SPORTS OF THE TIMES
At Arizona, Truth Without the Consequences
With the Wildcats on course for an N.C.A.A. tournament berth, Coach Sean Miller was happy to sit down for an interview. Until he heard the questions.
By Michael Powell / New York Times Sports
March 2, 2020
TUCSON, Ariz. — The good news came courtesy of a phone call from a University of Arizona spokesman.
Sean Miller, basketball coach of the University of Arizona Wildcats, had agreed to sit for an interview after the game one night this past December. That pleased me as there was so much to discuss. Although his 23rd-ranked team is struggling a touch at 19-10, Miller had gathered the top recruiting class in the nation, five- and four-star athletes everywhere. He was a former coach of the year in the Pac-12 Conference.
Two years back, federal prosecutors in New York had summoned the news media and promised to split open elite college basketball. Their F.B.I. agents had found coaches corrupting the game! Players taking payments! Sneaker company executives complicit! Scandal!
Then came the indictments and the trials and the verdicts and the oddest thing happened: Nearly anyone of importance was left untouched. None of the head coaches mentioned in the trumpeting of the discoveries, not Miller of Arizona nor Bill Self of Kansas nor Will Wade of Louisiana State, was indicted. There had been no lack of intriguing evidence. A text message showed Self asked an Adidas executive — who supplied the cash that greased the recruiting gears — if he had sealed a deal for a prized recruit to attend Kansas. Wade was heard on a wiretap saying he made a strong — read: lucrative — offer to a prized recruit and his family.
And an Arizona assistant coach was heard on a wiretap suggesting Miller had agreed to pay a star center, Deandre Ayton, $10,000 a month. As a plotter said of Miller: “He’ll talk on the phone about things he shouldn’t talk on the phone about.”
Those who prosecutors indicted, tried and convicted were a hodgepodge of the far less illustrious: A few assistant coaches and basketball lifers, a hapless clothier and a street-smart runner for a top professional agent.
I called Craig Mordock, a former prosecutor in New Orleans who defended an assistant coach at Arizona who had been convicted and served a short prison sentence. He snorted into the phone. “Minnows charged and the big fish swam away,” he said. “Congratulations.”
Self and the University of Kansas remain under N.C.A.A. investigation, not that it’s hurt much as the team is ranked first in the nation at 26-3.
For his part, Arizona’s Miller has embraced a jut-chinned bellicosity. When a reporter from the ABC television affiliate in Phoenix went to a news conference and persisted in asking about corruption allegations, Miller, whose salary of $2.6 million makes him the highest paid official at his state’s namesake university, glowered.
“No comment,” Miller said. “You can drive back to Phoenix.”
Miller’s defenders in Tucson are legion. I spoke to a dozen fans in the arena before the game on the night of our scheduled sit-down and they offered a collective shrug. Corruption in college hoops? “I’m a very positive person, and I don’t believe the accusations,” said Fran Strubeck, a retiree and longtime fan of the Wildcats. “Sean Miller is far too much of an upstanding man for that.”
As I watched the prized Arizona freshmen run their layup line, not the least a mop-topped Nico Mannion, who is rumored to be an N.B.A. lottery pick this summer, I surfed the web. I found a local writer for FanSided, a sports site, who argued, strenuously, that the trial and recordings proved nothing. “Here’s why it’s not proof,” the writer concluded. “Simple, there’s no receipts.”
Such logic would no doubt prove comforting to hit men, drug dealers and all who conduct receiptless work.
ImageChristian Dawkins inside a Los Angeles recording studio, where he’s trying to forge a new career in music. “Me, personally, I don’t think there is anything wrong with paying players,” said Dawkins, who was convicted of doing precisely that.
Los Angeles Interlude
Not long after my Tucson visit, I flew to Los Angeles in search of a more expert — not to mention candid — assessment. In the lobby of a Hollywood hotel, I sat with Christian Dawkins, who once had worked as a runner — think recruiter, fixer, junior associate — for a top N.B.A. agent. Last May, Dawkins was convicted of bribery for funneling money to teenage recruits and their families in exchange for their agreeing to play at various universities, including Arizona.
Dawkins is a worldly young fellow, a natty dresser with a short-clipped beard. His testimony at that trial last spring — which I attended — was a revelation, as with disarming candor he shined a klieg light on the play-for-cash business that is major college hoops.
Yes, he told prosecutors, he was a part of a machine that ensured that college players and their families got some cash. Yes, that violated N.C.A.A. regulations, and so what? As a young player’s career blossoms, particularly those from poor and working-class homes, many hands are extended. “Me, personally, I don’t think there is anything wrong with paying players,” Dawkins said on the witness stand. “They are the only people in college basketball who can’t get paid.”
What, I asked him in this hotel lobby, did he make of Miller’s continued insistence that the Arizona program was clean?
Dawkins smiled faintly. He and Miller have spoken many times about many prospects. He did not hold a grudge; he just would appreciate reciprocal honesty.
“The assistant coach and I got in trouble; that’s fine,” Dawkins told me. “Miller did not get in trouble. That’s also fine, and I’m not mad.
“Now use your position to make change,” he continued. “If Miller and Coach Krzyzewski and John Calipari and all those dudes who make $5 million per year used their power to say to the N.C.A.A., ‘Hey, listen, tomorrow we’re changing and paying players’, it would change the game.”
He shrugged at the absurdity of wealthy coaches who pretended to be shocked that their assistant coaches were paying money to acquire young talent.
“Don’t double down on a false narrative about college basketball,” he said. “Be honest.”
Dawkins had to split. He has reinvented himself as a music agent, representing young artists on a record label. He had a business to build. He is appealing his conviction and hopes to overturn his sentence of a year and a day in prison.
“I’m 27 and I’m good — my life is not a nightmare,” he said. “I have stuff I need to do every hour of every day. The only thing I want to do is not go to prison.”
About That Interview
There was, as you can see, so much to talk about with Miller. Who better to talk with about cleaning the stables of big-time college sports?
So that evening in Tucson I waited until the Arizona game ended. Matt Ensor, a spokesman for the University of Arizona, came by and told me to follow him.
Are we going to talk to Miller?
Yes, he said.
We took a long walk to the far reaches of the arena and to an empty conference room. Ensor flipped on the lights and two gentlemen walked in behind us, neither of whom was Miller. Ensor introduced them: Brent Blaylock was Arizona’s compliance director and Jack Murphy was an assistant coach who joined the coaching the staff last summer.
Where’s Miller? I asked.
Ensor, in a fit of semi-honesty, told me that Coach Miller was terribly busy this evening and could not make it.
I could talk with Blaylock and Murphy, who knew nothing about nothing, which was of course the point.
When I expressed surprise that Arizona, potentially facing severe N.C.A.A. penalties, had still managed to attract a top recruiting class, Murphy talked of “the magic” of Arizona basketball. “It’s not surprising that young men still want to come here,” he said, “even though the circumstances are interesting.”
Blaylock, the compliance man, said he would talk about the allegations with any recruit who asked. Such was the faith in Coach Miller, however, that few did.
“I know I’m saying this to a journalist, but a lot of times we just tell people you can’t believe what you read,” Blaylock said.
Blaylock smiled, as did I. Not long after, we agreed to end the session. There was nothing much to learn here.