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Mark Coyle: The Gophers’ Michael Scott
The Office had Michael Scott. The University of Minnesota has Mark Coyle—a corporate buzzword machine (“we want to move efficiently”) with a side part and no semblance of a plan to make Gopher basketball relevant in Division I.
Today, he’s classically pictured in the Star Tribune, sporting his Town and Country Club ¾ zip, playing the part. He climbs into his university-paid luxury car, reps his university-paid country club gear, and spouts his university-approved soundbites about a “top-notch practice facility,” a “historic venue” (dump), and “best-in-class mental health resources” (as if high school recruits chasing NIL money are factoring that in).
How many times have you heard Coyle lay out an inspiring, credible plan to make Minnesota basketball matter? Never. Ever. It’s always about something else—a new coach, new revenue from the House settlement. It’s never about playing offense. It’s never about innovation. It’s never about vision.
Figure out a way to start the Minnesota Basketball Academy to develop home-grown talent and start funneling kids to the U. Start the Minnesota Basketball Classic Tournament with other Power 5 Teams and Saint Thomas. Don’t let St. Thomas take over the number one Division 1 spot in the Twin Cities. Move the student’s section to the prime seating areas. Get the best minds from the Carlson School to figure out how to tackle NIL. Put your strategy together and sell it in every community in this state and to every alumnus, showing how winning the money game is going to benefit the entire University.
The Money Problem No One Wants to Solve
How is this program going to get money? How is it going to pay players? How is it ever going to get a 21st-century arena, one that opposing coaches can’t torpedo in recruiting efforts by simply asking: "Do you really want to play in a 100-year-old arena where you're going to fall off the court?
Coyle’s grand plan? Wait . . . passively wait . . . for the House money and hire a new coach. But no new coach—not even a reincarnated John Wooden or a modern-day Rick Pitino—can win with gum and twine, which is what basically holds this program together under Coyle’s “leadership.”
The Office had Michael Scott. The University of Minnesota has Mark Coyle—a corporate buzzword machine (“we want to move efficiently”) with a side part and no semblance of a plan to make Gopher basketball relevant in Division I.
Today, he’s classically pictured in the Star Tribune, sporting his Town and Country Club ¾ zip, playing the part. He climbs into his university-paid luxury car, reps his university-paid country club gear, and spouts his university-approved soundbites about a “top-notch practice facility,” a “historic venue” (dump), and “best-in-class mental health resources” (as if high school recruits chasing NIL money are factoring that in).
How many times have you heard Coyle lay out an inspiring, credible plan to make Minnesota basketball matter? Never. Ever. It’s always about something else—a new coach, new revenue from the House settlement. It’s never about playing offense. It’s never about innovation. It’s never about vision.
Figure out a way to start the Minnesota Basketball Academy to develop home-grown talent and start funneling kids to the U. Start the Minnesota Basketball Classic Tournament with other Power 5 Teams and Saint Thomas. Don’t let St. Thomas take over the number one Division 1 spot in the Twin Cities. Move the student’s section to the prime seating areas. Get the best minds from the Carlson School to figure out how to tackle NIL. Put your strategy together and sell it in every community in this state and to every alumnus, showing how winning the money game is going to benefit the entire University.
The Money Problem No One Wants to Solve
How is this program going to get money? How is it going to pay players? How is it ever going to get a 21st-century arena, one that opposing coaches can’t torpedo in recruiting efforts by simply asking: "Do you really want to play in a 100-year-old arena where you're going to fall off the court?
Coyle’s grand plan? Wait . . . passively wait . . . for the House money and hire a new coach. But no new coach—not even a reincarnated John Wooden or a modern-day Rick Pitino—can win with gum and twine, which is what basically holds this program together under Coyle’s “leadership.”
