Believe nobody.
Not players. Not coaches. Not athletic directors. Not university presidents. The whole college sporting world has gone transactional. When the cards kiss them, they head to the cashier’s window, chips in hand.
Dusty’s in the wind. The most instantly successful coach the Michigan Wolverines have ever had is on his way to the NBA, having put in just two years in Ann Arbor, which is starting to feel like a lifetime in college hoops.
Dusty May, new coach of the Dallas Mavericks. What’s that line Carole King once sang? “Doesn’t anybody stay in one place anymore?”
We could get poetic. But the simple answer is:
No.
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Believe nobody. Less than three months ago, in the aftermath of U-M’s joyous national championship, May was asked repeatedly about his potential departure. He repeatedly said he wasn’t going anywhere. He said he couldn’t “envision a situation” that would lure him away.
Apparently, he just needed to stretch his imagination.
Or someone to do it for him. The Mavericks have accomplished that.
May, 49, now goes to a new team desperate for a rebound – just like Michigan was when he took over. He gets to coach a young superstar in Cooper Flagg, just as he coached Yaxel Lendeborg and Aday Mara here. He gets the benefit of a fanbase that once knew success but has gone a few years without it, just like Wolverine Nation after the flat tire of Juwan Howard’s era.
Only Dusty gets to do this all in the NBA. The gold standard. Where the spotlight is bigger, the talent shinier, and the money greater.
Does it make a difference that May seemed happy here a few weeks ago? Nope. Does it make a difference that the new players he recruited to Ann Arbor believed he was going to coach them at least for this coming season? Hey, what can you do?
This is college sports, kids. Grab the brass ring when you see it. Then say the right things, take out an ad, make a reflective post and wave goodbye.
Dusty’s in the wind.
Nothing stays the same
In May, I sat with May at the SAY Detroit Play center at Lipke Park. We’d taken a long tour of the facilities, which impressed him. He’d met the staff and kids, which impressed them. He spoke about how he wanted to get involved with helping the Detroit community, with guiding youth, with giving back. We parted with handshakes and promises of a plan of action.
Do I think he was lying? Not at all. Do I think he meant what he said? A hundred percent.
At the time.
But times change fast in college sports. A player is here, then he transfers. A coach is here, then he disappears. An athletic director is here, then his college president departs and he decides he doesn’t want to stay, either. (Too soon, Michigan State?)
Everyone is sincere at the moment. But most everyone is also on the lookout for the bigger, better deal. If that means the transfer portal, well, the NCAA has blessed that joke. If it means breaking your coaching or AD contract, well, that’s what buyouts are for.
Whoever thought the name, image and likeness experiment was going to make college sports more palatable forgot how unpalatable capitalism can be. It means the highest bidder usually wins. It means loyalty is a luxury most parties can’t afford.
And it certainly means that playing for the glory of the school, for the joy of being a student and an athlete, for the camaraderie of youth and exuberance, takes a back seat to the best deal you can find.
The same goes for coaches.
Dusty May found a deal he couldn’t turn down. Maybe it’s the money (terms were not released as of this writing.) Maybe it’s the chance to coach at the highest level.
Maybe it’s the opportunity to mold Flagg, a rare talent, and possibly bring in two first-round draft picks later this week, which means May could be coaching a coterie of professional stars who are the same age – or younger – than the talent he just guided to a national championship at Michigan.
But Dusty will soon find out that there’s NIL money and there’s NBA money, and players making the latter don’t have the fealty to a coach that college players do. The airplane rides and late-night pizzas aren’t their favorite part of the experience. And they are happy to go to the media with any complaints, with no college PR person to shield them.
But that’s his problem now. Michigan has plenty of its own. The folks who run U-M probably thought, “Our football program collapsed into an ugly mess. But at least we have Dusty and the national championship program going forward.”
Whoops.
Believe nobody.
Remember the good times
Now, a sudden departure, however painful to the party left behind, doesn’t erase what was accomplished. It doesn’t wipe out the 64-13 record May posted in his two seasons, or the Big Ten tournament title in his first try, or the conference title in March, or the 37-3 record this year and the national championship just a blink ago.
It doesn’t erase the joy of seeing the Wolverines cut down the nets in Indianapolis, and the happy players’ families embracing their kids and May once it was over.
His teams were fun to watch. They jelled together. They had spirit and unity. And he molded them from fresh clay, with a significantly different roster each year and the promise of another coming up.
May must get credit for that − and gratitude. But that’s also what makes his departure stick in your throat. He seemingly had everything he could want here. Good players. Plenty of support. Beloved by the community.
But just like in those romantic comedies where one party yells at the other, “Just tell me what you want,” the answer you never want to hear is: “Someone else.”
We just heard it. And it doesn’t matter how much it surprised us. Doesn’t matter how happy we thought the marriage was. And it won’t matter how much any of the current Wolverine players recently said their dream was to play for U-M because they’ll soon have 15 days to find a new dream once Michigan announces a coach.
No one should be surprised by their exit. Truth is, “exit” is now as common a word in college sports as “play.”
Believe nobody. Dusty’s in the wind. And those winds continue blowing, turning your fondest expectations into a windswept mess.
Contact Mitch Albom: malbom@freepress.com. Check out the latest updates on his charities, books and events at MitchAlbom.com. Follow @mitchalbom on x.com.
This article originally appeared on Detroit Free Press: Mitch Albom: Dusty May was happy at Michigan − until there was something better
Reporting by Mitch Albom, Detroit Free Press / Detroit Free Press
USA TODAY Network via Reuters Connect
By Mitch Albom, Detroit Free Press | USA TODAY Network
