Tuesday, June 3, 2003 | 9:54 a.m.
Ron Kantowski is a Las Vegas Sun sports writer. Reach him at [email protected] or (702) 259-4088.
I had made a vow that a column I wrote two weeks ago criticizing the UNLV athletic department for its handling of "Phonegate," a molehill of story that turned into a mountain of bad publicity for the school, would be the last time I would address it.
Well, I had my fingers crossed behind my back when I said that.
UNLV athletes are among the dozens of students who apparently used a long distance PIN belonging to assistant football coach John Jackson to phone home, and will be required to make restitution to the university before it concludes its investigation into the matter and reports the secondary violation to the NCAA.
What should have been a one-day story dragged on for a week due to UNLV's tardiness in making the news public. Naturally, the athletic department was taken to task, because usually when it comes to matters of this sort, it is the athletic department that handles them.
Apparently, that's not the case at UNLV. I've now heard from three sources within the athletic department, all of whom said that the department wanted to go public with the news as soon as it learned of it, but deferred to President Carol Harter in keeping quiet while the investigation continued behind the scenes.
The sources agreed that it probably would have been a "one-day story" had the department been allowed to take a pro-active approach in confirming the investigation.
Citing his wife's health problems, John Robinson resigned as athletic director a few days after "Phonegate" became public. While I'm certain the investigation had nothing to do with his decision, the fact that he has decided to concentrate on his football coaching duties at least means Robinson will be spared from attending Harter's tedious daily "cabinet meetings."
There's been little word about who his successor might be, although sources predict it will be somebody older and experienced who won't mind saying "yes" to the President.
In other words, a Charlie Cavagnaro clone.
Like anybody else who has taken at least a peripheral look at what Schlossnagle has accomplished in two short years, that would be fine by me. Only I don't sense that Schlossnagle is going anywhere.
First, he hasn't finished the job he set out to do here, and that's to build a program that can consistently hold its own against the Arizona States of the college baseball world. And until he does, he's probably not going to hear from one of the Arizona States of the college baseball world.
I don't see Schlossnagle making a lateral move. My take is that he would only leave UNLV for a plum Pac-10 or SEC job, and it takes more than one outstanding season at a Mountain West school to land one of those.
Every time he came to the plate, dozens of fans yelled greetings to the offspring of you know who, usually in Spanish.
Even Sports Illustrated sent a man to profile the Rebels' slugger and the close relationship he has with his dad, who, as usual, watched his son play from the most inconspicuous spot in the stadium he could find.
Still, his many fans still managed to find him, and I saw more than one proudly clutching a foul ball bearing the autographs of both Valenzuelas.
Apparently, the ASU fans didn't pick up on the fact that Rebels center fielder Patrick Dobson is the son of actor Kevin Dobson, who portrayed detective Bobby Crockett in the hit TV series "Kojak."
Because I didn't see one Tootsie-Pop with either Dobson's signature on it.
On Saturday, for instance, a fellow who had been nervously pacing the concourse during the Rebels' NCAA baseball game against Central Connecticut noticed my media badge and struck up a conversation.
It was Tom Shitanishi, the father of Rebels second baseman Garett. He had every right to boast about his son but wouldn't, until I insisted it was OK.
Garret Shitanishi is what college sports are all about. Or at least what they should be about. He's a kid who has made the most of limited skills to become a key contributor to the success of a nationally ranked team, but probably played the most meaningful game he's ever going to play Sunday, when the Rebels lost 16-1 to Arizona State in the regional final.
But don't fret for Shitanishi, because chances are this kid is going to do just fine without baseball. He's a straight-A student who already has been offered an accounting job with a major West Coast firm.
This was something I managed to pry out of his father, but only after he told me how proud he and wife Carol were of all three of their children, and of their hometown of Reedley, Calif., in the verdant San Joaquin Valley, which probably provided most of the ingredients in the salad you had for lunch.
While we probably will never speak again, it's guys like Tom Shitanishi who can make a 22-3 college baseball game seem more like 3-1.
archive
