Findog
02-23-2010, 01:49 PM
http://ncaabasketball.fanhouse.com/2010/02/23/ex-florida-star-dwayne-schintzius-in-fight-of-his-life/
TAMPA, Fla. -- He got everyone's attention the moment he came through the door.
Probably because Dwayne Schintzius had to duck.
The time was two years ago. The venue was a barbecue place in Brandon, Fla. The occasion was an interview for a story commemorating the 20-year anniversary of the University of Florida's first NCAA Tournament team. The subject was one of the all-time greats -- and anti-heroes -- in Gators history.
Imagine the looks on the customers' faces when Schintzius walked into the joint. Yeah, those who knew their hoops had that whole blast-from-the-past rush, but there's also something about seeing a 7-foot-1, 275-pound dude up close.
"My God, how tall are you?" an elderly man asked.
"Two-point-two meters, sir," the former UF lightning rod said as he extended his hand. "I'm Dwayne. It's very nice to meet you."
I chronicled that anecdote for The Orlando Sentinel in March 2007 because it so juxtaposed the Schintzius everyone used to know. The one who back in the 1980s answered the tired and played passer-by's question -- "Hey, how's the weather up there?" -- by spitting on them and announcing, "It's raining."
That Schintzius grew up.
"I look back on my life, and I didn't like myself," Schintzius told me that afternoon, as we reflected on his place in the middle (literally) of UF's NCAA Tournament run to the 1987 Sweet 16 and march to the program's first Southeastern Conference championship two years later. "I like myself now."
I thought about that quote last week after reading that Schintzius, now 41, was in a fight for his life with leukemia and being treated at the H. Lee Moffitt Cancer Center & Research Institute in Tampa. He underwent a bone marrow transplant four weeks ago with marrow donated from his younger brother, Travis, who also played for the Gators.
"He cannot be more than 10 minutes from Moffitt," Schintzius' father, Ken, wrote on a his church Web site earlier this month. "The next 60 days are crucial. Please keep him in your prayers."
Schintzius' aunt, Myrna Stall, gave a more recent update to The St. Petersburg Times last week.
"Things have changed," she said. "The situation is not good. I can tell you that."
It's been a little more than a decade since Schintzius, a first-round pick by San Antonio in 1990, retired from an undistinguished NBA career that spanned five teams over nine seasons. He spent the ensuing 10 years doing some acting, dabbling in sports management and marketing, and even wrote a fitness book. But mostly he came terms with the part of himself that had nothing to do with the game that made him famous.
And infamous.
"I don't think Dwayne ever got enough credit for what we accomplished at Florida," recalled Renaldo Garcia, a fellow Tampa area product and point guard for the '89 conference title-winning club. "People got so caught up in his situations off the court I think they overlooked just how good he was on the court."
Schintzius remains the only player in SEC history to amass 1,500 points, 800 rebounds, 250 assists and 200 blocks -- his 1,624 points in 110 games (all starts) ranks sixth in UF history -- but he's better remembered for his run-ins with Gainesville police, frat-party incidents and that hideous "Lobster" haircut that helped turn him into a college basketball sideshow.
"I made a lot of mistakes back then, but I was a kid. And those mistakes got blown out of proportion because of who I was," Schintzius said. "If I had to do it all over again, I'd do some things differently. But that's not how life works."
In that same interview -- which from Internet searches appears to be the most recent in-depth profile of Schintzius -- the former Gator said his biggest regret was the chain of events that led to him renouncing his scholarship and quitting the team 11 games into his 1989-90 senior season following the firing of Coach Norm Sloan amid an ugly NCAA investigation.
Schintzius, then 22, clashed almost immediately with interim coach Don DeVoe, a passionate disciplinarian who had little in common with Sloan and Gators assistant Monte Towe, the duo that recruited Schintzius to UF during his McDonald's All-America days at Brandon High.
When he quit the team, Schintzius faxed a lengthy statement to the The Gainesville Sun that included this passage:
"No one can argue that Coach Sloan and Coach Towe were easy to play for, and to them you had to accept the coach as the absolute authority and their word as final; but that does not mean I must sail under the authority of Captain Ahab. If you can play for Coach Sloan, you can play for almost anyone, almost anyone."
With that, the Schintzius era was over. The Gators, defending SEC champs, went on to finish 7-21 and last in the league, with Travis, a freshman center who followed his brother to UF, left to take the brunt of DeVoe's wrath.
The coach's great white whale was gone.
"I'd never even read Moby Dick. Some lawyer who wanted to be be my agent gave me a few drinks and told me to say it," Schintzius recalled. "I should have toughened it out and stayed my senior year, at least for my brother's sake, but I was too selfish. Without me there, DeVoe took everything out on him."
Nearly 20 years later, it may take as much as Travis can give to keep his big brother alive.
"It's a sad story," Garcia said. "I'm just hoping and praying for the best."
Garcia is coach of the boys basketball team at Tampa Sickles High. Last week, before a regional playoff game, he addressed his players in the locker room, but not about the opponent. He talked about being good teammates, caring for one another and wishing they do well. He told them that years down the line they will remember these relationships when they hear of good things that happen to each other; and bad.
Then Garcia told them about Schintzius.
His players had seen photos and tape of Garcia, the Gators point guard, and always asked about the big guy in the post that went on to play in the NBA.
"We had a moment of silence. I wanted them to really think about it," Garcia said. "I mean, we're doing a lot more here than playing basketball. You have to have perspective."
Dwayne Schintzius eventually found his.
"Get an education, figure out how to manage your own money ... oh, yeah, and get your wife to sign a prenuptial agreement," Schintzius, twice divorced with no children, said when asked what advice he'd give to young athletes. "Above all, learn from your mistakes. I still make them -- who doesn't? -- but I learn from them."
