The setting was a November home basketball game for the Washington State Cougars in Pullman, Washington. Warm-ups were over, the Stars and Stripes had been formally acknowledged, and starters had been introduced. My teenage son and I took our seats along the sideline, feet happily on the hardwood of Washington State’s Friel Court. Settling in, we looked around the cavernous rafters of Beasley Coliseum.
“It’s so … empty,” my son said.
He wasn’t wrong.
The 12,000-seat, 50-year-old arena was not just mostly empty; it felt like abandoned infrastructure from a previous civilization — a vast but remote Mayan ruin, now serving a small trickle of tourists dressed in the home team’s crimson and gray. I doubt 2,000 seats held bodies that day. Entire sections were empty.
Of course, we were beneficiaries of the facility’s abandonment. When my business partner and I had acquired courtside season tickets, the low prices had matched the demand.
“When was it last full?” my son asked. “Not counting Klay day,” he added quickly. The day in 2020 when Klay Thompson and Steph Curry had attended to watch Thompson’s jersey retirement, Beasley had been packed.
My son had been teetering on the edge of toddlerhood when Tony Bennett’s WSU squad made a March Madness run in 2008. That team had reached the Sweet Sixteen, the first time the program had accomplished that feat since 1941.
“It will fill up again,” I said. “When it’s full, this place can really bounce. You’ll see it full. You will.”
He didn’t bother responding.
I spoke with optimistic confidence that I did not really feel. The truth was, a fundraiser had already approached me for donations toward a “Beasley update.” The proposed update struck me as a downgrade, the equivalent of surrender — a significant reduction of the coliseum’s capacity.
I turned my attention to the game. In the quiet arena, player, coach, and ref communication was fully audible and often amusing. But I believed. I knew what single peaks of success could build. I’d seen what Boise State had built on one Fiesta Bowl win. I’d been in Phoenix for Gonzaga’s Cinderella tourney run in 1999, and the program had never looked back. Something was coming for Wazzu. I felt it. But how big would the moment be? And could the administration successfully leverage it into long-term success the way others had?
***
Two hamburgers the previous summer spiked the value of my Washington State season tickets. The first burger was enjoyed below an exposed brick wall in a taphouse in quiet downtown Moscow, Idaho.
I was seated across from Jack Van Deventer, a retired professor of data sciences and an old family friend. Jack had actually been my summer boss back in the ’90s, when I was briefly exploring my gifts (or lack thereof) in computer coding. The last time I’d seen him, he had been the only bald one, and his big blond mustache had been best in class. Jack, a golden retriever by personality and build, was equipped with a whirring brain and an intensity of focus that could have been a social impediment if not for his quick, genuine laughter and warm smile.
Not much had changed in the 20-odd years since he had departed Idaho for North Carolina — strong eye contact, absolute focus on every word spoken, precise questions, easy laughter. And despite its absence, I still felt the mustache was with us.
Our conversation followed predictable family catch-up patterns, but one subject soon swallowed the rest — basketball. I was heading into my second year as high school coach for my son’s team in Idaho, trying to accommodate my strange writing life around the season. But Jack had become an absolute addict — a student of the game turned guru, tumbling into obsession via supportive fandom for his daughter, Amy. She had been an all-state player on a state championship team in North Carolina before pursuing a D2 career at King University in Tennessee. And it was while watching his daughter’s squad at King that Jack’s data scientist brain had gone all the way down the rabbit hole. Eventually, he approached the head coach with pro bono analytics.
“I was just this crazy dad,” Jack said. “I’m sure he was just humoring me.” But the relationship progressed past crazy and past dad.
“Every coach believes they’re into stats,” Jack told me. “But coaches have to be confident people. It’s part of the job. They tend to go with what they feel over what some spreadsheet says. It takes a long time before they can see past their own stats and instincts and let new things come into focus.”
I probed. What statistics did coaches need to look past?
“Everything,” Jack answered. He went on while I ate. The overview: “Individual scoring, assists, plus-minus. It’s all useful as far as it goes, but it can also quickly become a crutch. Every roster has a ceiling of performance potential. But how many teams reach their ceiling? And how many underperform? We see both every year, and it feels random, but it isn’t.”
Imagine a high-level analytics ninja who learned his data science refining risk metrics and variables for insurance companies with billions of dollars on the line becoming a diehard basketball fan and beginning to chase that powerful, palpable, but elusive thing that every player, fan, and coach has sensed and loved when watching great teams play — chemistry.
Can a coach measure chemistry? It used to be a thing coaches worked to develop over years as different recruiting classes grew up together. But in the age of NIL deals and constant roster musical chairs (thanks to the transfer portal), that process has to accelerate or die. Could a coach select for maximum chemistry within a new roster?
