Lucas offers the gift of a lifetime
Hoops/life mentor has many roles, but the goal is always the same: Change lives
HOUSTON -- Shortly after he was freed
from jail, Kentucky assistant Rod Strickland retrieved his cell phone
from police officers and sent a two-word text message to Wildcats coach
John Calipari.
"I'm done," it read.
Hours earlier -- just
short of 3 a.m. on April 12, 2010 -- Strickland was pulled over after
running a red light and nearly hitting another vehicle a few miles from
UK's campus. The smell of alcohol still on his breath, Strickland could
hardly remember bumbling through the ABCs, attempting to balance on one
leg or being escorted to a police car amid the glare of flashing red
lights.
AP Photo/Kevin RivoliRod Strickland, right, was serving as a mentor to Kentucky players, but wasn't exactly leading by example outside the arena.
But
he certainly felt the shame as he sobered up later that morning, when
word began to spread that the former NBA All-Star had been arrested and
charged with DUI for the fourth time.
Staring at the walls of his
cell, Strickland thought about the people he'd disappointed. His wife,
his children, the Kentucky fans who hugged him and asked for autographs
when he arrived on campus a year earlier, the coach who had stood behind
him so many times before.
So embarrassed was Strickland that he
didn't even want to speak with Calipari, much less face him. So after he
posted bond he sent his boss the text, essentially resigning before he
was fired.
Calipari would have none of it.
"Handle your business and we'll work it out," Calipari wrote back. "Just do what you have to do to get better."
Strickland
knew exactly what that entailed. The following morning he went to the
airport, flew to Houston and didn't return for three months.
John Lucas wouldn't let him.
"That man changed my life," Strickland says three years later. "John Lucas changed my life."
For
more than two decades now, John Lucas' Houston-based treatment program
has gained national acclaim for helping athletes and coaches who have
steered off path.
A former NBA star whose career was nearly
derailed by substance abuse, Lucas has gained most of his fame for his
attempts to rehabilitate sports figures struggling with drugs and
alcohol.
Tyrann "Honey Badger" Mathieu sought help from Lucas last
fall following his dismissal from LSU's football team for repeated
marijuana use. Lucas also has counseled college basketball coaches such
as Strickland, Larry Eustachy and Billy Gillispie about issues relating
to alcohol.
Lucas' program, however, isn't limited to people with chemical addictions.
After
he was cut by the Washington Wizards last summer because of poor
conditioning and work ethic, Andray Blatche spent three months in
Houston, where Lucas helped him lose 20 pounds and regain focus. Former
San Diego guard
Brandon Johnson,
one of the key figures in a point-shaving case at his alma mater, is
working out at Lucas' gym this month along with ex-LSU point guard Tack
Minor, who is having trouble catching on with a team overseas because
he's also 20 pounds overweight.
While the program may seem like a
haven for wayward souls, even athletes with no apparent off-court issues
make pilgrimages each year to work out with Lucas, who also runs camps
across the country for the nation's top high school prospects and
prepares college stars each year for the NBA draft.
Blake Griffin, Kobe Bryant,
LeBron James and scores of others have sought out Lucas' tutelage.
Former All-Star Baron Davis once likened Lucas' wellness program to a
health spa, where players go to cleanse their minds and rejuvenate their
spirits -- all while being screamed at and prodded by Lucas, who spent
six seasons as an NBA head coach.
People respect Lucas because he tells them what they need to hear -- not what they want to hear.
"It's like a truth serum," Strickland says.
Eustachy agrees.
"He
might be the smartest man I know," says the Colorado State head coach.
"He's got his hand in so many things. His only issue is that he can't
say no to anyone. He's too generous. It's a problem I wish everyone
had."
Basketball coach, father figure, psychologist, counselor,
friend. Lucas' role differs by the hour, but his goal is always the
same.
"I'm competitive," said the 59-year-old Lucas. "When these
guys succeed on the court, it makes me feel good. And as far as the ones
who are in the recovery program … I want them to have this gift that I
got years ago.
"I call it the gift of desperation."
When
he awoke on the evening of March 12, 1986, John Lucas was soaked in his
own urine. One night earlier, the Houston Rockets' point guard had
scored 20 points and dished out nine assists against the Boston Celtics,
but now he was in a shady section of Houston, wearing a suit, five
pairs of socks and no
engulfed the lives of many NBA players in the 1970s and '80s.
Earlier
in the day, while his teammates were at practice, Lucas had passed out
after consuming alcohol and snorting cocaine. He was drug-tested when he
returned to the arena the following day and then watched from the bench
as the Rockets beat the Portland Trail Blazers that night.
"The worst part," Lucas says, "was sitting there in front of 15,000 people, knowing what was next."
Indeed, Lucas' drug test came back positive.
