Tom Penders, “Mr. March,” institutes a successful Longhorn basketball program, “Bombs Away running Horns Pro-style offense,” that rewrites the Longhorn record book.

Penders brought a Pro-Style Running Game To The Longhorns And A Pressure Defense. The Era Of The “Runnin’ Horns” Begins. This Offense Runs After Miss Shots, Turnovers, Time-Outs, And All Other Times. Coach Penders Players Own 3 Of The 4 Top Career Scoring Records At Texas

The second-best tandem scoring points through 2008 were 1989-Travis Mays/Lance Blanks, and the same tandem ranked #3 in 1988.

In 1989-  Blanks Is 3rd Leading Scorer In The SWC But Does Not Make The First Or Second Team All-SWC team.

 

 Blanks played college basketball at Virginia and Texas, which inducted him into the Longhorns Hall of Honor in 2007. He joined the Longhorn Network as a basketball analyst in 2014.

Blanks, Travis Mays, and Joey Wright were known as the “BMW Scoring Machine” during the 1989–90 basketball season. That Longhorn team finished second in the SWC and advanced to the Elite 8 in 1990.

 With 1,322 points, Blanks holds the UT record for the most points by a two-year player and ranks 22nd in career scoring, though he once was the program’s eighth-leading scorer. In addition, he ended his Longhorns career as the all-time leader in steals and still ranks fourth with 198. He also still has a fourth place in career scoring average with 20.0 points per game, behind Kevin Durant, Raymond Downs, and Larry Robinson.

At one point, Blanks was the color commentator for the Longhorn network.

 Kirk Bohls had the most in-depth article about Lance saying.”

“Blanks was known for his athleticism and flair as well as his flamboyance and temperamental behavior on the court, often getting into volatile situations. He always was a volume shooter and was known for his highlight-reel plays and drives to the bucket. He once spat toward a fan at a Texas Tech game in Lubbock after he tore down a stanchion with a thunderous dunk, claiming that a Red Raiders supporter had yelled racial insults at him. A Baylor fan in Waco later held up a sign that said, “Spit for 3.” 

“During another game with the Red Raiders, he spit in the face of a Texas Tech player. He later apologized.”

“It wasn’t a malicious act,” Blanks said at the time. “I definitely don’t go around spitting on guys. It wasn’t intentional, and I apologized.”

Kirk Bohls say “Penders said at the time, “Lance is a hot dog — that’s all he is. Have you ever seen Michael Jordan play? He sticks out his tongue and raises his fist. People (in Texas) aren’t used to that type of stuff.” 

“Blanks was known for his fearless attitude and flair for the dramatic. He famously did a little impromptu celebratory dance in the Midwest Regional semifinals after a big dunk that triggered a huge comeback against Xavier at Dallas’ Reunion Arena. That spawned a new legion of fans and “Come dance with Lance” T-shirts during that NCAA run. The three guards combined to score 86 points and pulled away from Xavier for a 102-89 win.”

From Mike Barnes

Got the news today that Lance Blanks passed away.

He was incredibly nice and generous with interviews when I was a rookie reporter and he was a star on the BMW Longhorns.

Lots of great memories through the years:

*Talking to him about his memories of breaking the backboard in Lubbock in 89

*Him correcting my pronunciation of a name while a taped a standup on camera at practice

*He “helped out” in a standup, like a co-star in ’90

*Talking to him on the court at the HoosierDome during practice

*Him asking for TV advice in ’99

*On the phone with him before a live shot outside the Georgia Dome, trying to explain how to find us while he was running around the stadium

*Helping out his daughter with TV advice while he helped my son with basketball advice

A good man and a good friend.  RIP

Conroe Courier sports editor Rob Tate contributed to this report.

The same enthusiasm that compelled Texas fans in 1990 to “Dance with Lance” bled into everything Blanks did, whether he was putting a young Spurs draft prospect named Tony Parker through a one-on-one workout, or broadcasting games on TV, or helping raise two daughters while caring for his long-ailing dad, a pioneer in the integration of college football.

Blanks was, in the words of NBA head of basketball operations Joe Dumars, “a light for all those who knew him.” 