“Absolutely, yes,” Jack said. “That’s what I chase.”
Think of it this way: Some players, when present on the court, increase the statistical performance of all their teammates without showing any spike in their own stats. Some players, while individually strong, become inefficient when playing together, performing below the sum of their individual statistics.
A great team is an organism that always performs better than the raw sum of its parts. A great lineup is one where individuals amplify each other, making that possible.
Those lineups are what Jack was after — he wanted to get statistical visibility on chemistry.
I finished my burger, but the conversation took much longer. Jack explained how he had done it, how, on its very first time being tested in the wilds of NCAA basketball, his new approach to lineup and rotation analysis had helped his daughter’s D2 team go on an unexpected tournament run. Obviously, there are countless variables in team success, the consummate data scientist pointed out. In the end, the game is always in the hands of the players.
But which players does a coach empower with playing time, in which combinations, and when? After all, every roster has a massive number of possible lineups. Jack firmly believed that a breakthrough in basketball analytics had occurred, one that would help coaches navigate the high-turnover rostering that has become the norm in the transfer portal/NIL era.
After all of that, with the burgers gone and our glasses empty, I discovered that Jack had buried the lede. This wasn’t a hobby. Jack had started a brand-new concierge analytics company, offering high-touch, bespoke statistical analysis for coaches: Basketball Science (aka BBSci).
“Some coaches will need help understanding what they’re looking at. I can’t just have my analysts spit out charts. Everyone needs conversations, especially as we help them assess upcoming matchups and rotation variables.”
Jack’s vision for BBSci was to offer everything that was available elsewhere in the analytics market along with what he considered his next-level gold via a more relational level of service.
When we parted, Jack handed me white papers about his analysis. He did so with a bubbling pleasure, like someone handing over a gift that he knows will become the highlight of Christmas morning. He believed deeply in what he was doing.
I read everything. I even understood chunks of it. I felt like I was holding a giant firework with an incredibly inviting fuse. I had to see it lit on the big stage.
And so it was that my mind drifted across the state line toward Pullman and Washington State basketball. I couldn’t believe a blue-blooded program or an NBA team hadn’t locked Basketball Science into an exclusive deal yet. But as a basketball consumer, that meant I could still personally benefit from this secret sauce.
The ’22-’23 basketball season had been my first as a season ticket-holder with the Cougs. But as a local kid, my fandom predated Klay Thompson and the Sweet Sixteen mark set by the Tony Bennett rebuild. And my fandom survived the brutal crash after Tony Bennett left for the University of Virginia.
When Kyle Smith was hired as WSU’s head coach, like many others, I was curious to see if the Cougs would continue to meander in mediocrity or if this signaled a change in the weather. Early returns were positive. Smith is a creative and very talented recruiter, utilizing his “nerdball” statistical brand on the court and in his recruiting.
But the personnel volatility in this new era was especially tough to navigate between seasons. A 14-13 performance (’20-’21) was followed by 22-15 and a strong performance in the NIT (’21-’22). Hopes began to run high among Cougars, but medical issues and unexpected transfers struck the team before their next campaign. But even that upheaval paled in comparison to what they would face the following year.
After the ’22-’23 basketball season ended, the Washington State men’s squad was forced into a radical and involuntary transformation. After a 17-17 finish and a first-game exit from the NIT, Kyle Smith’s Cougars were gutted by the departure of their top four scorers (to the NBA draft, the G League, Villanova, and USC). The Cougs also saw the outward transfer of the program’s highest-rated recruit since Klay Thompson (to San Jose State) and the loss of another big body (to Charlotte and now on to Iowa State). On top of that, analytics whiz Assistant Coach John Andrzejek left for a job at Florida.
Oh, yeah. And the entire Pac-12 Conference erupted into apocalyptic flames, with ten of the twelve schools jumping ship, leaving only Washington State and Oregon State behind. In the aftermath, an asset custody battle broke out in the courts. As Kyle Smith and his staff worked to rebuild in the off-season, the smoking rubble of the Pac-12 was still bouncing all around them. Coaches couldn’t even tell prospects what conference they would be playing in the following year. No one knew what the future held, only that it would be unpredictable and chaotic.
For most Wazzu observers, the outlook was somewhere between ashy death and molten ruin. The Cougars were coming off a sixth-place conference finish. But with their scorers now scattered across the continent in different jerseys, the Cougs were headed into their final campaign in the Pac-12 picked by media to finish tenth out of twelve.
But Smith’s “nerdball” brand was well earned, and the Cougars had different plans, plans filled with Mad Marchness.
