Rick Pitino had it all in Lexington. He took over a Wildcats program reeling from probation under Eddie Sutton, turned it into a juggernaut, and capped it with the 1996 NCAA championship.
The next year, his squad pushed Arizona to overtime in the finals, posting a 35-5 record that had fans chanting his name. Attendance soared, Rupp Arena pulsed with energy, and Pitino called Kentucky “Camelot,” a nod to its magical revival.
Then came the Boston Celtics. Fresh off a league-worst 15-67 disaster, they dangled a reported $70 million over 10 years, making Pitino the richest coach in sports history at the time. He signed on as head coach and basketball president in May 1997, just weeks after insisting no sum could pry him away from Kentucky.
The pull? The Celtics’ storied legacy, from Red Auerbach to Larry Bird, and a shot at NBA immortality. Pitino eyed the 1997 draft lottery, where Boston held prime odds for Wake Forest phenom Tim Duncan thanks to their tanked record and a traded pick.
With a 36% chance at the top spot, landing Duncan seemed like destiny for his high-octane, press-heavy style.
Kentucky fans reeled. Pitino had restored glory to a program hit by scandals, winning 219 games at an .814 clip. Leaving felt like betrayal, especially with Tubby Smith stepping in and promptly grabbing the 1998 title. Pitino later admitted the move hinged on that lottery bounce.
Duncan Snub Shattered the Plan
Fate flipped the script in the lottery. The Spurs snagged the No. 1 pick at 21.4% odds, scooping Duncan, who even admitted shock at not landing in Boston.
Pitino got Chauncey Billups at No. 3 and Ron Mercer at No. 6, solid talents but no franchise savior. Duncan built San Antonio into a dynasty with five rings; Boston stayed mired in mediocrity.
Pitino’s Celtics went 36-46 in his first year, then 19-31 the next before the lockout-shortening. No playoffs in four seasons, a dismal 102-146 mark. Frustration boiled over in an infamous 2000 rant: Larry Bird, Kevin McHale, and Robert Parish weren’t walking through the door.
Rick Pitino (Credit: CNN)
Fans and media soured fast on the full-court press that dazzled in college but faltered against NBA vets. Injuries, ego clashes, and salary cap woes piled on. Dino Radja, a key big man, bolted, partly blaming Pitino’s overhaul.
By 2001, Pitino resigned, earning millions in a buyout. He reflected years later: taking a 15-win squad and betting on Duncan proved the wrong call. Without the star, rebuilding dragged.
The NBA grind exposed the limits of his college blueprint, honed on freshman turnover machines like Kentucky’s “Pitino’s Bombinos,” who bombed threes relentlessly.
Kentucky Ghosts Haunt a Hall of Fame Path
Pitino bounced back at Louisville in 2001, a rival across the state line. He led the Cardinals to three Final Fours, a 2013 title later vacated amid scandals like a sex-for-pay scheme and Adidas bribes. Fired in 2017, he later coached Iona, Panathinaikos, and now St. John’s, hitting 700-plus wins.
Yet Kentucky lingers. In interviews, he owns the regret, saying he’d stay put if replaying it all. Big Blue Nation mixes awe with bitterness; his Louisville stint fueled the fiercest in-state feud.
What if he stayed? Pitino mused he’d chase 1,000 wins, outpacing all. Instead, the Celtics’ detour taught humility, paving sharper defenses and EuroLeague triumphs.
Fans still debate: genius move for experience or dynasty-killer? Pitino’s career, 777-313 in college (.713), proves resilience, but that 1997 exit reshaped hoops history. From Lexington triumph to Boston bust, it underscores coaching’s high-wire act, where one lottery ball alters legacies forever.
Rodney Carrington burst onto the scene, blending gut-busting stand-up with twangy original songs that radio stations couldn’t ignore. Born in Longview, Texas, in 1968, he honed his act on the Bob and Tom Show and local gigs before landing a Mercury Records deal.
His 1998 debut, Hangin’ with Rodney, cracked the country charts at No. 73, packed with bits like tracks poking fun at male anatomy that became underground anthems.
Tracks like Show Them to Me and Camouflage and Christmas Lights, a soldier tribute from his 2009 holiday set, even cracked the Top 40. King of the Mountains reached No. 68 on the Billboard 200 in 2007, his highest pop chart spot, including a heartfelt nod to his late friend Barry Martin.
Independent releases like Laughter’s Good in 2014 and Here Comes the Truth in 2017 kept the momentum, with the latter spawning a Netflix special and millions of Spotify streams.
Fans packed venues for his mix of neotraditional country and no-holds-barred humor, earning him spots among America’s top-grossing comedians. Co-writing and starring with Toby Keith in the 2008 film Beer for My Horses snagged him a Tex Ritter Award from the ACM, cementing his crossover appeal.
Sitcom Glow Fades to Theater Roots
Television called in 2004 with ABC’s Rodney, a semi-autobiographical sitcom where Carrington played a stand-up comic chasing dreams while juggling family in Oklahoma.
The show ran two seasons, drawing solid laughs from his blue-collar persona and earning him a broader audience beyond comedy clubs. Critics praised the fish-out-of-water vibe, loosely based on his own grind from Texas dives to national tours.
Rodney Carrington (Credit: NBC)
Post-TV, Carrington leaned into live work. His book Coming Clean hit shelves via Hatchette, sharing raw stories from the road. Netflix’s Here Comes the Truth captured his stage energy in 2017, but he skipped chasing viral specials after that.
A piano player buddy’s sudden death around 2003 shook him, leading to emotional sets that tested fan patience mid-show, as one Reddit attendee recalled from the early 2000s. Still, arenas stayed full, with radio play on morning shows fueling steady demand.
2026 Stages Beckon, No Slowdown Vibes
Now 57 and based in Oklahoma, Carrington tours like clockwork, hitting spots like Fort Wayne’s Embassy Theatre on January 30, 2026, Casper’s Ford Wyoming Center in April, and Tacoma’s EQC Event Center in June.
His site lists dates through the year, with tickets flying via official links to dodge scalpers. No new albums since 2019’s Get Em Out, which topped iTunes comedy charts, but that’s by design.
He compares himself to late-career Arnold Palmer: not hunting majors, just waving from the bridge for die-hards. Personal life stays low-key, focused on family amid the grind. Recent bumps like Toby Keith’s 2024 passing hit hard, given their film collab, but Carrington pushes forward.
Fans wonder why big podcasts skip him, yet theaters prove his pull. Alive, active, and owning the “having-fun section,” he’s proof that raw talent outlasts spotlights. Catch a show, and you’ll see why this Texas-bred everyman still rules the room.
