I wondered: Was that really necessary? How did it make his family feel to hear such terrible news framed with pictures that made him look like a raving, red-faced maniac?

I must be getting soft, but it's just wrong to show that tape at that moment. Not while the guy is fighting for his life in an intensive care unit.

Cincinnati did not need any reminders that we call him “Hugs” with an ironic smile, the same way the 400-pound guy in every small town is “Tiny.”

Mr. Intensity

Anyone who has seen a UC game knows that when he goes off on his players and the officials, the air turns smoky blue and the first five rows of fans flinch in their seats like a NASCAR crowd in front of a 10 car-pileup.

But is there any job in town more stressful?

When I coached kids' basketball (badly), I was warned more than once by the referees to sit down and shut the heck up. Making a fool of myself in front of third-graders is nothing to brag about.

But if ordinary dads lose it with nothing but a winless season on the line, I can't imagine the skull-popping pressure of coaching an NCAA game. On the stress-o-meter, it's the difference between getting on a plane and jumping out of one — with a parachute packed by five college kids under 21.

Mr. Huggins has to deal with all of that, plus screaming fans, cross-eyed refs and all the second-guessing cheap shots from people like me.

Hugs vs. the Enquirer

He does it pretty well.

When I was editorial-page editor, I once wrote an editorial comparing him to Bobby Knight. He called up in that flat voice he uses, as if he's booking a hotel room for a recruiting trip to Fargo in February. He wanted a meeting.

We set it up and waited for him. And waited. Finally, we called his office. Turns out, Mr. Huggins thought the Enquirer editorial board was coming to his office, not the other way around. He said he would get there in 10 minutes. He did.

During the meeting, I got a small salesman's sample of what it feels like to be an NCAA referee. He objected to being compared to Bobby Knight the way he might disagree with a technical foul in the final seconds of a game — but with less arm waving and shouting.

And when he rested his case, the editorial board was unusually quiet — which is like turning the tap on Niagara Falls to a slow drip. Score one for the coach.

He earned my respect. And I would not compare him to Bobby Knight again. Mr. Huggins is one of a kind — and much bigger.

In fact, he casts a pretty big shadow over Cincinnati. In a town that takes its sports intravenously, he has patented the miracle cure for Reds and Bengals Loser's Flu.

Now he's the one who hopes for a miracle cure. What he needs from Cincinnati right now is less pressure, more prayers.

E-mail pbronson@enquirer.com or call 768-8301.

Bush in search of Tristate backing
Patton records subpoenaed
Patton to be on minds at Ky. league meeting
A predator's life detailed
Church lawyers to meet in city
Metro: Train is not political
OxyContin lawsuit runs out of steam
Samuel M. Wheeler, WWII vet
Tristate A.M. Report
Two armed men escape after robbery at bank
Walk benefits heart association
BRONSON: Bob Huggins
HOWARD: Some Good News
SMITH AMOS: Double standard
Butler lowers water rate by 12 percent
Coach listens to his heart
Deerfield trustee says 3 is enough
Eastgate traffic plan reviewed
Harassment charges trouble school
Plane struggled to take off, then fell
Family Night to help Honduras
Jailer seeks penalty delay
Kenton judge-executive Murgatroyd vs. Hughes
Kentucky News Briefs