My Rick Pitino story

Sam did not have Mr. Pitino's phone number, but had given the sports desk the address of Mr. Pitino's home in Mount Kisco, NY, in the upper reaches of suburban Westchester County. Neither of us had a car, so Bill wrote out a transportation voucher that allowed us to use one of the cars that The Times kept for reporters in the parking lot next door at the time.

Before we left, Bill said we should try to get a quote from Mr. Pitino. Even if he wasn't home, the reader would still know that The Times had tried to contact him.

But before I had a chance to say a word, Mr. Pitino grabbed our Times IDs, which the two of us, each in our early twenties, held up to his face, FBI-style. We did our best to ease the tension and tell him that our readers wanted to know if he was really leaving New York. But we could see his anger rising. He started writing our names on a piece of paper and asked, 'Who sent you here? Do you know that my wife and children sleep inside!”

“Sorry, Rick, but we couldn't find your number,” I said.

Then he told us to leave.

I stayed with The Times sports department for the next 27 years and thoroughly enjoyed my time, without another nightmare. Instead, my reporting assignments often collided with many of my childhood dreams. I met Joe Frazier and once piloted a hot air balloon over Yankee and Shea Stadiums. I interviewed Wayne Gretzky And Henk Aaron. I relived the New York Jets' most glorious moment – ​​winning Super Bowl III Joe Namat.

Mr. Pitino walked around. He won a national championship during his eight-year tenure at Kentucky, and after less than four seasons back in the NBA with the Boston Celtics, he once again returned to his first love, this time at the University of Louisville. He won his second national championship in 2013 (which the university later forfeited after a scandal involving recruits), and soon after I went to Society News to write the Vows column.