Never during my career did I concern myself with records and statistics. They tell me I am the most successful Greek coach in the history of basketball, and sometimes my interlocutors are surprised when I ask them how many championships I have won. I never counted them, I never counted victories. The only thing that interested me was to win. The next game. The next Thursday or the next Saturday. It is strange, then, that I start this book by talking about defeats. But defeat is part of a coach's life. I learned to deal with defeats on my own. I used to say that "victory has many fathers, but defeat is an orphan." No one wants it and no one takes responsibility. Now, after a lifetime on the courts, I can say that defeat does have a father: the coach. On the nights I lost, I was furious. I wouldn't speak to anyone, I had no appetite for anything, I can't remember ever wanting to leave the hotel where the team was staying or my house after a defeat.

I never loved defeat. I hated it, I always wanted to win. I distinctly remember that in 1984 Aris lost two titles within a few days. The Cup to PAOK and the Championship to Panathinaikos. I left Thessaloniki like a madman, went and isolated myself in Siviri, in Halkidiki, in my retreat. I don't remember if I slept, if I ate, I lived like a hermit, I don't know how many days I stayed there. I spoke to very few people on the phone. I couldn't stand hearing "it's okay, Giannis" like most people told me. What does "it's okay" mean? Of course it matters. Back then I said something that, after a while, when the "empire" of Aris was created, an almost unbeatable team, one of the editors of this book remembered and reproduced it later.