Instead of going out with a whimper, Kyle Smith’s rapidly rebuilt ’23-’24 Cougar roster went into Selection Sunday at 24-9 and earned a #7 seed in the NCAA tourney, having spent the previous month ranked in the nation’s top 25. They swept an elite Arizona team (home and away), achieved their best conference record in sixteen years, and defeated Drake in the first round of the tourney before the season ended in a tough second-round loss to Iowa State. Nothing about their great season performance had been anticipated by experts.
So how did Smith put together such an incredible John Wooden Coach of the Year turnaround? Pure recruiting genius? The alignment of stars? Black magic?
First and foremost, Kyle Smith put in the hard work he is known for. With his analytics-driven instincts, he went looking for his kind of dogs — players who just won’t quit.
And he found them in some unlikely places. He picked up a lanky D2 kid with deep range, a scoring big man off an Idaho Vandal team that had finished last in the Big Sky (with just one year of eligibility left), an overlooked shooting guard from Seattle with Pacific Northwest basketball in his blood, a powerfully built Nigerian teenager with dreams of becoming a doctor, and a long-limbed Australian via an Arizona junior college.
In the transfer portal beauty pageant, Smith skipped the shiniest objects and focused on fighters with something to prove — the kind of guys who would fit right in with the fire he already had back in Pullman, especially in Myles Rice, who was coming off a grueling battle with Hodgkin lymphoma and who could not have been more ready to go off like a firework on the court.
Second, Steve Frankoski, one of Smith’s former players at Columbia, became the head of player development at WSU. Among other things, Smith tasked Frankoski with sorting out the program’s analytics contracts. Frankoski, who had already logged four years in the NBA with the championship Cavaliers, had initially joined the Cougar coaching staff as a wildly overqualified graduate assistant while completing an MBA.
I first met Steve Frankoski at a word-of-mouth basketball tournament in an old cedar-dome gym my business partner and I had purchased right before the COVID-19 shutdowns. Before the leagues all bounced back, our tiny, historic gym became a sort of sports speakeasy. We acquired, refinished, and retrofitted the University of Oregon’s old game court. We have an old goal from Notre Dame. And we started hosting tournaments.
The place became a strange crossroads of hoop folk — teams and coaches came from all over the West to scrap in a tiny town in Idaho. Mark Few dropped in to watch his son play. Kyle Smith did the same.
I was leaning against a massive wooden beam on our pinched sidelines when our tourney organizer introduced me to Frankoski. Frankoski laughingly described himself as a drifter on a pilgrimage. He had left the NBA looking for more joy and had come to the Palouse to reconnect with Smith, now at WSU. We hit it off. Frankoski loved the gym and wanted to use it to prep clients for the NBA combine or run skills training with kids. The fact that he also wanted to talk philosophy and religion was a plus in my book.
His training experience was top shelf — LeBron, Kevin Love, Kyrie Irving, Jordan Clarkson — and I learned a lot watching him work clients out in our gym. But there was some Ivy League egghead in there as well. We started grabbing lunches and coffees, talking Eastern and Western philosophy, faith, meaning … and basketball. Mostly, we laughed.
When Frankoski joined Smith’s staff, I started catching more games than I had in a while. Season tickets weren’t far behind.
The second hamburger that raised the value of my season tickets was consumed with “Franko.” I hadn’t heard about his new role on the team yet. But I did know he was wrapping up his MBA and thinking about what was next for him. The conversation ranged, as ours always do, from philosophy to film to my coaching to his. We talked about Wazzu’s fresh roster obstacles, about the G League, the portal, and NIL. And then I told him about a bespoke basketball analytics startup out in North Carolina.
Basketball is already heavily analyzed. It’s hard to believe that anyone could truly be doing something new. It’s also culturally harder to believe when D2 women’s basketball is the only place it was field-tested.
Frankoski listened to me, but he was hardly convinced. I relayed Jack’s internal white papers and, having talked myself (if not Frankoski) into bold confidence, I declared that the lineup analytics were no joke and that if WSU used Basketball Science, the Cougars would be dancing in March Madness … and then Kyle Smith would get hired away.
Frankoski rightly laughed at me — the Pac-12 is not a conference of cupcakes. Reaching the tournament would require a truly great season out of a roster without much time together. But he also humored me. I connected him with Jack and then returned to the simplicity of my previous fandom. After all, my only real role was to wear a Cougar hoodie at home games and shout loudly at appropriate moments. And I do that job well.
The next time I saw Frankoski, he had been thoroughly convinced. Jack had run analytics on the Cougs’ previous 17-17 season and reported that with rotation changes, they could have been 24-10. Steve had joined Jack down his rabbit hole and had taken Basketball Science to Kyle Smith as a proposed addition to their already strong analytics.
“You can really customize with [BBSci’s] setup.” Frankoski said. “A lot is familiar, but Jack’s definitely doing some unique things, and I love the dashboard.”