As a player, Blanks spent only three seasons in the NBA, including two with Dumars as a teammate on the Pistons from 1990-’92. But in 2000, he started with an entry-level job editing video with the Spurs, and impressed Buford and coach Gregg Popovich enough to work his way up to director of scouting.

One day in 2001, the Spurs needed someone to help evaluate a skinny French teenager who was in town for a draft workout. According to legend, Blanks put on a pair of shorts, played the kid one-on-one, and wore Parker out so badly that the team wondered if he’d ever make it.

After flipping the ball over his head for a layup during the Sweet 16 victory against Xavier, he stood on the baseline at Dallas’ Reunion Arena and unleashed an arm-waving, hip-thrusting jig that prompted an industrious Austin businessman to print up “Dance With Lance” t-shirts overnight.

Lance’s Dance

They became a huge seller at the University Co-op bookstore, and when Blanks was reminded of that hysteria in March, he swore he never planned any of it.

 Last year, after his father’s passing, Blanks went on an NBA “Basketball Without Borders” trip to Africa with Rodney Terry, a longtime Texas assistant with whom he’d developed a close bond. When Terry took over as the Longhorns’ interim coach following the arrest and firing of Chris Beard, Blanks served as a confidant. And although he said he did not want to publicly call for UT to hire Terry permanently — which happened after the tournament — he said in March he was proud of his friend.

For Terry, the respect was mutual, of course. The night before his Longhorns played Xavier in the Sweet 16, Terry showed players highlights from Blanks’ game — and dance — against the Musketeers in 1990.

“I wanted them to have an emotional connection to the past,” Terry said.

David Cody

Lance was always kind. Was a fun team to cover.

• Reed Miller

  I graduated from Texas in ‘88 and lived a block from Lance in west campus. Used to see him all the time.

  Those BMW teams were absolute fire

  Lance would fire away from anywhere and was a pretty spectacular skywalker when it came to dunking as well.

Longhorn fan comments

Umbert Hart

An Ambassador for Longhorn Basketball like no other. May he rest in peace

 

 

Angela Villescaz

One of a kind!

A very wise man

 

Our family has lost a true Longhorn legend.

Our thoughts & prayers go out to the family & friends of Lance Blanks.

 

Got the news today that Lance Blanks passed away.

He was incredibly nice and generous with interviews when I was a rookie reporter and he was a star on the BMW Longhorns.

Lots of great memories through the years:

*Talking to him about his memories of breaking the backboard in Lubbock in 89

*Him correcting my pronunciation of a name while a taped a standup on camera at practice

*He “helped out” in a standup, like a co-star in ’90

*Talking to him on the court at the HoosierDome during practice

*Him asking for TV advice in ’99

*On the phone with him before a live shot outside the Georgia Dome trying to explain how to find us while he was running around the stadium

*Helping out his daughter with TV advice while he helped my son with basketball advice

A good man and a good friend.  RIP.  Mike Barnes

 

• Henry Hervol

RIP and God Bless Him. The BMW group was maybe the best that Texas ever had. Loved his inciteful broadcasting.

 

Marty Howerton

Those days with BMW were fun to watch! Condolences to Lance’s family and friends

 

Mark Baumgarner

Never forget his contribution to our

Basketball program

 

 

Tj Wittenback

He was on the Longhorn Broadcast team for Basketball.

 

Charles Wood

RIP Lance Blanks. I’ll always remember the BMW Scoring Machine. I still can’t believe it. R.I.P. Lance, you were a joy to watch on the court. Hook ‘Em

 

• Rey Marquez

BMW

I remember

In the late 80 – 90

I was fortunate to see him play

 

Scott A Hayes

Xavier game in 89 or 90 comes to mind I started to turn it off and go to bed but left it on while I did the dishes so glad one of the greatest comeback wins I have ever seen

 

Arlene Moody

Commentary on LHN always good listening. 

 

Jeanette Hill Bradfield

Sad day for Texas. God Bless Him! RIP – gone way too soon. 

 

Kathy Loden

So saddened by this loss!  

 

Judy Evanicky

Lance Blanks, former UT player. He was on LHN during the basketball seasons calling games.

