Product Description

"It wasn't a team.  It was a tent revival."

So says Pat Summitt, the legendary coach whose Tennessee Lady Vols entered the 1997-98 season aiming for an almost unprecedented "three-peat" of NCAA championships.  Raise the Roof takes you right inside the locker room of her amazing team, whose inspired mixture of gifted freshmen and seasoned stars produced a standard of play that would change the game of women's basketball forever.

The 1997-98 season started innocently enough.  One Saturday in August, four young freshmen--Semeka Randall, Tamika Catchings, Ace Clement and Teresa Geter--arrived on the Tennessee campus to begin their college careers.  Welcoming them were a number of players from the previous year, including Chamique Holdsclaw and Kellie Jolly.  But that night, in a sign of things to come, a simple pickup game turned into an amazing display of basketball brilliance--freshmen against established players, and with barely a shot missed by either side.  Suddenly Pat Summitt glimpsed the future: fast, aggressive and hugely talented.  This might be the team she'd worked her whole career to coach.

As the season got under way, other dramas unfolded.  After one emotional team meeting, Summitt realized that many on the team were playing for something more than just the glory of the game: all four freshmen, for example, came from single-parent homes, and the tough circumstances of the majority of the other players seemed to add an extra edge to their desire to win it all.  Further, Chamique Holdsclaw, widely regarded as the greatest female player ever, was being dogged by questions about turning pro--and she seemed reluctant to rule it out.  Meanwhile, another member of the team began to notice the unwelcome attentions of a fan, who soon turned out to be a full-fledged stalker.

All this was behind the scenes; out on the court, the win column was swelling with every game: 8-0, 15-0, 21-0.  As 1997 turned into 1998, Pat Summitt began privately to admit that this team had changed her: these kids were so lovable, funny and eager to please that she simply had to let them into her heart.  Along the way, the Lady Vols were redefining what women were capable of, trading in old definitions of femininity for new ones--in short, they were keeping score.  And by the time they entered the NCAA Final Four tournament in Kansas City, Summitt found herself believing the impossible: despite all the distractions, the 1997-98 Lady Vols could go undefeated, and, in doing so, raise the roof off the sport of women's basketball.

Packed with the excitement of a season on the brink of perfection and filled with the comedy and tragedy of one year in the life of a basketball team, Raise the Roof will have readers cheering from the bench for a team of all-conquering players and their astonishing coach.


From the Hardcover edition.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #500379 in Books
• Published on: 1999-10-05
• Released on: 1999-10-05
• Original language: English
• Dimensions: 7.99" h x .80" w x 5.26" l, .67 pounds
• Binding: Paperback
• 304 pages

From Amazon.com
It seems fitting that the most successful college basketball coach since John Wooden is named Summit, because that's exactly where she's taken the women's program at the University of Tennessee. In Raise the Roof, she recounts the Lady Vols' astonishing 1997-98 campaign. The team went 39-0, won its third straight NCAA crown and sixth overall under her direction, and, most importantly to Summitt, "played as if they had no internal or physical boundaries." If the team's unprecedented success is the engine that runs Summitt's story, the fuel that powers it goes a good deal deeper than what happened on the court.

"With this team," she admits, "I was different." From two-time All-American forward Chamique Holdsclaw to the four freshmen from broken homes on whose talents the future rested, Summitt realized early that she had to approach them differently than she had any collection of Lady Vols before, and she did; she cared about them differently, yelled at them differently, and reveled with them differently, ultimately tapping into her own emotions in ways she never had before. She, and they, sought to set new standards for themselves, and for their sport. The record shows they did; Summitt details how and why. "Throughout the season," she writes, "I had the curious sensation of something rising." In the end, she rises to the occasion by identifying and preserving that "something." --Jeff Silverman

About the Author
Pat Summitt became head coach of the women's basketball team at Tennessee in 1974; since then, she has won more national championships than any coach, man or woman, since John Wooden.  In the 1976 Olympics, as co-captain she led the U.S. women's squad to a silver medal, and in the 1984 Olympics--this time as coach--her team brought home the gold medal.  She is the author, with Sally Jenkins, of the bestselling Reach for the Summit.  A native of Tennessee, she lives in Knoxville with her husband, R.B., and their son Tyler.

