Yeah it's great, but...

In a couple of months, the Gonzaga University men's basketball media guide will be released. Inside, there will undoubtedly be a section about "Zags in the NBA," which will feature the words " alumni have included two NBA champions and a Hall-of-Famer."

66 percent of that sentence is strange for me.

Don't get me wrong. I am estatic that Ronny Turiaf has now won a championship ring with the Miami Heat. It was wonderful to see a Zag reach the mountaintop and take the floor for an NBA championship team, especially considering everying Ronny has gone through in his career. I was even happy to see Adam Morrison in street clothes - but on the roster! - for two NBA-champion Los Angeles Laker teams. But there's something ... off, about those accomplishments. Something doesn't seem right. As good as it is to see alumni accomplish success, the way it was done leaves me feeling strange.

It keeps taking me back to the same question: why has it been so hard for Gonzaga Bulldogs to become star players in the NBA?

To date, John Stockton remains the only successful Zag to play in the association. He's a Hall-of-Fame point guard. Member of the 1992 Dream Team. All-time leader is assists and steals. Two Finals appearances. No ring.

In the 30 years since Stockton graduated from GU, and number of other star players have stepped foot in the Martin Center and McCarthey Center. Some have been serviceable role-players. Some helped put Gonzaga in the national spotlight. And a few were considered the best players in the country.

But none have achieved greatness at the next level. Adam Morrison's fall from grace is well-known. Dan Dickau had flashes of promise but ended up with a journeyman career. Ronny Turiaf was felled by his heart condition early in his career and never developed into a star.

As fans, all we want is to see them successful as pros. We want them to win. We want them to show the world how their skills helped put a tiny Jesuit college in the middle of nowhere on the national radar.

It's great to see them win, but we'd always hoped for something ... more.

There isn't really an answer. It is the system they played in at Gonzaga? It it the lack of experience with a power conference? Or it is all just the dumb luck of the draw? Do conferences like the WCC just have the once-in-a-generation player come along (Stockton, Steve Nash)? There's been plenty of examples of NBA players succeeding and failing in all of these circumstances.

Either way, it's something Zag fans are still getting used to.

Congratulations to Ronny. Here's hoping he paves the way for a Zag to someday lead a team to an NBA title.

The JoePacolypse: Takes and Tweets

What a night that was. Fascinating and terrifying at the same time. I couldn't pull myself away from the TV as they showed video of the riots. If this is what happens when a football coach gets fired, what's next?

Takes

•  Bryan Navarro lays out the evolving story in real time, glued to TV and his Twitter feed.
• Former GUTV colleague Nate Coombs, on Facebook: "This PSU thing is like a horrible game of telephone. Everybody played it in first grade, the teacher would whisper, "I have twenty cookies to bake today" and after a dozen odd seven year old's whisper it to each other, it comes out, "I hate reading books let us play". Except this time, the teacher said "There are boys being raped in your locker room" and all the high level state administrators sitting in a circle turned that message into "there might have been some horseplay".
• Coaches at Oregon and SOU react to the news of Paterno's firing. Coach Craig Howard has a very candid take.
• When video emerged showing a news van being tipped by protesters, my friends in the media were shocked. It was a scary moment to see something like that actually happen for something like this.

Immediately after that link appeared, a Web editor in New York took to Twitter and tried to play Journalism Ethics Police, tweeting: "Fellow journalists, it's not our job to judge these Penn State students. Their discontent & gatherings are just another layer to this story."

I'm sorry, but I can't be objective about this. Those students crossed the line by flipping that news van and putting reporters and photogs in danger.

Here's another angle, as students chant "flip it!"

It makes me sick, not to mention scared for the well being of my colleagues. I hope everyone involved gets thrown in jail. They attacked the media and put lives at risk. Don't tell me to be impartial about it.

• Chris Breece, on Facebook: "...PSU students...unbelievable disgusting ridiculous inexcusable mind boggling etc etc etc.

  Tweets

• Ken Tremendous of Fire Joe Morgan - 10:59 p.m.: "You know why these PSU students are protesting Paterno's firing? None of them have kids. If they had kids, they'd have run him out of town."
• Chris Leone - 9:56 p.m: "Has Mike McQueary been fired too? No one's said anything about it."
• Bryan Navarro - 9:44 p.m.: "You say, "We are Penn State." Who is Penn State?"
• Lindsay Joy, reporter for KTWO in Casper, WY -  9:17 p.m. (moments after seeing picture of flipped news van): "This hits home."
• Jim Rome - 9:15 p.m.: "Students reportedly standing on top of an overturned news van yelling "We want Joe." They're more out of touch than Joe is."
• Geoff Ziemer of The Sports Trap - 8:28 p.m.: "OMG, this might get outta control."
• I credit Julian Olivas for coming up with the hashtag #JoePacolypse
• And Ashton Kutcher goes completely bonkers, gets skewered on Twitter.