 

Tracy Hamilton Lance Blanks he was a very good basketball player here at University of Texas. He passed away at the age of 56.

 

Gerald White thanks for clarifying. The post just said Lance. I’m aware of Lance Blanks. Yes, very sad! May he R.I.P. with his fellow Longhorns!

 

Taza Apache Moon

GOD BLESS LANCE AND HIS FAMILY. A LEGEND AS A PLAYER AND A COACH.

 

Remembering the man, my father Lance Blanks by Riley blanks

Lance Blanks served as a college basketball analyst for ESPN and the Longhorn Network. AP Photo/Michael Thomas

• By Riley Blanks Reed  for ESPN

May 9, 2023, 09:23 AM ET

On the morning of May 3, 2023, my father, Lance Blanks, took his life.

People will ask, "How did we not see it?"

And people will say, "This wasn't him. Someone like him wouldn't do this."

People will want more information.

But the fact is we will never truly know why. And we don't need to. All we need to do is remember him, honor him, celebrate him and pour our love into the family that made him happy.

All we need to know is that, oftentimes, the people in the most pain are the giants in our lives.

Daddy always said, "Keep it real. Keep it simple." He was not one to beat around the bush. He prioritized the elephant in the room.

The purpose of this story is to honor him, to represent him.

From left to right: Clarice Blanks, Sid Blanks Jr., Sid Blanks and Lance Blanks. Courtesy of the Blanks family

I knew Daddy on a profound level.

As I grapple with the unimaginable pain of his absence, I am compelled to share his remarkable life.

Lance Blanks was a leader.

Not just the humble, legendary Texas Longhorns shooting guard, the scoring machine with the most epic defense skills and court dance moves of his time. Not just the Pistons' 26th pick in the 1990 NBA draft or the passionate player who competed in Germany, Cyprus and Hungary. Not just the NBA executive who worked for the Spurs, Cavaliers, Suns and Clippers, treating every day like it was a Wednesday, burning the midnight oil, lifting weight people couldn't see. Not just the head of scouting who knew players like the backs of his big, strong hands. Not just an ESPN and Longhorn Network basketball analyst who brought light, storytelling and accessibility to every game. Not just the relentless patriarch of his family, the adoring father of his daughters and the devoted father of his community.

My father was a leader and a guardian angel. In the darkness of my worst nights, he always picked up the phone.

I could go on. I could tell you about every accolade, every stat and every award Daddy received throughout his career. But that information is easy to find, and as I listen to his loved ones, fans and community, I don't hear about his résumé. I hear about his character.

So instead I will say this: Daddy had impact. He had what he would call "staying power." He was lovingly referred to as the duck: relaxed, calm and effortless on the surface, pedaling like mad beneath the water.

Daddy was my person, my idol, my teacher, my best friend and my confidant -- a man I thought immortal. He encompassed everything to me.

From left to right: Renee Alexandre, Riley Blanks Reed, Bryn Blanks-Lewis and Lance Blanks. Courtesy of the Blanks family

The year I was born marked the beginning of Daddy's NBA career, intertwining our lives with the league. Daddy put his all into everything he did. I recall the countless hours spent together at basketball games while he scouted. From small, grungy gyms in the South to unlined courts in West Africa, to the state-of-the-art facilities, he'd watch with his intense gaze and calculated thoughts.

He knew humans so well. He was perceptive, insightful and a pure analyst. He taught me to be discerning, to vet everything and to never give my words away for free. He'd always say, "Bet on you."

Daddy first put a tennis racket in my hand when I was 5 years old on a red clay court in Nicosia, Cyprus; I remember a foggy day, a racket as long as my torso and a dad with a crystal-clear vision for my future. He drove me to ITF tournaments. He walked me through UVA's grounds before I committed and played for their team. He was my athletic mentor from childhood to college. He gave me a sport that would define my character, bolster my intuition and elevate my maturity.

We once spent hours in a parking lot when I was 12 years old, standing in front of a box that almost reached my waist. He said we wouldn't leave until I jumped on the box. I was terrified. But he believed in me.

I'd do anything now to go back to that day, to feel his confident presence alongside my fear.

