Ol' Roy's methods still work

A few days before Roy Williams' first game as North Carolina's head basketball coach, his most temperamental player was asked if there had been any personality clashes yet.

"Not really," Rashad McCants said.

And why not?

"He knows how to communicate," McCants said.

Clashes would arise, of course.

At times during that 2003-04 season, McCants would check in and out of Williams' doghouse. The two would exchange glares. McCants would pout. Williams would sigh. McCants would sit on the bench and stare menacingly at the floor. Williams would roll his eyes and shake his head.

But eventually, Williams' gift for communication through tough love prevailed. When it finally became clear to McCants that Williams wouldn't break, or even bend much, an understanding was reached that was instrumental in the Tar Heels' national championship run the following season.

At the 2005 Final Four in St. Louis, Williams was asked where the Tar Heels might have been without McCants.

"I don't know, but I do know we wouldn't be here," Williams said.

That McCants was there and not in the NBA or in another college program as a transfer is a testimony to Williams' determination to stand by his convictions. He never gave in to McCants, but he didn't give up on him, either.

Over the decades since Williams first appeared on Carolina's coaching bench as what amounted to a glorified gopher, his personality has changed very little. Some might call it a productive stubborn streak, but it's not a unique trait among successful coaches. Dean Smith was much the same way. So is Mike Krzyzewski and various other members of the Basketball Hall of Fame.

But for Williams, staying true to his foundation was more difficult than most. It would have been easy for him to discard his folksy, self-effacing demeanor during those early years at Kansas in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

When Smith talked his alma mater into hiring Williams, it was seen throughout most of the college basketball world as a huge gamble. Although then-Kansas athletics director Bob Frederick was comfortable accepting Smith's recommendation, Williams had little in the way of resume or pedigree.

He was a no-name from the mountains of western North Carolina, a guy who had not played or coached a lot of basketball. He was neither Smith's right-hand man nor his heir apparent.

On top of it all, Williams was taking over what was left of a national championship program that was about to be placed on NCAA probation.

Lots of people would have reinvented themselves under such circumstances. He didn't. He didn't mask his emotions, and he certainly didn't make daring promises to Kansas' skeptical fans or prospective recruits. He kept it plain and simple -- just the way his mother, out of financial necessity, had raised him -- and it worked like a charm.

In Lawrence, Williams won from the start. He kept swigging his Cokes, cried in public when his emotions overflowed, spoke his mind and pretty soon won the hearts of the Heartland.

All these years later, he hasn't changed much. His clothes are more expensive, and he has the connections to play golf on the country's most exclusive courses. He's worth millions of dollars.

Williams has become a sports celebrity, but he doesn't big-time anyone. There's still a lot of Barbecue Roy from Asheville in him. He doesn't change putters or put on airs. It's an attitude that helps him communicate with the often unpredictable young men who ultimately have a loud say-so in his won-loss record.