When it comes to identifying UNLV’s next head basketball coach, those investigating potential candidates should consider a theme based on a series of children’s books.
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The lead had climbed to 21 with about seven minutes remaining in the first half against Southern Utah, I mean South Dakota, I mean Air Force, I mean one of the worst Air Force sides in recent memory, and the energy in the Thomas & Mack Center on Saturday night continued to rise as it has few times this UNLV basketball season.
Robert Smith is the guy you hear on the radio during UNLV basketball games, the one his university should be ashamed of because it still hasn’t retired and hung his jersey in the rafters of the Thomas & Mack Center, the best point guard in Rebels history.
Two days after their coach was fired midway through his fourth season, having lost six of their previous eight games and sitting at 0-3 to begin Mountain West play, UNLV basketball players were implored by their new leader to run.
UNLV athletic director Tina Kunzer-Murphy was answering questions Sunday evening about the firing (with a capital F) of Dave Rice when the future was mentioned, specifically if the school will commence a national search to identify a new full-time basketball coach.
I remember the telephone conversation, the optimism in his voice and determination to build a winning basketball program and excitement about coming home. Dave Rice was talking from his car that afternoon, en route with his family from Provo, Utah, to Las Vegas.
It has reached the point of big picture thinking, far beyond losing to another inferior team and blowing yet another big lead and falling to 0-3 in a terrible conference without yet playing any of the best teams in said terrible conference, beyond appearing to have no answers on how to improve what is an offense that can only be described as UNLOLV.
The most important basketball game in Dave Rice’s career as UNLV’s head coach and for others around him takes place Saturday in the southeastern part of Wyoming, a place west of Cheyenne that can be found at the junction of Interstate 80 and U.S. Route 287.
In the bowels of a chilly Moby Arena, on a long wooden bench outside his team’s locker room Wednesday evening, Ben Carter lowered his head and sobbed. A teammate emerged to try to console him. Then a student manager. None could do so.
Patrick McCaw must play better. He must score more. He must produce.