RALEIGH, N.C. — It’s jarring, on first glance:
Mike Krzyzewski, seated at the head of a long black conference table … with an NC State Wolfpack logo embroidered on the headrest.
Oh, the things you do for friends. For love.
Because that’s why Krzyzewski is inside NC State’s Dail Basketball Complex, on a recent Tuesday afternoon: to continue honoring a commitment to one of his oldest friends, the late Jim Valvano. Three decades ago this March, Valvano (with the help of ESPN) founded The V Foundation for Cancer Research, while in the final months of his battle with adenocarcinoma. The goal of the foundation? Simple: fund the necessary, life-saving research that could ultimately lead to a cure for cancer.
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“The stat that I remember him saying,” Krzyzewski tells The Athletic, as part of a wide-ranging interview, “was only one in six researchers get money. And he said, ‘What if one of those five had the cure for my cancer?’”
And while Valvano never got to see his long-term vision realized — he passed away less than two months after publicly introducing the foundation, during his famous 1993 ESPY’s speech — it certainly has been, with the V Foundation awarding more than $310 million in grants to cancer researchers in the last 30 years. Krzyzewski, meanwhile, has supported the foundation’s efforts as a longtime board member and host of its annual wine celebration in Napa — and by doing things like this: filming a commercial that will run in concert with the foundation’s 30th anniversary festivities.
What this commercial shoot also is, though? A glimpse into Krzyzewski’s second act, his life after coaching. Save for last week’s home game versus Notre Dame — when he returned to Cameron Indoor for the first time since last season, out of respect for Notre Dame coach (and former Duke assistant) Mike Brey — Krzyzewski has been out of the public eye since last season ended.
Of course, that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been busy … or that he doesn’t have more to share.
“I’ve moved on, in a good way,” he says. “A really good way.”
Of course, “moving on” doesn’t necessarily mean cord-cutting.
Because with all Krzyzewski meant to Duke during his Hall of Fame career, that was never going to be the case. He has a lifetime deal as a university ambassador, and has maintained his sixth-floor office in the Schwartz-Butters Athletic Center adjacent to Cameron — both conditions which were established prior to last season.
Speaking of which, that’s probably the best place to start discussing Krzyzewski’s next chapter: the end of last season. After Duke returned from the Final Four, Krzyzewski and longtime assistant Gerry Brown finally had the time — about seven weeks, he says — to respond to the several thousand letters, postcards, and emails he received regarding his retirement. That includes about two phone calls a day to people who sent in longer messages, like handwritten three-page letters. “To understand the impact that we, who are somewhat successful in our sports, have on people,” he says, “that’s made me feel so good.”
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But what about reflection?
It’s not really Krzyzewski’s thing, nor was it last season in real time. He does, though, say this about his final Duke season, which included an ACC regular-season title and his record 13th Final Four appearance, but also losses to rival North Carolina in his final home game and in that Final Four:
“I gave my all last year, and I think we had a great year. People talk about, we lost at the end — that was not a year that we lost,” Krzyzewski says. “You know, we put two banners up. The thing about losing was, we didn’t get a chance to put the sixth banner up. That’s the thing, when I look back — boy, we were that close — but we were that close a few times that we didn’t get it.”
Beyond that, though?
“I haven’t looked at a gold medal,” he jokes, “or (thought about) the fact that Tony Lang almost blocked Scotty Thurman’s shot, or that (Christian) Laettner hit a shot.”
That’s a sign Krzyzewski is at peace, which he is. He says if he had even the slightest bit of hesitation about retiring, he wouldn’t have done so. But he reiterates how secure he feels in his decision, for all parties: himself and his family, with whom he now gets to spend more time; Jon Scheyer, his successor, who has led Duke to a 20-8 record thus far; and Duke overall, which is now two feet into its new era.
“When I say I don’t miss it, it doesn’t mean I didn’t love it,” he adds. “I just think I squeezed every bit of joy from that sponge, you know?”
It’s not like Krzyzewski is suddenly out of the picture. He still sees Scheyer frequently — and they speak practically daily, he adds. Just, maybe not what folks would expect. “No advice on Xs and Os,” Krzyzewski is quick to mention. “A lot of it is just head coach talking, and I’ve loved that.” For example: Krzyzewski says before he arrived for this commercial shoot, he swung by Duke’s campus to chat with Scheyer about the previous night’s game: An 81-59 loss that, thus far, represents the most lopsided loss of Scheyer’s young coaching career.
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He isn’t there to review ball-screen coverages, or to comb through tape. It’s solely a personal check-in, with a former player and assistant he knows as well as anyone — and whose success he is personally invested in.