Again.
"No more second chances," coach Bill Fitch told Lucas the next morning. "You're done."
Only he wasn't. Instead of floundering in the face of adversity, Lucas found a way to flourish.
Admitting
he had a problem, the former No. 1 pick in the NBA draft checked
himself into a Houston rehab facility. Lucas sobered up, returned to the
court the following season with the Milwaukee Bucks and averaged a
career-high 17.5 points.
By the time he retired in 1990 -- ranking
10th on the league's all-time assists list -- Lucas already had his
sights set on a new venture. He founded a treatment program and began
counseling and mentoring athletes who were having some of the same
substance abuse issues that he'd been able to conquer.
Year after
year, more and more athletes flocked to Houston to see Lucas. Some were
high-profile football players such as Dexter Manley and JaMarcus
Russell. Others were high school hoops stars or Division II assistant
coaches. Lucas didn't discriminate.
He even purchased a USBL
basketball team and stocked the roster with players in need of a second
chance. When he became an NBA head coach, Lucas was forced to sell his
foundation to Right Step, a chain of in-patient treatment facilities
throughout Texas. But even then, he signed on as a consultant with the
company and has served as an adviser ever since.
"When people come
to see me, I'm usually the last house on the block," Lucas says. "I'm
the last stop on the escalator. Everyone has told them, 'Lucas is hard.
You're going to work. It's a full day. He doesn't treat anyone any
different. It ain't going to be easy.'
"I cut through all the bulls---. If you don't do what I'm telling you to do, you don't have the gift of desperation."
Sports
figures seeking treatment for substance abuse must surrender their car
keys and cell phones to Lucas for 10 days. Then he drives them to Right
Step, an apartment-like facility in a middle-class area of Houston.
Millionaire
coaches and athletes who are accustomed to sleeping in five-star hotels
spend their nights in narrow twin beds. The tile on some of the floors
is chipped and posters featuring Bible verses and "The 12 Steps to
Serenity" are the only things hanging from the walls.
A worn-down
basketball goal, with a backboard that slants forward, is in the
courtyard near a wrought iron table, where a box of dominoes rests near
an ashtray. Gillispie, the former Kentucky coach, stayed here two
summers ago. Last year, the 6-foot-10, 330-pound Renardo Sidney of
Mississippi State slept in one of those tiny beds.
Most of the people Lucas sends to Right Step stay 30 days before transitioning to outpatient care for two months.
"People
tease me and say, 'Hey man, this place is no better than Sanford and
Son's,'" Lucas says. "That's by design. Why should you be going to a
plush place like the Four Seasons? You were already in one, and it
obviously didn't do you any good. Otherwise you wouldn't be here seeing
me."
David Liam Kyle/NBAE/Getty ImagesIn many roles, Lucas has served as a mentor to countless athletes for the past 20-plus years.
Mentoring
athletes and coaches who have experienced success at the highest level
isn't easy, Lucas says. They may appear big and powerful and
intimidating, but inside many are fragile and lack confidence.
"You say 'boo' and they'll run," Lucas chuckles.
Lucas'
ability to relate to relate to those types of personalities is what
makes him so successful. He said the first thing he does when someone
shows up for treatment is apply the "Eminem Theory." He's referring to
the famous rapper who has a popular song called, "Cleanin' Out My
Closet."
"People let me into their closet," Lucas says. "I get to
go into the bedroom instead of sitting in the living room and listening
to all that artificial stuff. I need to know what I'm dealing with.
"I
ask guys right at the beginning, 'What is your secret? What are you
scared of? What is it that keeps you up late at night? Take that mask
off and let me see who you really are.'"
Lucas said some athletes
are hesitant to share those sort of feelings with their college or pro
coach because they're scared that what they say may be used against
them. With Lucas, they can be honest.
"Sometimes you need an
outside source to bring out those emotions," he says. "Most guys will
break down and tell me everything. They'll say, 'Coach, I'll do whatever
you want me to do.' That shows me they truly want to change. It shows
me they have the gift of desperation."
One example is Strickland,
who spent 17 years in the NBA -- where he played against Lucas -- before
becoming an assistant for Calipari at Memphis and Kentucky.
Strickland
never considered himself an alcoholic. He wasn't the type to drink
alone or secretly. If anything, he was addicted to a lifestyle, not a
chemical.
"I drank for years," Strickland says. "When I went out
with my dudes, that's what we did. We drank. Obviously, I over-indulged
more than others.
"That last [DUI] … I couldn't get it out of my
mind that I almost hit somebody, that I could've killed somebody. I
thought about me going to jail and my kids not having me there. Those
are things I keep in my belly to this day. I felt like I had had my nine
lives and now I was on my 10th. I thought, 'What's next after this
one?'"
