Across the cell phone, you could hear the wind jetting past the open window. "I'll call you tonight," he said.

He doesn't. He doesn't call tonight, or either of the next two. The cell phone doesn't work, he's wooing prospects, it's 2 a.m. He forgets. Calling me is not a high Huggins priority. As he explained, "You can't get us a rebound."

This "contact" period lasts until Oct. 5. It's one of two times a year the NCAA says it's OK for college basketball coaches to stalk their prey and actually talk to them. Which means every Division 1 coach is criss-crossing the country like a crazed Charles Kuralt. Huggins doesn't call for four days.

Which is good, for Huggins.

It is a lucky man whose job is also his therapy. Since his DUI arrest, Huggins has had counseling. He has taken time off. He has retreated to his condo in Florida where, honest to God, he "took long walks."

He's where he needs to be now: in rental cars, airplanes and hotel rooms. "Sometimes, you go to the same room you were in the night before," Huggins explained, which works only if you're staying in the same hotel. Otherwise, it could be embarrassing.

It's basketball that gives Huggins purpose. It's basketball that tells him everything will be OK. Basketball also has taken away any semblance of balance in his life. The hope is that the down time, combined with the crises of the last two years - his heart attack, his mother's death, the DUI - have shown him the wisdom of perspective. We'll see.

But the game is his strength. "When I had the heart attack, only two people got through on the phone: Nick (Van Exel) and Bobby Brannen," Huggins said. "Nick called every day." Huggins was talking about his players, current and former, the long red and black line of loyalty and mutual respect that runs from 1989 to now.

Huggins is more than proud of that. He practically lives for it.

"They've been there for every major decision I've made in the last 15 years. When I turned down the Miami Heat job, Van Exel, (A.D.) Jackson and (Tarrice) Gibson were in my office that morning and at my house that night," Huggins said.

"When the West Virginia thing was going on, I'd come home and my driveway would be full of cars." Huggins rattled off a list of driveway-sitters that sounded like a basketball alumni function.

He praised his family, too. His wife, his daughters, his dad, his siblings. "Unbelievable," Huggins said. But it has always been his players - his "guys" - who have provoked the joy in Huggins. His guys have shown him the purpose of his life.

During his summer of long walks, "they'd always call," Huggins said. "Max (Jason Maxiell), Nick Williams, Eric Hicks. Armein (Kirkland) was in Israel with his family. He called several times."

Huggins believes this part of who he is - who they all are - gets buried in the avalanche of graduation rate stories. He's exaggerating - the press has never been as harsh as he has suggested - but the fact is, his players have always come back. He has given them structure, discipline and in some cases, a father figure. They have given him a reason to think his life has been useful and productive, far beyond the bottom line.

When a car wreck nearly killed DerMarr Johnson, Huggins said Kenyon Martin "was at the hospital before anyone else." Huggins said Pete Mickeal was bedridden in a Houston hospital, a blood clot in his leg, at the same time the coach was in a suburban Pittsburgh hospital, recovering from the heart attack. "Pete almost died," Huggins said, "and he was calling me."

It's why Huggins was in San Francisco last week, and Denver and Dallas and Kilgore, Texas, and Garden City, Kan. The therapy isn't in some clinic or doctor's office. It's out there, on the road and in the gym. With his guys.

---

E-mail pdaugherty@enquirer.com