Sally Jenkins is the author of Men Will Be Boys and the cowriter of Pat Summitt's first book, Reach for the Summit.  A veteran sports reporter whose work has been nominated for the Pulitzer Prize, she has worked for the Washington Post, Sports Illustrated and Condé Nast's Women's Sports and Fitness.


From the Hardcover edition.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
On the way home, we passed through the Atlanta airport again. It was  December 21, and we were all flying home to different destinations for the  holidays.

While we were lounging at the gate, Betsy Roberts, our assistant athletic  director for development, handed me a quarter that she'd found. Betsy knew  how superstitious I was. I was especially superstitious about lucky coins.  Particularly pennies.

But a coin was only lucky if you found it lying heads up. If it was  tails, I wouldn't look at it twice, much less pick it up. This quarter was  heads up, so Betsy retrieved it and handed it to me. "I know you prefer  pennies, but I found you a lucky quarter," she said. I thanked her and  stuck the quarter in my pocket.

A few minutes later, I went into the rest room to freshen up. I entered a  stall, and looked down, and saw something in the bottom of the  commode.

It was a penny.

It was a heads up penny.

Dara Worrell, our ticket manager, was also in the rest room. I decided I  needed a second opinion.

I said, "Dara!"

Dara poked her head in.

I said, "Look in that commode."

Dara gazed at me strangely.

"No, really, look," I said.

Dara glanced down once, quickly, as if she was afraid something in there  might be alive.

I said, "Dara, do you know what that is?"

She said, "Well, it looks like a penny."

"It is!" I said. "But it's not just a penny. I think it's a heads up  penny. Do you think it's heads up?"

She looked again, and said, "Yeah, it is."

I said, "I got to have it."

"Pat, no," she said.

I said, "How can I get it?"

I looked around the bathroom. There was a plunger in the corner. I  grabbed it.

I caught the penny with the plunger, and tried to drag it up the side of  the bowl. But right at the top, it fell out and slid back down in the  water. I tried three or four more times with the plunger, splashing around  without success.

It was time to board the plane.

I said to Dara, "I don't care. I've got to have it."

I set the plunger down. I rolled up the sleeve on my right arm. I was  wearing an orange and white flannel shirt. Then I took my rings off.

Dara turned green.

I reached in and got the penny.

Then I went to the sink and turned on the hot water. I lathered up. I  washed the penny, and my whole arm.

I started to hand the penny to Dara. "Hold this," I said.

Dara didn't want to hold it. I had to wrap it in paper before she would  touch it.

I said, "This is it. We're gonna win a championship. You remember  this."

I went out to the gate, where several of our players, boosters, and Betsy  were waiting to board. I told them the whole story.

All of a sudden they didn't want to stand next to me.

Someone piped up, "Do you know how many people go through the Atlanta  airport each day?"

I didn't care. I had gotten what I wanted.

And that's how we broke for the holidays, with a perfect 13-0 record, and  a lucky penny. It had been a long autumn, and we all needed a rest.

But when I got home, I had trouble sleeping. There was something in the  back of my mind, a thought or a sensation, trying to force itself forward.  Ever since the Illinois game, I'd had a feeling of something impending. It  wasn't a bad feeling. It was good. In fact, it was something wonderful. So  wonderful, I was afraid to voice it.

The thought woke me up in the middle of the night.

This was the team I had worked twenty-four years for.

* * *

Finally, after so many disturbing events, something good happened for us  off the court.

We met Michael Jordan.

After the Kentucky game, we flew to Chicago to play DePaul. The night  before the game, we took the team to eat at Jordan's restaurant. I hoped  the team might be able to meet Jordan, the Chicago Bulls star whom I'd  known since the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles, when I was a coach and he  was a player for the U.S.