Before he arrived in Houston, Strickland said he had always
been quiet and reserved. He didn't talk a lot, he said, because he
didn't trust people. But all of a sudden here he was, sharing stories
with other residents of Right Step. Teenagers and businessmen, poor
people and wealthy ones. Each time the group gathered for a meeting or
to listen to a speaker, Strickland felt more and more comfortable
opening up.
"Some people had different issues," Strickland says.
"Some had done more than others. But at the end of the day, there was a
common ground. We were all trying to help each other. After that very
first meeting I realized, 'This is good for you. You need this.'"
Even
though Lucas wasn't present for the sessions, Strickland said he was
available around the clock. Sometimes he'd pick up Strickland on the
weekend and take him to his house for a home-cooked meal. Other times
the two would chat late into the night on the phone or bounce thoughts
back and forth while driving around Houston.
AP Photo/David J. PhillipBefore
he got help, Lucas always wanted to be the center of attention.
Realizing he was just another recovering alcohol was a huge step.
"He
knew when I was going to call him, how I was going to feel and when I
was going to panic," Strickland says. "Some days I might have said, 'I
want to get out of here. I'm not feeling this.' He may have calmed me
down one time and cursed me out the next. Luc doesn't hold his tongue.
But I needed that. Luc's word is gold."
Beneficial as his guidance
has been to others, Lucas freely admits that one of the main reasons he
started the wellness and rehabilitation program was for himself. He
points out that the final bullet point in the 12 Steps to Serenity calls
for addicts to "help others" conquer their problems with substance
abuse and other issues. Staying active in such endeavors, Lucas says, is
simply a part of his recovery.
"In the past, it was all about
me," Lucas says. "If I wasn't the center of attention, I had an issue.
I'd go to funerals and want to be in the casket, because all of the
attention was on the corpse. At weddings I wished I was the groom,
because all of the focus was on him.
"Alcoholics Anonymous taught
me that I'm just another bozo on the bus. I'm nothing special, and I've
learned to be comfortable with that. I grew up as an athlete. Recovery
made me go back and grow up as a person."
Fresh
off his morning A.A. meeting, John Lucas parks his black Cadillac
Escalade in front of the gym at Lutheran North High School in Houston.
It's just after 9 a.m., which means it's time to coach.
Among the
players waiting for him inside are Khadeem Lattin, one of the country's
most highly recruited players in the Class of 2014; Yanick Moreira, the
nation's top junior college prospect who has signed with SMU; and Tack
Minor, a key contributor to LSU's 2006 Final Four squad who has his
initials (a T and an M) tattooed on the back of each calf.
"You know what that stands for?" Lucas says to the cocksure point guard. "Too F---in' Much."
Minor
is used to getting an earful from Lucas, but today the coach has
reserved his ire for Antoine Davis, a 14-year-old seventh-grader with
braces who appears to weigh at least 50 pounds less than anyone on the
court. When Davis takes a few stutter steps on the perimeter without
moving toward the basket, Lucas halts play and approaches the guard on
the court.
"What the f--- are you dancin' for?" he screams as
Davis droops his shoulders and stares at the hardwood. "I'll say it
again. What the f--- are you dancin' for? Boy, don't start that dancin'
s---. You're not going anywhere doing that. Drive the ball toward the
f---in' basket!"
Watching from a folding chair nearby is former Indiana head coach Mike
Davis, Antoine's father.
"Rough out there today, isn't it?" says
Davis, smiling. He's asked if he's bothered by the tone Lucas is taking
with his son. "Absolutely not. You can't beat this. Where else can a kid
go play against this kind of competition in front a guy who was the No.
1 pick in the draft? He's pushing [Antoine] beyond his limits. He has
no choice but to catch up."
The former Bob Knight assistant stops and shakes his head.
Davis has entrusted his son to the care of Lucas, who doesn't exactly mince words.
"John is the best I've ever seen," Davis says.
Now
the head coach at Texas Southern, Davis and his wife home-school
Antoine, which means he's able to work out with Lucas almost every
morning. Lucas doesn't always know who is going to show up at his gym
but the door is always open.
Veterans such as Minor are simply
seeking a rigorous workout that will help them get back into shape and
revive their careers. Others are eager for Lucas' advice.
The
Harrison twins, Andrew and Aaron, who committed to Kentucky during the
fall, have trained with Lucas. So has UCLA freshman Shabazz Muhammad and
highly touted high school senior Jabari Parker from Chicago.
On
weekdays, 9 a.m. practices are usually followed by a 15-minute Bible
study and a catered lunch. Players then move to another facility to lift
weights and then return to the gym for an mid-afternoon workout as
well.