Losing him is not a box I can jump on.

Our deep connection was forged through long car rides, windows down, R&B blasting. He loved Nina Simone and Sam Cooke and Otis Redding and Luther Vandross. We danced to "Dance With My Father" at my wedding, with his dad spinning between us in a wheelchair.

Daddy wasn't your stereotypical man. He loved a good brunch. We'd share Earl Grey lattes at our neighborhood restaurant. Roses were his favorite flower, and regular pedicures were a must. While he was our patriarch, patriarchal systems were lost on him. He was kind and sensitive. His style was minimal and meaningful, marked by simplicity.

Daddy lived next door to my husband, Jack, and me. He was our neighbor in every definition of the word. Often, I'd walk the gravel path to my home and see him next door on his porch, sitting in his green rocking chair, talking on the phone, and taking in the oak trees with his loyal pit bull, Walter, at his feet. "Hey, Riles," he'd say.

He recently told me that I gave him a front-row seat to my life and that it was his greatest joy. What he didn't understand was that it was mine, too.

I asked him a couple of months back, "Daddy, what's the one thing in life that makes you happiest?" Without hesitation, he said, "Family, Riles. Just family."

Daddy loved his family: his dad, Sid; his brother, Sid Jr.; and his mother, Clarice. He organized countless family reunions and gatherings.

His youngest daughter, Bryn, got his features and his mannerisms. Their conversations were compatible and fluid. Though my dad and my mom, Renee, went separate ways, they remained close. He often wore a watch she gifted him years ago, inscribed with the words, "Always and forever."

The watch is stunning, but he loved it because it's sentimental. He didn't need anything sparkly or special. He was the glitter.

Lance Blanks was a star guard for the Longhorns from 1988 to 1990. University of Texas

For many years, Daddy was the primary caregiver to his own father, known as "Sugarbear" or, to us grandchildren, as "Big Sid." My dad liked to exuberantly call him, "THE BEAR!" He and my dad both had a massive presence. And they loved sugar.

Big Sid was the first African American to play at an integrated school on a football scholarship in the state of Texas. After Texas A&I, he played seven successful seasons in the NFL. He was bilingual, left-handed and a lover of pecan pie, old Western films and lemon trees. Our dad was his guardian for much of his adulthood as he developed Parkinson's disease at a young age, which stemmed from head injuries from playing football, according to his doctors.

The last time we saw Big Sid was at my wedding. Despite his health condition, Daddy found a way to transport his father across state lines to bear witness to the family legacy he masterfully spearheaded and my union with my husband, Jack.

Daddy's love knew no bounds as he carried my grandfather, a football legend, on his back -- figuratively and literally -- through every challenge that Parkinson's presented. Big Sid also battled Alzheimer's disease and dementia.

It was a level of care that could have moved the whole world.

I once asked Daddy how he managed to provide such boundless care. His response, honest and humble, resonated with the core of his being. "It's my duty as a person," he replied. "That's all I know."

Lance Blanks was tireless, relentless, willful, passionate, gregarious, intense and incredibly empathetic.

His value in my life wasn't quantified by the mere fact that he was a good dad -- it was that I had the privilege of truly knowing him.

He was fascinated by time. He owned 50-plus watches, and he'd always remind me to be highly aware of how fast it's passing.

I used to say I won the lottery simply because my daddy was Lance Blanks. Sometimes, late at night, ever since I was a little girl, I would fear his mortality.

What will I do without him? There is no way I could live without him.

But I see this quote in his home: "The meaning of life is to live it."

And I know I must go on for him.

Daddy, Lance, LB, my forever hero, has left a void that cannot be filled. And yet, I find solace in the promise to honor him with everything he left us. In the loving embrace of my sister, Bryn, I will remember that we are both forever connected to the remarkable man who was our world.

Riley Blanks Reed is a multimedia storyteller, socially conscious artist and the creator of Woke Beauty, a photography movement. And she is the eldest daughter of Lance Blanks.

***

If you or someone you know may be experiencing a mental health crisis, call or text the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988. In Canada, call Talk Suicide Canada at 1-833-456-4566 or text 45645 from 4 p.m.-midnight ET.