Dusty May Slept 75 Minutes

Dusty May slept for about an hour and fifteen minutes. That is the opening answer from the newly crowned national champion head coach of Michigan, fresh off cutting down the nets in Lucas Oil Stadium.

May comes on the show the morning after, still in Indianapolis, still processing what just happened. His phone, when he finally picked it up after the locker room celebration, was sitting at one thousand and one texts. He tried to answer a few on the walk out. Gave up. For every one he responded to, two more came in. He is usually good about replies. Not this week.

Rich pulls him toward the personal first. The moment on stage with his wife Anna. May doesn't rush it.

He gives credit where it belongs. The coaching profession, especially at the entry level, doesn't pay. Anna worked as an occupational therapist, supported the family, raised their boys, and made it possible for him to stay in the gym. She also helped make him a better man and a better coach. He describes himself as edgier by nature. Her demeanor balanced him. That gratitude is the first thing he reaches for when asked about the stage moment.

The kids are 24, 22, and 20 now. May laughs at Rich's math. He and Anna had babies when he was starting out. He jokes that after the third, he forgot what his wife looked like when she wasn't pregnant. That's the life.

Rich asks about the quiet moment with the ladder and the nets. May cites conversations he has had with Billy Donovan and other coaches who have been there. Their answer has always been the same. That's it. That's what winning a national title actually feels like.

And then May goes somewhere unexpected.

He says he is sad. Not sad that he won. Sad that he is not going to see Will, Cheddar, Namari, and Yakel in the gym tomorrow. Those guys. That group. That journey is over, and the hardest part of the profession is that so few teams get to play this late in the season and extend it this far.

He acknowledges his own wiring with something like a confession. He hates that his brain works this way, but the transfer portal and roster construction for next year are already running in the background. You win the title, and the job shifts immediately to getting back to the tournament's final weekend in Detroit next year.

Rich lets him sit in Indy. May and the team are still there. They hosted a reception for friends and family in the ballroom the night before, did media all morning, and are loading buses as he's on the call.

The national championship trophy is his. The sleep, eventually, will come. The next class is already on his mind.