No sympathy for old men

Do not, for one second, feel sorry for Joe Paterno.

Yes, he has had a long and storied coaching career. He has won national championships. He has helmed a powerhouse for decades. He is one of the most successful, decorated, and venerated college football coaches of all time.

None of that means anything anymore. Not after what we've learned.

Football is a game. It means nothing. The abuse of young children is deplorable and heinous. Punishing those responsible, and preventing it from happening again, means everything.

Children were being raped. Paterno knew about it and did nothing to stop it.

Instead, he was a part of the cover-up. Assistant coaches, graduate assistants, Athletic Directors, University Presidents, and yes, the head football coach, all played some role in letting the abuse happen. They all knew what the scandal would do to the program, and that led all of them to do the bare minimum. Saving their skins, but not their souls.

Paterno was part of a larger pyramid of enablers who took the protection of their multi-million dollar footbal program more seriously than protecting innocent kids who were being preyed upon. For years, each man in that program had a chance to step up and do the right thing.

No one did.

Wednesday, Paterno was fired from his position as head football coach. He's had a long career. He has the money. He still has the wins. He'll be fine.

Don't feel sorry for him. Feel sorry for the kids he failed to protect.

They won't ever be fine again.

Legacy, Honor and Scandal at Penn State

 And just like that, the walls of an institution come tumbling down.

I don't know if the allegations against Jerry Sandusky are true. I'm not privy to what Joe Paterno knew, or what he told and who he told it to. I'm unclear about how far up the alleged cover-up went.

All I know is that it makes me feel sick, shocked and jaded.

The Penn State Nitany Lions are one of the most revered programs in all of college football. Even a casual fan knows about the school's storied history. We all know about the legacy of Joe Paterno and his tradition of winning.

All of that means nothing now. Not after something like this. Not while so many questions remain unanswered.

How could no one step up and stop this?
Because of so many selfish reasons. Wanting to protect a friend. Wanting to protect your own skin. Wanting to save a successful football program. And everyone bought into this mentality. From Sandusky for allegedly doing it in the first place, to Paterno for not telling police, to the higher ups at the university for doing nothing once they were told. One by one, the dominoes fell.

How could this happen at Penn State, where they are all about honor and tradition?
Unfortunately, it's becoming clear that those are simply buzz words to bolster recruiting and increase donations to the athletic department. Really, it's all about keeping the money coming, no matter who gets hurt.

Why didn't Paterno go to the police?
Because he's either a selfish football coach wanting to avoid scandal at his program, or because he's a loony old man who didn't know any better. Neither of which excuses what he failed to do. As a leader of young mean, he failed in his responsibility.

It's all coming out how about the hypocrisy of this major football program. All of the accolades, honor, and legacy with that school and team don't mean anything if no one steps up and does the right thing.

It's ironic that it's exactly that honor and legacy that led to this downfall. Paterno was protecting a longtime friend and assistant coach. Paterno, in turn, was having his legacy protected by school administrators who know how important the coach is in college football history. Because these men put so much stock in a tradition of winning and excellence, they completely shut themselves off from the horrible actions that were taking place.

To them, football was more important over whether kids were raped.

And all that honor and integrity allowed it to go unpunished.

Out of Ammo

Adam Morrison was once the greatest college basketball player I had ever seen.

He was also a disappointment, a bust, a heartbreaker and a joke. All in just six years' time.

To really understand, you have to go back to the fall of 2005. The Gonzaga Bulldogs were beginning a new season with high expectations. The team's hopes were pinned to Morrison, the moptopped, sweet-shooting swingman.

As a freshman that year at Gonzaga, I had heard this story before. Like Matt Santangelo, Richie Frahm, Blake Stepp and Dan Dickau before him, Morrison was the latest Great White Zags Hope. Besides, anyone looks good playing against the weak West Coast Conference competition. What was going to be so different?

And then I saw Morrison play.




The buzzer-beater may have hooked me, but it was his sheer ability that kept me around.

I saw him play on TV, and he was incredible. I saw him play live at the McCarthey Athletic Center, and he was phenomenal. I stood in the stands with my jaw hitting the floor, amazed by the absolute ability of this guy.

I didn't think it was possible, but Morrison worked so hard in every game, while simultaneously making it look easy. He could hit shots from 30 feet out. He could go off the dribble and pull up, or power to the basket. He could curl off screens. He could run the fast break.

I had never seen a player like him before, and I have never seen a player like him since.

He could do it all.





That season, Morrison averaged 28 points per game, shot 43 percent on 3-pointers, grabbed five rebounds per contest, and was named co-player of the year.

