We knew Rudy Tomjanovich first as a floppy-haired youngster with a laser jump shot and an engaging smile. We knew him as an NBA All-Star, a clutch playoff performer and, heartbreakingly, the victim of a savage sucker punch.

We knew him as a reluctant coach, then watched the transformation to successful, obsessive, workaholic coach, one who poured his heart and soul into the job, fretted over every last detail and lay awake at night wondering what more he could have done to win, say, on a Tuesday night in Indianapolis.

We knew of his battles with demons such as exhaustion and alcohol and his seemingly constant struggle to accept life on its own uneven terms.

We watched him hold those two championship trophies, and we knew how hard he had worked for them, because we had seen the dark circles under his eyes and the torrent of emotions during games. We saw the dark suits soaked with perspiration. We knew he cared.