at Kentucky Feb. 23, Richardson grew so incensed that he said he would surrender his head coaching position at Arkansas if the administration wanted to seize it. Then, the following Monday, when asked to explicate his comments, Richardson unleashed an unexpected tirade about the difficulties of being a black coach at a big-time institution. Friday, after several days of closed-door discussions and much outside speculation, the university bought out the remaining six years of his contract for $3 million.

With that, one of the most successful black coaches in American athletic history joined the ranks of the unemployed, and a flurry of questions swirled in the controversy's wake.

First question: Why was he bought out?

After 16 successful seasons coaching basketball at Arkansas, including one national championship victory in 1994, Richardson steered his Razorbacks to a disappointing 13-14 record this year.

Before Richardson strode into town, though, winning did not come so naturally in Fayetteville. With recruiting finesse and strategic wizardry, Richardson developed into one of the nation's most respected coaches, and in turn, his program flourished. Barring a remarkable performance in the SEC Tournament this week, Arkansas will probably miss the NCAA Tournament for only the second time in 16 seasons--the postseason for the first time in 17.

Nolan Richardson, and nobody else, deserves the credit for transforming Arkansas basketball from a meddling conference doormat into one of the most consistent programs in America.

Richardson, far from accepting responsibility for this glaring deficiency in his duties as coach, offered this response to ESPN: "When you're talking about the black African-American kid who comes to college, the No. 1 thing in their mind is the NBA. And because the window of opportunity is so small, they choose not to graduate simply because they want to have that opportunity."

Outside of Corliss Williamson, who has enjoyed several impressive NBA campaigns, none of Richardson's players in that time frame has earned a modicum of success on the professional level.

Still, the question stands: What forced Richardson out of his post as head coach?

His saying that he was the most important part of the university? His graduation rate?

Apparently not. Arkansas' chancellor John White asserted that, "In no way was [buying his contract out] an action based on him speaking his mind.... [It was] more because of a feeling that a time had come for a change."

This political answer from White begs the next question: What precipitated Richardson's unforeseen outburst? Certainly, some actions must have created an atmosphere that necessitated this "timeÉ for a change."

Although no definitive answers exist for this query, a refresher of how the coach felt after the 1994 NCAA Final Four may serve as the best starting point.

Facing Krzyzewski and a Blue Devils team that the media associated with the white institution, Richardson prepared his mostly black team for battle. However, in Richardson's opinion, the press, instead of billing this as a matchup between the two best teams in the country, painted the Blue Devils as "intelligent" and the Razorbacks as "athletic."

After his team won the game, Richardson told The New York Daily News, "If I was white and I did what I've done here, they'd build statues to me.... Eddie Sutton did the same thing here and he became God."

What Richardson is alluding to is a brand of racism that black people in high-level positions struggle with every day.

It is not a brand of racism that mobilizes thousands of protesters to march. It is not a brand of racism people discuss at dinner parties. It is a subtle, underlying, festering brand of racism that most people are too afraid to talk about or even seriously look at.

Feb. 25, Richardson addressed these queasy issues bluntly: "I did not come over on that ship, so I expect to be treated a little bit different. Because I know for a fact that I do not play on the same level as the other coaches around this school play on. I know that. You know it. And people of my color know that."

Another instance of crying victimhood? Perhaps, but such quick pigeonholing of this situation does not give the issues their deserved gravity.

While Richardson frantically paces up and down the sidelines during games, speaks his mind after them, and is generally an explosive, firebrand of a personality, Tubby Smith, Kentucky's first black coach, possesses a noticeably cooler demeanor. His words are often times more calculated, his actions less ostentatious.

And when asked about Richardson's tirade, Smith sympathized with his former SEC rival. "Being black and being in a place where they expect you to win every game, I probably understand his frustration better than anybody. If you don't win every game, there has to be a reason."

White has still not made his reasons clear for firing Richardson. Only making a vague call for change, White has not answered any of the pressing questions that have black-marked his university.

Maybe his silence is rooted in one of our country's unspoken failings that people tiptoe around at dinner parties.

Greg Veis is a Trinity junior and associate sports editor for The Chronicle