He had five 40-point games and 13 30-point games, all the while hitting shot after shot from every conceivable angle. He carried the Zags through the WCC season and on to the 2006 NCAA Tournament.

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Fast forward six years. Morrison is now playing basketball in Serbia, getting more press for his ejection that his play. Just six years after that incredible campaign at Gonzaga, during which he was named the best player in the country, he's not even in the country anymore.

Six years ago, it would be hard to fathom that this would be the arc of Morrison's career. Because as the Zags rolled through the NCAA Tournament in 2006, it seemed "Ammo" was destined for greatness.

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The downfall started, like many do, with teardrops.

In the 2006 Sweet Sixteen, the Bulldogs were up by 17 points against UCLA, and cruising. A curiously shirtsleeved Morrison was leading the Zags in scoring, and the team was looking to move on to the Elite Eight.

Then things fell apart.

The Bruins locked down Morrison in the second half, swarming him and keeping him away from the ball. The rest of the Zags looked lost, and UCLA started to chip away at the lead. Everything was coming unraveled. 

With 14 seconds left and the Zags leading by one, Morrison was swarmed in the backcourt by Bruin defenders. Morrison passed to power forward JP Batista. And in doing so, passed away his career.

Despite point guard Derek Raivio, a 90 percent free throw shooter, being open six feet away, Batista held the ball, which was stolen by UCLA. They got the ball inside for an easy layup, and with two seconds still on the clock, still time, possibly, Morrison collapsed on the court in tears. It was done.

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Despite the setback, Morrison's talent was never in doubt. I'll admit, I was a member of the Blazers' "Draft the Stache" campaign. I believed in the talent and work ethic I saw at Gonzaga. But his tears during the Sweet Sixteen earned him equal amounts of criticism and praise. He was still considered a good prospect, but now he was becoming equally known as "the guy who cried."

Morrison was taken number 3 overall by the Charlotte Bobcats in the 2006 NBA draft. His rookie season was solid if unspectacular, averaging 11 points per game. For a time, he was briefly in consideration for Rookie of the Year before fading near the end of the season. You could think that, given time and conditioning, he could play at the NBA level.

The next season, the wheels fell off.

A torn ACL ended Morrison's season in 2007, and by the time he returned the next year, he couldn't find a spot in the rotation. His defense was invisible, and he couldn't hit any of the shots he took. His bread-and-butter at Gonzaga was his ability to create his own shot. Now, he lacked that ability. A game that used to come so easy for him now seemed like the most difficult task in the world.

In the 2008-2009 season, he was traded to a contender, the Los Angeles Lakers.

And that's when a former College Player of the Year became a complete joke.

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Adam Morrison is a two time NBA champion.

He won titles in 2009 and 2010 with the Lakers, coached by Phil Jackson and featuring one of the greatest players ever to pick up a ball, Kobe Bryant. For most players, this would be a crowning achievement for a career. But Adam Morrison didn't receive that luxury.

Yes, Morrison won two championships. No, he didn't play. Morrison was more often inactive, wearing street clothes and sitting on the bench. He didn't play a single minute in either NBA finals.

Years earlier at Gonzaga, we predicted that Morrison could someday have a major impact on a championship contender.

What we didn't expect was that he would have no impact at all.

Instead, he became a joke. Without significant playing time in years (and without significant production when he did play), no one remembered the greatness on the hardwood at Gonzaga, they only remembered the crying during the Sweet Sixteen. The awkwardness on the Laker bench. He became fodder for late night TV shows.

What should have been the two happiest moments of Adam Morrison's career became nothing but a reminder of how far he had fallen.

Morrison has not played a game in the NBA since.

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Adam Morrison now starts at small forward for KK Crvena zvezda in Serbia. Judging by highlights and my inability to understand Serbian, it seems like he's playing well, with a recent 30-point game.

It's not the worst way to make a living, but it's nothing like what was expected so many years ago.

How did Morrison end up at this point? Was it the level of competition? His defense? His desire? We may not know. The question now is: what's next?

It's easy to laugh at the legions of die-hard Zag fans who still say Adam Morrison got a raw deal. To them it was always the coach's fault, or the injury's fault. Many of them are probably watching Ammo's Euro highlights and thinking "See? He can still do it!"

And deep down, I desperately want them to be right.

Deep down, I want to feel what my freshman self felt in the bleachers six years ago. I want to feel that excitement, that wonder about how a young man can play basketball so well.

We didn't appreciate the phenomenon we were seeing at Gonzaga. It came and went like a gunshot. Too fast. We weren't prepared for it to be so finite. Deep down, we just want to see it one last time.

But the heartbreaking idea no one wants to admit, is that maybe there's no bullets left in the chamber.