Columnist Dean Juipe: Pitinos try to ward off Cavagnaro

Dean Juipe

Wednesday, Jan. 17, 2001 | 11:01 a.m.

Dean Juipe's column appears Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. His boxing notebook appears Thursday. Reach him at juipe@lasvegassun.com or 259-4084.

At least once in our lives, it's likely that each of us has been home and refused to answer the door to someone we really didn't care to see at that particular moment.

You switch off the television, move to a secluded spot and pretend you're not there. If the person doing the knocking suspects you're hiding and persists, it can lead to a test of wills.

Now picture UNLV athletic director Charlie Cavagnaro, as he is doing today, approaching the Miami home of Rick and Joanne Pitino with a contract to coach the Rebels determinedly clutched in his hand.

Joanne, in a hushed tone: "Rick, it's that Cavagnaro fellow from UNLV."

Rick: "Ah, nuts. I told him last week I needed more time to think things over. And geez, after seeing how crummy their team is playing, a million dollars a year might not be enough to take over that sad-sack program."

Joanne: "Well, he's knocking, what should we do?"

Rick: "Ignore him, I guess. Man, are they desperate at UNLV or what? Sending him down here like this."

Joanne: "You should have stuck to the original plan and gone to Vegas and stayed at his house for a week, like he asked you to, while you looked things over."

Rick: "Are you kidding? Stay at Cavagnaro's house for a week? That's a deal-killer right there, stuck with the Cavagnaros when I should be out on the Strip."

Cavagnaro, loudly: "Rick, it's Charlie. We've upped the ante and I think you should hear me out. I know you're in there, so open up."

Joanne, still whispering: "We could call the police or something. We could say he's a stalker."

Rick: "It's tempting."

Joanne: "Or you could just tell him 'No thanks' and be done with it."

Rick: "Yeah, I know. But I really haven't decided. UNLV didn't sound too bad a week ago and I thought then that you'd like Las Vegas too, clothes hound and fashion fanatic that you are. But we need more time. We need a little seclusion. We need a few days to forget how horribly that UNLV team played Monday night at Brigham Young."

Joanne: "Well, he's not going away."

Cavagnaro, louder still: "Rick, you're making me feel like I'm begging for an audience with the pope. Besides, I told Mrs. Harter I'd cover the $640 air fare for this trip out of my own pocket if I couldn't at least see you and deliver my pitch."

Rick, quietly: "Oh great, the guilt trip."

Joanne: "Oh let him in. He's a bit gruff, but he seems harmless."

Rick: "He'll seem like a claim jumper to you if he never goes away."

Joanne: "This is not what a coach's wife envisions, I can tell you that. Barricading ourselves in our own home and treating a visitor from 2,000 miles away as if he's a peddler."

Rick: "Well, he is a peddler. He's on our doorstep, uninvited, with an offer only he thinks I can't refuse."

Joanne: "Seems like a stalemate to me. Good thing I stocked up on dry goods and provisions, in case we had a hurricane."

Rick, chuckling: "Hey, we can have some fun with this yet. We'll settle in until 'Hurricane Charlie' loses his bluster. We'll outlast him. What can it take? A week at the most?"