"Every day is a grind with him," Lattin said. "He teaches
skill work, but he teaches toughness, too. There have been plenty of
times when I've rolled my ankle to where it was the size of a tennis
ball. Coach says, 'Get up and go play again.' One time I fell and had a
small gash on my head. We wiped up the blood and he said, 'Get back on
the court.'
"It sounds rough, but that's what I need. I feel fortunate to be getting
this experience."
Much like the living quarters at Right Step,
the gymnasium at Lutheran North is far from posh. Lucas often keeps the
doors open so air will circulate, the restrooms seem as if they haven't
been cleaned in months and a glaze of dust and dirt covers the gym
floor.
"Oil spill," Lucas screams after Minor loses his footing
while attempting a layup, leaving a puddle of sweat on the hardwood.
Rather than get a mop, the players move their game to the next court.
"I
call our gym 'The Lab,'" Lucas says. "Everyone talks about how run down
it is, with the dirty floors and the slippery courts. But I'm about
getting it done. I don't care how it looks. It's like Muhammad Ali said:
'I'll run on the road so I can dance under the lights.'"
While
some Houston-based players depend on Lucas for year-round training,
others absorb all they can at the various events he runs throughout the
country.
The NBA recently hired Lucas to be the scouting
consultant for its Top 100 camp, which means he's responsible for
identifying the nation's best high school prospects and inviting them to
the event in June.
Lucas, whose son John plays for the Toronto
Raptors, also puts on an NBA pre-draft camp each summer. He said that 14
of the 60 players selected in this summer's draft had trained at his
gym. In the past, he has trained lottery picks such as Tristan Thompson
and T.J. Ford of Texas and DeAndre Jordan of Texas A&M.
Lucas
has contracted with a rehab division of a local hospital to help players
with injuries and health issues. Some folks have suggested Lucas run
his entire operation out of one facility, but he likes the fact that his
pupils go from the Drury Inn to the gym to the hospital and all places
in between.
"I used to be a public deterrent," Lucas says, "so I want these guys to become public contributors."
Initially,
Lucas said players were hesitant to train with him because of the
stigma attached to his name. If you're going to see John Lucas, you must
have a drug or alcohol problem. But these days Lucas is getting as much
recognition for the coaching he does on the court as he is for the
mentorship he provides off of it.
"A lot of coaches don't go at
them like I do," Lucas says. "I'm going to cuss. I've got $84 million
pros getting cussed out in our gym, so you know I'm going to be tough on
those little high school and college kids."
Chris Coduto/Icon SMIEver the coach and mentor, Lucas has turned his second chance into a way to help others.
No one has complained.
Just
as he is with his rehab program, Lucas is a master motivator. He picked
up some of his coaching tactics during the year he spent shadowing
former Dallas Cowboys coach Bill Parcells. Along with being a basketball
star at the University of Maryland, Lucas was also an All-American in
tennis. One of his mentors was Arthur Ashe.
"I've experienced a
lot of things that I can pass on to athletes," Lucas says. "I'm not just
teaching the game. I'm teaching life skills. For the pros guys that
aren't working hard, I remind them that there's another draft coming up
the next year. They can be replaced.
"I've never seen a bunch of
women following a guy with a sign that says, 'Will work for food.' These
guys can't afford to let up. In the past, guys have come to me after
they've taken a step back. Now I'm trying to get to them before that
happens."
Each and every week --
sometimes more than once -- John Lucas receives a call from Lexington,
Ky. When he looks at the caller ID and sees the name "Rod Strickland,"
Lucas can't help but smile.
After completing Lucas' treatment
program in July 2010, Strickland was allowed to return to the Wildcats'
staff as a special assistant to Calipari. He also has been taking
classes on Kentucky's campus and is months away from earning his
undergraduate degree, which he didn't have time to accomplish in three
years at DePaul.
Best of all, Strickland has remained sober.
He
said he hasn't taken a sip of alcohol since that April night nearly
three years ago, when Strickland turned a terrible mistake into a
life-changing moment.
"Everything has been better since I went to
Luc'," Strickland says. "My family, my kids, my career. I look at my
life now and say, 'This is good.' I'm a more open person now. I realize I
can just be myself. I don't need to go out and have a drink."
Uplifting
as Strickland's turnaround may be, Lucas realizes that not every story
ends in success. For every person he has helped conquer substance abuse,
Lucas hears about someone else having a relapse. For every player he
helps re-focus and get drafted, there is another whose lazy ways
resurface just when things begin to look promising.
"This isn't a healing house, now," Lucas says. "If we're doing 50-50, that's great."
Lucas
picks up his phone and takes a call from Louisiana. He says there's a
prospect there who is "having some issues" who might want to enroll in
his wellness program. Lucas has never heard of the kid, but he decides
to make the two-and-a-half hour drive to Lake Charles to meet him.
Lucas shrugs his shoulders and chuckles.