Now he's fighting for the chance to make more.
It's the toughest door he's ever had to go through.
TAMPA, Fla. -- He got everyone's attention the moment he came through the door.
Probably because Dwayne Schintzius had to duck.
The time was two years ago. The venue was a barbecue place in Brandon, Fla. The occasion was an interview for a story commemorating the 20-year anniversary of the University of Florida's first NCAA Tournament team. The subject was one of the all-time greats -- and anti-heroes -- in Gators history.
Imagine the looks on the customers' faces when Schintzius walked into the joint. Yeah, those who knew their hoops had that whole blast-from-the-past rush, but there's also something about seeing a 7-foot-1, 275-pound dude up close.
"My God, how tall are you?" an elderly man asked.
"Two-point-two meters, sir," the former UF lightning rod said as he extended his hand. "I'm Dwayne. It's very nice to meet you."
I chronicled that anecdote for The Orlando Sentinel in March 2007 because it so juxtaposed the Schintzius everyone used to know. The one who back in the 1980s answered the tired and played passer-by's question -- "Hey, how's the weather up there?" -- by spitting on them and announcing, "It's raining."
That Schintzius grew up.
"I look back on my life, and I didn't like myself," Schintzius told me that afternoon, as we reflected on his place in the middle (literally) of UF's NCAA Tournament run to the 1987 Sweet 16 and march to the program's first Southeastern Conference championship two years later. "I like myself now."
I thought about that quote last week after reading that Schintzius, now 41, was in a fight for his life with leukemia and being treated at the H. Lee Moffitt Cancer Center & Research Institute in Tampa. He underwent a bone marrow transplant four weeks ago with marrow donated from his younger brother, Travis, who also played for the Gators.
"He cannot be more than 10 minutes from Moffitt," Schintzius' father, Ken, wrote on a his church Web site earlier this month. "The next 60 days are crucial. Please keep him in your prayers."
Schintzius' aunt, Myrna Stall, gave a more recent update to The St. Petersburg Times last week.
"Things have changed," she said. "The situation is not good. I can tell you that."
It's been a little more than a decade since Schintzius, a first-round pick by San Antonio in 1990, retired from an undistinguished NBA career that spanned five teams over nine seasons. He spent the ensuing 10 years doing some acting, dabbling in sports management and marketing, and even wrote a fitness book. But mostly he came terms with the part of himself that had nothing to do with the game that made him famous.
And infamous.
"I don't think Dwayne ever got enough credit for what we accomplished at Florida," recalled Renaldo Garcia, a fellow Tampa area product and point guard for the '89 conference title-winning club. "People got so caught up in his situations off the court I think they overlooked just how good he was on the court."
Schintzius remains the only player in SEC history to amass 1,500 points, 800 rebounds, 250 assists and 200 blocks -- his 1,624 points in 110 games (all starts) ranks sixth in UF history -- but he's better remembered for his run-ins with Gainesville police, frat-party incidents and that hideous "Lobster" haircut that helped turn him into a college basketball sideshow.
"I made a lot of mistakes back then, but I was a kid. And those mistakes got blown out of proportion because of who I was," Schintzius said. "If I had to do it all over again, I'd do some things differently. But that's not how life works."
In that same interview -- which from Internet searches appears to be the most recent in-depth profile of Schintzius -- the former Gator said his biggest regret was the chain of events that led to him renouncing his scholarship and quitting the team 11 games into his 1989-90 senior season following the firing of Coach Norm Sloan amid an ugly NCAA investigation.
Schintzius, then 22, clashed almost immediately with interim coach Don DeVoe, a passionate disciplinarian who had little in common with Sloan and Gators assistant Monte Towe, the duo that recruited Schintzius to UF during his McDonald's All-America days at Brandon High.
When he quit the team, Schintzius faxed a lengthy statement to the The Gainesville Sun that included this passage:
"No one can argue that Coach Sloan and Coach Towe were easy to play for, and to them you had to accept the coach as the absolute authority and their word as final; but that does not mean I must sail under the authority of Captain Ahab. If you can play for Coach Sloan, you can play for almost anyone, almost anyone."
With that, the Schintzius era was over. The Gators, defending SEC champs, went on to finish 7-21 and last in the league, with Travis, a freshman center who followed his brother to UF, left to take the brunt of DeVoe's wrath.
The coach's great white whale was gone.
"I'd never even read Moby Dick. Some lawyer who wanted to be be my agent gave me a few drinks and told me to say it," Schintzius recalled. "I should have toughened it out and stayed my senior year, at least for my brother's sake, but I was too selfish. Without me there, DeVoe took everything out on him."
Nearly 20 years later, it may take as much as Travis can give to keep his big brother alive.
"It's a sad story," Garcia said. "I'm just hoping and praying for the best."
Garcia is coach of the boys basketball team at Tampa Sickles High. Last week, before a regional playoff game, he addressed his players in the locker room, but not about the opponent. He talked about being good teammates, caring for one another and wishing they do well. He told them that years down the line they will remember these relationships when they hear of good things that happen to each other; and bad.
Then Garcia told them about Schintzius.
His players had seen photos and tape of Garcia, the Gators point guard, and always asked about the big guy in the post that went on to play in the NBA.
"We had a moment of silence. I wanted them to really think about it," Garcia said. "I mean, we're doing a lot more here than playing basketball. You have to have perspective."
Dwayne Schintzius eventually found his.
"Get an education, figure out how to manage your own money ... oh, yeah, and get your wife to sign a prenuptial agreement," Schintzius, twice divorced with no children, said when asked what advice he'd give to young athletes. "Above all, learn from your mistakes. I still make them -- who doesn't? -- but I learn from them."
Now he's fighting for the chance to make more.
It's the toughest door he's ever had to go through.