KNOXVILLE — Cuonzo Martin chose white Adidas with black stripes.
It happens every year. Across the country, coaches wearing thousand-dollar suits don sneakers instead of wingtips. It’s official name is the Coaches vs. Cancer Suits and Sneakers Challenge. During the week-long event, coaches and their staffs are encouraged to wear sneakers with their suits on game days. It’s meant to raise awareness about the fight against cancer and show the importance of nutrition and physical activity in reducing an individual’s risk of the disease.
When asked about his kicks in Saturday’s postgame press conference after a 64-49 win over visiting Auburn, Martin said, “They felt pretty good. I had some of these back in the day, so they feel good — Run D.M.C. style.”
Soon after, in the tunnel leading to the Thompson-Boling Arena floor, the Tennessee head coach talked about the real meaning of his sneakers. He’s not like every other coach. Cancer touches us all in one way or another. No one escapes its endless reach. Martin, though, he’s heard those words we all fear. He’s seen that diagnosis laid out in front of him and been told that cancer picked him.
“I appreciate, one, to be living, and two, to be coaching a team and enjoying doing it,” the 40-year-old said. “Because I know when I put these sneakers on, I know what happened almost 14 years ago. It reminds me to appreciate the moment.”
It was November 1997. Martin, playing in a professional Italian league, became fed up with chest pains, fatigue, a troubled stomach and weight loss. After Italian doctors failed to come to an exact diagnosis, he crossed back over the Atlantic. Martin received the verdict in Indianapolis — non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma (cancer of the white blood cells). He underwent aggressive treatments and chemotherapy. Martin’s first son, Joshua, had been born just three months beforehand. His wife, Roberta, was facing the prospects of raising their son alone.
Following a lengthy stay at the hospital, Martin’s cancer ultimately went into remission. A long terrifying ordeal was overcome. It was a far greater victory than when he ducked and dodged the gangs of East St. Louis to emerge as a Division I recruit to Purdue. It was better than all seven games he was able to suit up for in the NBA. In hindsight, it was greater than a coaching career that’s taken him from being an assistant at Purdue, to the head coach at Missouri State, to the head coach at the University of Tennessee.
Nowhere does it say, though, that beating cancer takes the memories with it.
“I try not to think about it, unless it’s brought up,” Martin said. “It was hard enough to deal with it. I still struggle even saying the word.”
Most other coaches wearing sneakers this weekend weren’t transported back to a time when they didn’t know what tomorrow held — or if there would even be a tomorrow. Martin was. He calls himself “a living witness.” As a result, he supports numerous cancer charities geared toward awareness, research and fundraising.
“There’s no magic tricks,” Martin said. “I had my chemotherapy treatments for four and half months and I’m still standing. It’s nothing special. It was God’s plan. I can’t stand here and say I did anything spectacular to make it happen. I’m just blessed to be here.”
We all are, some just realize it more than others. Martin makes sure his players — a fearless group of typical, shortsighted college kids — get the message.
“I make them understand that nothing is guaranteed in life,” he said. “I was 26 years old and diagnosed with cancer, so it can happen. I make these guys understand that, especially when you have tough losses or something goes wrong — it’s only just a game. Even though we want to win at the highest level, it’s still just a game. You have to understand the importance of that and keep moving forward.”
Martin has never stopped moving forward from November 1997. He stared down death. He beat it, but it never left him. There are daily reminders that he’s lucky to have daily reminders.
On Friday night, Martin flipped on the season premier of Spartacus, one of his favorite television shows. He noticed that Andy Whitfield, the show’s leading actor, was missing. He hopped online to investigate. There he learned that Williams died on September 11, 2011 of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. He was 39 with two children.
“It’s little things,” Martin said. “It just make me appreciate standing here today.”
Martin doesn’t always talk about his victory at life, but when he does, you feel it. Those sneakers on Saturday — they were just another reason to remember and give thanks. He is in full remission and doctors have long told him that after five cancer-free years, the chances of Hodgkin’s coming back are the same as someone that’s never had it.
April 20, 2012 will mark the 14-year anniversary of Cuonzo Martin’s last cancer treatment.
