Allow me to add a word to the story everyone in America has been talking about the past week: the passing of basketball coaching legend Dean Smith.

You know you’re somebody when the President himself offers his condolences upon your death, and in the past four days I have not heard one unkind word about the man so many have idolized over the years. Myself included.

We all know Dean Smith’s accomplishments as a coach: 879 wins, 13 ACC Tournament Championships, 11 Final Fours, two national titles, an Olympic gold medal, and a slam dunk member of the Basketball Hall of Fame. It is his accomplishments of the court that have received much attention over the past few days, however much they were overshadowed during his career: something like a 97% graduation rate among his players, and–there’s no other way to say it–turning boys into men. They say Dean Smith treated everyone on the team fairly and with kindness, from Michael Jordan himself down to the equipment manager and ball boy. Was this true? Well, have I heard anyone deny it over the past 50 years? Nope.

There is nothing I can write here to add to Dean Smith’s legacy. It speaks for itself. One personal word, though, on his aura.

No athlete from my hometown of Binghamton, New York, was ever more heralded than King Rice (currently the head coach at Monmouth University). If you’re from the Binghamton area, King Rice is the best you ever saw, bar none. When King was choosing where to go to school, what did our local folk say about his decision? Did they say, that King Rice is going to play Division I basketball!

Nope.

Did they say, that King Rice is going to play at the University of North Carolina!

Nope.

They said: King Rice is going to play for Dean Smith.

That is all.