“After a win or a loss, there is no way an assistant can feel what a head coach feels about certain things. No way,” Krzyzewski says. “And the newness of some of those times, with him, it’s like, is this the way I’m supposed to feel? Yeah, and that’s the gig. The highs and the lows, and sometimes the uncertainties.”
That interaction does reveal one thing, though: Yes, Krzyzewski still watches all the games. Mostly at home. The main exception to that? It stems from one of his daughters, Debbie Savarino, posing a hypothetical at one point this offseason: Would you be willing to watch a game with someone in your office, for charity? Krzyzewski said yes, and the opportunity was auctioned off at Duke’s annual K Academy fantasy camp.
The winning bid? $70,000.
Once that mark was set, though, several others told Savarino they’d be interested in a similar experience. In total, five other people/groups ended up signing up for that same rate — and all of a sudden, boom, more than $400,000 raised for the Emily Krzyzewski Center in Durham, N.C. The aforementioned Miami game was Krzyzewski’s fourth of the six; just him and three guys in the conference room attached to his sixth-floor office, watching basketball, having a nice dinner (and some wine).
“(The Miami loss) was frustrating, but they’re all three guys (who signed up for this),” Krzyzewski jokes, “so I was able to use whatever language I would use normally.”
Even out of coaching, Krzyzewski says, “I know the teams a little bit.” So when Miami center Norchad Omier — who rarely attempts 3-pointers — launched a 3 early on, Krzyzewski told the guys with him that was a good thing. “And he hit it,” Krzyzewski says. “I said, son of a b—-, he’s only hit one 3 (all season)!”
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But rooting interest and watching games is essentially where Krzyzewski draws the line. He rarely attends practice. He had not appeared at a game before Notre Dame, not wanting to be a distraction. And when he calls the two holdovers from his final team, Jeremy Roach and Jaylen Blakes, it’s just to check in — same as with Scheyer. Basically, no basketball to speak of.
There is no rulebook for how this is supposed to go, but Krzyzewski understands — and values — the need for distance between himself and Duke’s future. So he’ll be as supportive as he can… just, in a different way than he used to.
“The brand shouldn’t be me. I’ve been the figurehead of that brand, and we’ll always be part of it, but it’s Jon’s turn,” he says. “I told him from the start, don’t ever feel like I’m looking over your shoulder — but I’m there for you.”
There is an inevitable follow-up question there:
If not coaching, or secretly pulling strings behind-the-scenes at Duke, what does Krzyzewski do nowadays?
For starters, lots more speaking. He’s already been doing that nationwide for two-plus decades, but the frequency has ramped up in retirement. Be it in Las Vegas, West Palm Beach, New York, Orlando, or anywhere else, that longtime passion of his has been given more air since last April.
“You do content calls, you scout, and then it’s kind of a performance,” Krzyzewski says. “I’ve learned a lot, and then the neat thing is, there’s only one person I have to rely on — me — and that’s been good. Not that I regret relying (on others), but it’s just different.”
And no two speeches are the same. Some are for 5,000 people in person and another 4,000 online; others are much more concentrated, like when Krzyzewski spoke to Jamie Dimon’s roughly 70-person CEO conference in Napa. Some are for 45 minutes, with a 15-minute moderated question session after; others are fireside chats, where Krzyzewski has the leeway to tell more stories in an intimate setting.
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The constant in all of them, though? That the things he’s studied his entire life — namely, teamwork and leadership — apply across all disciplines and groups.
“People want to get back together again, and they don’t know how. New — not necessarily young new — but new in an organization with old, they have a hard time talking. Retention of new,” he says. “There’s just some common themes.”
Another commonality? The difference between how people expect Krzyzewski to be, almost like a character come to life, and how he actually is. “For years, if they’ve been watching, they see this fiery guy, or the guy who gets on an official,” he adds. “You don’t think of me being funny.” So when he does tell a joke, even if it’s admittedly a 3/10 on his scale, it’s a 10 to the audience — “and then the 5s are off the chart,” he jokes. Recently, he spoke to a Morgan Stanley group at the same time as Duke’s game versus Wake Forest, and joked about the timing overlap mid-speech; one woman in the audience responded by shouting out the score: We’re up three! “It’s fun,” he says, of those authentic interactions. “It’s just like talking to a team: How do you get your message across?”
Aside from the speaking, Krzyzewski’s family keeps him busy. He recently traveled to New York to — among other things — watch an NYU game, featuring grandson Michael Savarino (who transferred from Duke last summer). For his other grandchildren, he’s become a regular fixture at middle-school games across the Triangle — and that, even more than watching Duke, has been an eye-opening experience to fandom. At Savarino’s Division III games, for instance, there’s usually only one bench for all spectators.
