Let's go ahead and include more than just the bigwillie spin on the story:
Earlier this season, Self had a few friends in town. They were getting ready to go out to dinner when the women among the couples, every single one of them, wanted to know whether they could invite Robinson to join them.
"Everybody," Self said, "loves him. Everybody. It's amazing. I don't think I've ever been in a situation like this, where in people's mind Thomas can do no wrong."
Men want to mentor him; women want to nurture him.
No one wants him to suffer, not even for a millisecond.
Which puts Self in a rather interesting predicament.
"He's playing at Kansas and he's obviously a talented kid," Self said. "He's a good-looking kid. He's a humble kid, and he's had these awful, awful tragedies, and everybody adores him.
"Which to me," Self continued, "is bad. I mean, who does he answer to? Who holds him accountable when everyone adores him?"
Self decided it would be him. He would take the unpopular stand, and love Robinson enough to coach without kid gloves and demand as much, it not more, of his star player.
He would, in essence, be the parent Robinson no longer had.
Coaching is not unlike parenting, anyway.
It's a constant high-wire act without a net. Fun is OK; friend is not. Being disliked is acceptable; being disrespected is not. The coaches who find the balance, who aren't afraid to risk popularity points in the short term, usually earn long-term loyalty from their players and success on their résumés.
That's how Self always coached, unafraid to tell his players -- especially the really good ones -- that they were behaving like knuckleheads or that they weren't nearly as good as everyone else thought.
But how do you do that to a kid who has endured so much suffering?
Self is human. His heart ached for Robinson. He was there when Robinson's grandparents died. He was there in the minutes after Robinson got the call from Jayla, saying their mother had collapsed. He was there when Robinson insisted he could play against Texas one day later. And he was there at the funeral and then later, back at Lawrence, where the season went on but normal never returned.
Robinson would be distracted in practice, and Self's first instinct was to ride him. Then he'd pause. What if, Self wondered, Robinson was distracted because he just walked by the tree planted on the Kansas campus to memorialize his mother?
"There are a lot of days when he's just zoned out for a period of time," Self said. "I wonder what he's thinking."
Self, however, knew what Robinson wanted -- to succeed in a way no one predicted a year earlier, to carry a team to greatness so he could carry his sister to happiness.
And as a coach, there is only one way Self knew to make that happen -- to coach him like he always coached him. He would be the one who demanded more, who even now sees a kid averaging nearly 12 rebounds a game and insists he could average 14 if he pushed a little harder.
Self admits that by playing Robinson 31 minutes a game, he's probably doing his statistics a disservice, that the physical exhaustion at times might cost him productivity.
To which Self has basically said, tough. Jeff Withey has come on as a serviceable frontcourt mate, but the Jayhawks won't win without Robinson on the floor.
"There is a human side to it, and it was hard, really hard," Self said. "But I knew what I needed to do. I had to be the person to hold him accountable. He's tested me, to see if I would budge, and I didn't."
It was exactly the right call. Self's tough love and Robinson's own determination have created a wonderful monster, a fierce competitor who is not only the best player on his team but perhaps the best in the country.
I'd also like to point out that there's a very pro-goEMAW talking point to be taken from this story. I'll see if you guys can find it first, and if not, I'll go ahead and spell it out for you.
