After fostering 37 babies, some of whom had been horribly beaten, Presbyterian College basketball coach Gregg Nibert has seen it all — yet he still believes in the power of faith and love.
Gregg Nibert had something he needed to discuss.
The Presbyterian College head basketball coach had just seen his team lose its season opener to Duke, 113–44. “We’re not 69 points worse,” Nibert would say in his post-game press conference. No one in the room cared. Nibert wasn’t the story, nor were his Blue Hose players.
After all, it was Duke’s season opener, too, which was the nation’s first look at the Blue Devils’ superstar freshmen class. Jahlil Okafor, Tyus Jones and Justise Winslow had all played their first career games. Quotes from the 18-year-old future NBA millionaires would lead the game coverage, not some 57-year-old coach of a Big South program that was cannon fodder for Mike Krzyzewski’s team of A-Listers.
Nibert had been there before. The game was Presbyterian’s third trip to Cameron in the last seven years. Each time, he’d left Clinton, South Carolina, with his team and headed north — leaving behind his wife, his two sons, and a new, tiny, innocent baby who had suffered from the cruelty of others. Three years earlier, his team’s 41-point loss to Duke coincided with Coach K tying Bobby Knight for the most wins in coaching history. “It was like going into a knife fight with a toothpick,” Nibert had famously said about the record-setting loss.
He stood at that same podium now.
Nibert knew that this was the biggest stage he would see for the entire season. There were 120 or so media members covering the game. He was a guest, though. He needed to respect the historic venue, the opportunity that playing a perennial national contender afforded his players, and the Hall of Fame coach everyone was waiting to hear from once his own press conference ended.
So, he praised his own players. He raved about Okafor. All the while, his time was slipping away. His window was closing. Coach K was waiting to step to his podium. “We’re never gonna forget this night,” Nibert said. He repeated it. Then he collected his box score and walked out the door.
But then Nibert stopped. He had to speak for those without a voice.
[For more of this story, written by Shawn Krest, go to https://medium.com/the-cauldro...n-house-100e414fac0e]
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