“You don’t have one side (for each team); you might be sitting next to the kid’s parents who’s guarding Michael, or Michael’s guarding him. Take it easy,” he says. “Or at middle-school games, there’s usually only one side and a few rows, and again, some of the comments parents make, (it’s) crazy. Like, just settle down, man.”
Krzyzewski says he abides by the same attitude he did when his daughters had a play or dance recital while he was coaching: He goes, but doesn’t sign autographs or take photos. Shaking hands, conversation? Sure — but only about the middle-school game, or whatever event he’s at. Not anything going on with Duke.
“I’ll shake hands and then say, let’s watch the game,” Krzyzewski says. “That’s why I’m here. That’s probably why you’re here, too. People have been very good.”
COACH K IS AT THE GAME‼️‼️‼️ pic.twitter.com/qLZV7rthw1
— Blue Devils (@BlueDevils) February 14, 2023
Krzyzewski is due on set any second, but there’s one more basketball topic that comes up first:
The current state of college athletics.
“That’s the game I feel I lost,” he says.
Krzyzewski says he still speaks with ACC commissioner Jim Phillips, as well as Craig Robinson — the executive director of the National Association of Basketball Coaches (NABC) — but largely reiterates his message from last season about the direction (or lack thereof) within college sports.
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“In the history of our game, in the NCAA, by the time any bit of legislation did the circuitous route of going through however many damn committees it goes through,” Krzyzewski says, “when it finally gets to the committee that’s making the decision, there has never been a coach in the room explaining the ramifications. It’s idiotic.”
Among those changes to modern athletics? The passage of the NCAA’s one-time transfer rule; additional eligibility stemming from the COVID-19 pandemic; players being able to capitalize on their name, image, and likeness (NIL); ongoing conference realignment; and most recently, discussions about NCAA Tournament expansion, per recommendations from the NCAA’s Transformation Committee.
Krzyzewski’s complaint isn’t with the rule changes themselves. After all: He’s a supporter of NIL and his players being compensated for their worth. He took a key transfer, Theo John, out of the portal last offseason.
His issue is at a higher level, and one commonly expressed by those with an intricate knowledge of the NCAA: That tweaks to the system are no longer sufficient, when a new system is needed altogether.
“This is the most tumultuous time in the history of intercollegiate athletics, and there’s no leadership, no structure, no direction — and it’s sad,” Krzyzewski said. “It’s really good and it’s really bad. OK? It’s a moment in time. This is the time to figure out the new direction. It’s an opportunity, because that’s not going away. That’s there. How do we do that? Why can’t we change it? It’s gotta be changed. And it’s bureaucracy.”
So, if folks within the NCAA came to him about being more involved in that overhaul process?
“I’d like to know what it is,” Krzyzewski responds. “Like, I’m not a big Knight Commission person. I think some of those things are, come on — you’ve never done anything. If you would’ve done something, you would foresee that these things are happening.”
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Krzyzewski puts it this way: Coaches of his generation, at least those still going — the Jim Boeheims and Tom Izzos of the world — are focused on how things were in the past, while trying to adapt to the current environment. Coaches of the new generation, on the other hand, are focused solely on the modern landscape, and how to be successful within it. “They don’t really give a damn,” he says, “what it’s gonna be.”
And … time’s up. Krzyzewski can do that now: step away from any frustration, and focus back on his life — which, in this moment, means nailing his one line in this commercial. (And calling back Dick Vitale, who tried interrupting this interview. “He must’ve heard I’m doing a commercial,” Krzyzewski jokes, “and wanted to do one himself.”) Before he gets into the endless cycle of takes on tap for this day, he refocuses on why he’s here at all.
Because he can. Because he doesn’t have to worry about any recruiting call coming up, or in his words, “how we’re gonna defend (Virginia guard Reece) Beekman.” Instead, his attention is solely on this commercial, and the V Foundation, and playing his part on what amounted to Valvano’s final team.
It’s a new way for K, in the best possible sense.
“The V Foundation, over $300 million, its roots don’t just go into the ground; they go into heaven,” Krzyzewski says. “That’s why I mean — you know, I believe in God — somehow, Jimmy was an instrument of this, and I think he knew that. He didn’t say that, but otherwise, how could you stay that positive? How could you have foresight at that moment, when you only have moments? You know, I get chills just talking about it.”
(Illustration by Samuel Richardson / The Athletic; Photo: Jamie Squire / Getty Images)