“Once there’s enough game data, a coach can make rotation decisions with precision,” Jack said. “Five guys can be a high turnover percentage lineup that gives up points in bunches, but with just one substitution, they can become extremely efficient, a lineup with real chemistry. But the guy you sat down might be a great player and the one you need to make a different combination of players efficient against a different opponent or defense. Our goal is to provide that level of visibility to coaches.”
Frankoski was so convinced that he was planning to cover a Basketball Science contract with his own money if the team was unwilling. In the end, he didn’t need to. But that hasn’t kept Smith from teasing him.
“Yeah,” Frankoski admitted. “I spent so much time working with Jack’s team before games that Smitty just called Basketball Science ‘my guy.’ I’ve definitely kicked the tires on it this season, and we found some things that really worked. Sometimes we did our own thing, but BBSci helped give us a blueprint going into games with our approach to substitutions and lineups.”
Before this season, the Washington State Cougars became the very first men’s Division 1 team to contract with Basketball Science. By the end of the season, the “Wheatfield Underdogs” were dancing.
It’s no secret that the college game is changing. Roster volatility is sky-high and trending higher. Coaches are literally recruiting opposing players in handshake lines. Players want cash, and agents insist on positional use and playing time guarantees. Long-term player development is no longer on the table.
Some old-school coaches are phasing out rather than adapting. Others are committed to adapting and finding new paths to program success. For those, a data-mad girl-dad from the stands might have just what they need.
***
By the time USC rolled into town to close out February, Washington State was no secret. In the basketball world, word was trickling out about Basketball Science as well.
NC State was having a decent but unremarkable season. Around the end of February, BBSci began whispering lineup advice to staff at NC State. What the Wolfpack went on to do (winning the ACC tournament for the first time since 1987 and stealing a berth in the tournament) was the biggest shocker of Championship Week.
Experts marveled, but many also predicted an emotional letdown and an early exit from the NCAA tourney after the fatigue of winning five straight ACC games in five days. Instead, the Pack added four more wins and rumbled directly into the Final Four for the first time in 40 years. Close observers noted some rotation and lineup variations that went into that magical run.
***
My son and I arrived for the USC game much earlier than normal, but our parking pass was useless. The lots were already full. When we eventually trudged into Beasley, the energy in the building hit me with a wave of nostalgia.
It was back. The mood. The swagger. The 2008 joy. It was everywhere. When I walked through the doors, would I see old heroes warming up for Tony Bennett?
I saw better. A bunch of Wheatfield Underdogs were running layup lines under the watchful eye of the coach who had chosen them for this moment, who had believed in their potential, who had made them a dangerous team – an organism greater than the sum of its parts. And he’d done it in a single season.
When my son and I finally sat down and looked up at the crowded rafters, he said only one word.
“Wow.”
Beasley was bouncing. Dennis Rodman Jr., a beloved Coug just one year ago, was now in a USC uniform and working on his corner threes with his back to the student section. Bronny was on the wing just above him. A lone voice started chanting at Roddy: Bad life choices. Bad life choices.
How could the kid have known? The Pac-12 preseason poll had slotted the mighty Trojans at second, not ninth. They would have been a tourney team. Transferring out for his last year of eligibility should have been smart.
There was no way Rodman could have predicted the level of success Kyle Smith’s new Coug concoction would achieve — a recovered medical redshirt, tough-as-nails transfers, a standout freshman, a promoted coach, and some brand-new girl-dad analytics for the coaches to play with.
Despite the crumbling of the conference, or maybe especially because of that crumbling, this past season has been magical. I’m just grateful to have had a front-row seat.
Not surprisingly, the second half of my prediction came true as well. Kyle Smith left Washington State and accepted the head coach position at Stanford. He will be at the helm for the team’s first-ever campaign in the brutally tough ACC. NC State will be coming to Palo Alto.
On Easter Sunday, Steve Frankoski left Pullman behind and jumped on a flight to San Francisco. As Stanford’s new head of player development, he had players to work out and assess. The night before he left, we threw some fantastic local meat (thanks, Snake River Farms) on my grill, celebrating Frankoski’s new opportunity and a historic Cougar season.
We drank Macedonian brandy and laughed about a little analytics startup in North Carolina and the ridiculousness of my predictions last summer. But here we are. Millions of tourney dollars are flowing into programs all over the country. Coaches are signing fat new contracts. Players are grabbing NIL wherever they can.
Cougars and Cougar fans will still be here — Wheatfield Underdogs always. And we’ve passed the disruption on, hiring David Riley, Eastern Washington’s impressive coach. I’m sure he’s already hard at work, transferring in stars from other programs, trying to build on a successful season even as most of the faces change again. There’s no reason to wait another 16 years to go dancing again.
Oh, and hell no. I will never donate to a reduction of Beasley Coliseum’s capacity.