Jordan, as everyone knew, was an acute businessman, and an increasingly  interested fan of the women's game. What's more, he was preparing to  launch a line of women's athletic gear for Nike, including a sneaker.  Meanwhile, Chamique's stature was growing daily, and Michael was  interested in meeting her. Michael and I spoke. The whole team, I  suggested, would love to meet him.

Michael agreed. So the next afternoon, we all traipsed over to Michael's  headquarters in downtown Chicago. We walked into a suite of offices, and  there he was, sitting behind his desk. He had on a muscle shirt and  sweats, and looked just like a poster. Then he stood up.

Kellie Jolly just stared at him, open-mouthed. I won't forget the look on  her face. She, Semeka, and LaShonda were bashful to the point of  speechlessness, but Ace, Kyra, and Niya descended on him. Niya sat in his  chair. Ace put her arms around him. They besieged him with photos and  T-shirts to sign. Then Michael saw Chamique, sort of hanging back.

"Hey, Chamique!" he said. "I heard about you. How you doing? You and me  need to play some one-on-one."

What do you say when the most recognizable man on the planet recognizes  you?

Chamique opened her mouth and then closed it again. She was  "Michaeled."

He started in again. "I mean it," he said. "You and me need to play."

Chamique finally found her voice. "You got a court in here?" she  said.

He laughed.

As we got ready to go, Michael said again to Chamique, "When are we going  to play?"

Chamique said, teasingly, "One of these days."

Outside, Chamique tried to regain her composure. "He knew my name," she  giggled, whooping. "Oh, my goodness."

That night, we beat DePaul by 125-46. It was the second-highest point  total in Tennessee history. The four freshmen combined to score 82 of our  points. Catchings still had a scar over her eye, but she threw in a UT  rookie record 35 points. Typical, I thought. What a bunch of fearless  exhibitionists; you introduced them to Michael Jordan, and how did they  respond? They hung 125 on the board. Funny thing was, Chamique only had 8  of our points. I think she was still Michaeled.

By late January, there was only one thing bothering me. Chamique was  chafing at the restrictions of college life. Rumors were rife that she was  seriously considering turning pro. Despite all of her protests to me  personally, when it came to talking to the press, she still refused to  reject the possibility outright.

Plus, we got a call from a sneaker company representative who was  worried; the rep had heard that Chamique was being pursued by an unsavory  agent. I had to deal with this once and for all. I called her in.

I said, "Chamique, I wanted you to be the first to know. I'm seriously  considering taking a pro job at the end of this year."

Chamique stared at me, in shock.

"Are you serious?" she said.

"No," I said. "But now you know how all the rumors and speculation over  you turning pro could affect this team."

Chamique nodded. She got my point.

Then I laid it on the line. "You've left the door open, and we need to  close it," I said.

If, at the end of the season, she wanted to consider turning pro, that  was her decision, I said. When the time came, I would even assist her in  finding a reputable agent. But until then, I didn't want to hear another  word about it. What's more, I said, if I ever heard she had anything to do  with a disreputable agent, I would wash my hands of her. It would be the  hardest thing I ever had to do, but I'd do it, I said.

"I'll leave you to the sleazeballs who want to take all your money," I  said.

I think we understood each other.

We sped through the rest of January, racking up win after win. Towards  the end of the month, Georgia came to town. Anyone who knew about the  Tennessee-Georgia rivalry knew there was no love lost between the two  programs. Before the game, our promotions department gave out ten thousand  mask replicas of my face. Right before tip-off I went by the Georgia  bench. "This must be your worst nightmare," I said to Georgia coach Andy  Landers. "There's not just one of me. There's ten thousand." We both  laughed.

We won by fifty-nine, 102-43.

At the end of the month, we were 20-0. All I thought about now, all I  breathed, was this team.

One afternoon, some reporters asked me who I favored in the Super  Bowl.

"Well, fellas, let me ask you a question," I said.

I paused.

"Who's playing in it?"



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