Is the world lacking in humor to the extent that it would snuff out the tale of the coach who was dismissed on March 11 only to guide his team into the NCAA men’s basketball tournament by March 16, arriving at March Madness and drawing a parallel between his situation and a “Seinfeld” episode featuring George trying to get fired but failing?
Indeed.
Hardly had the clock struck Thursday afternoon in the Mountain time zone when reality intervened, tapping 62-year-old Dan Monson on the shoulder. It came crashing in with the force of Arizona’s talent, overwhelming Long Beach State with a commanding 17-2 surge to start the second half, sealing the game at 85-65. Arizona’s display of skill was evident, with spectacular alley-oops from Caleb Love to Keshad Johnson and Kylan Boswell to Oumar Ballo.
As the final seconds dwindled, Monson embraced an Arizona coach, a familiar face from their Gonzaga days in the late 1990s, before slowly departing the Delta Center court amidst applause from Long Beach State’s modest contingent of supporters.
With a series of blown kisses—right hand, left hand, then right again—Monson dubbed himself “the luckiest guy in this tournament and the world to do what I got to do today with these guys [players].”
It concluded just five days after the exhilaration of the Big West tournament victory near Las Vegas, where Monson, granted the opportunity to complete his 17th season, had showcased his coaching wit.
Seated at the interview dais, he quipped, “I don’t have to answer anything I don’t want to because I’m working for free today,” eliciting chuckles from the audience. Recounting showing game film to his dejected players on the day of his firing, he pointed out poor plays, jesting, “These are the kinds of plays that get a coach fired,” prompting laughter. And then, there was the camaraderie shared over pizza with old coaching comrades.
On Tuesday night, the Monsons, the Gonzaga Fews, and the Arizona Lloyds, long bonded since their Gonzaga coaching days, gathered for a meal. However, the Monsons were fashionably late, prompting playful banter with Tommy Lloyd over their tardiness.
“I said, ‘Tommy, we’ve been putting in that Princeton offense for three days,’” Monson recounted.
Given Arizona’s previous upset by Princeton in last year’s tournament, the jest carried a sting.
Yet by Thursday, love triumphed, with Monson remarking to Lloyd, “I told Tommy at the end there, if it’s got to be my last game, at least it’s with family.”
In the deluge of March affection, Long Beach State guard Jadon Jones expressed profound camaraderie within the team, extending appreciation to everyone involved, from coaches and players to support staff and families.
Amidst such sentiments, the crass words of new athletic director Bobby Smitheran, suggesting credit for the team’s inspired play following Monson’s dismissal, seemed out of place.
Monson, a seasoned figure in the sport since the previous century, had steered Gonzaga to remarkable heights in the late 1990s. Subsequently, he embarked on a journey through Minnesota before finding his footing at Long Beach State, where he became the winningest coach in the school’s history. Despite a challenging end to the regular season, a remarkable tournament run propelled them to March Madness.
Reflecting on his uncertain future, Monson quipped, “It was a great ride. I knew the car was leased. I mean, they wanted the keys back. I’m not insured this week, but I still get to drive it.”
And so, Monson took to the court for what might be his final game, coaching with fervor as the teams battled it out. Despite Long Beach State’s eventual loss, the sense of family and camaraderie remained strong.
As the team departed the arena, Monson’s family by his side, the reality of the situation sank in. Yet amidst the uncertainties, there lingered a sense of continuation rather than finality. As Jones aptly put it, “It’s not goodbye, it’s just more of a ‘I’ll see you when I see you.’ ‘To be continued,’ as he said in the locker room.”
With that, Monson and his entourage made their way out of the arena, boarding the bus marked “LB#1,” marking the end of a 17-year journey, yet perhaps the beginning of a new chapter.
