LJS
OWHAdam Nigon arrived at Colorado State's practice one day and overheard the student managers talking.
Don't get out the basketballs today, they said. Not going to need them.
Coach Miles said so.
Nigon braced himself. He was only a freshman, but smart enough to know what a practice with no basketballs meant.
"I'm thinking we're in trouble," Nigon said.
The Rams, in Tim Miles' first season, were on a long losing streak and winless in Mountain West Conference play.
The roster of walk-ons and transfers was drained, mentally and physically. Morale was low.
And now wind sprints? Seriously?
"We show up to practice," Nigon said, "and he's got a volleyball net set up. We play volleyball for practice that day."
Coaches versus students. Nigon didn't care that he wasn't any good at volleyball.
"Neither was Coach Miles," he said.
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Tim Miles spent the weekend in New Orleans, attending conventions, interviewing assistants, watching the nation's best teams, shooting the Big Easy breeze.
This is the Final Four, the epicenter of college basketball, home to every famous face in the sport.
The French Quarter is crammed so tight, a man can barely walk, much less get noticed. But when Tim Miles walks into a room, well, you'll see.
A coach once told Miles that he has one ear and two mouths. His trademark? Energy. His gift? The ability to coax a stranger to listen, then to believe.
He is 6-foot, 170 pounds. He wears glasses. He could pass for a grad student in computer science.
He is not a former player — at least not one good enough to play NAIA. He is not the fruit of a famous coaching tree — unless you count Northern State as famous. His winning percentage is halfway between ordinary and uninspired.
He is Nebraska's new basketball coach, an underdog for an underdog job.
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