A Season Inside (44 page)

“I told them Monday that they were too concerned about themselves individually. Dyron Nix has been a great player for us this year but he needs to be more verbal and get on the other kids so I don’t have to do it all the time. I really got on them, even though I didn’t want to have to. I just didn’t want them thinking that I had thrown in the towel. We’re taking on water fast here—but we haven’t sunk yet.”

He smiled the gallows humor smile. “Of course, by ten o’clock tonight we could be doing some serious bailing.”

By game time that evening, things had only gotten worse. A local TV station had reported that a deal had already been cut between DeVoe and the university. The newscaster said that DeVoe would resign at the end of the season and still be paid for the final year of his contract.

The report was wrong. DeVoe knew it and Doug Dickey knew it. But everyone else in Thompson—Boling Arena wondered—including the Tennessee players.

But one thing was correct: DeVoe’s instinct that Kentucky would bring out the best in his team—and in the fans. The place was close to full, and when the ever-reticent Doug Roth started the game with a driving lay-up, the fans went wild. Tennessee roared to a 13–4 lead, the last three points coming when Griffin, who comes from a tiny town six miles from the Kentucky border, nailed a three-pointer.

Suddenly, the nightmares of the last few weeks were forgotten. Everything was falling for the Vols. When Greg Bell hit two free throws with 4:14 left in the half, the lead was 39–26. Three baskets by UK’s superb point guard, Ed Davender, cut the halftime margin to 44–36.

Still, Tennessee had to feel good. It had kept Rex Chapman, The Boy King, in check and, for the first time in a while, was getting some solid outside shooting, most notably from Griffin, who had knocked in three three-pointers. And yet, DeVoe knew Kentucky would come back. At halftime he told his team that but also reminded them, “You’ve been better than them for twenty minutes, now just go and do it for another twenty.”

It would not be easy. Down 50–42, Kentucky ran off nine straight points. Freshman Eric Manuel hit a jumper. Senior Winston Bennett got inside for a three-point play. Manuel hit again and Rob Lock posted up with 12:30 left to put the Wildcats up 51–50. Tennessee was in trouble. Once again, the cheers were turning to boos.

But the Vols didn’t die this time. They stayed right with Kentucky, trading the lead back and forth until Nix scored three straight baskets, the last on a shattering dunk to make it 64–59 with 6:20 left. Kentucky came right back with an 8–0 run of its own. Tennessee went scoreless for more than three minutes. When Chapman, who would finish the
night just five-of-fifteen, hit a turnaround jumper off the baseline, it was 67–64, Kentucky.

Now, Tennessee was surely finished. But no. Griffin hit one more three-pointer to tie it, then rebounded a Manuel miss and fed Nix. He was fouled and made both free throws for a 69–67 lead. Then came a flurry of turnovers. On the last of them, Roth was called for an intentional foul on Davender.

DeVoe was ready to tear his hair out after that call. By now, the crowd, which had been swaying back and forth with each basket, was almost limp from the intensity of the game. Tennessee had been just as good as Kentucky for thirty-nine minutes. But forty?

Davender made one free throw. Kentucky kept possession because of the intentional foul call and Lock scored to put UK up 70–69 with 1:15 to go. This time, Griffin’s three-pointer hit the back rim. But Nix rebounded and was fouled. He could only make one, but it tied the score at 70–70. There were forty-seven seconds left. Kentucky brought the ball upcourt and called time. Thirty-seven seconds to go.

At this juncture, DeVoe did what very few coaches have the guts to do. Rather than lay back on defense and let Kentucky take the last shot, he decided to attack. “If they back-door you, fine,” he said later. “But you don’t want to watch the last basket go in on you as the buzzer sounds.”

It makes sense, but few coaches are willing to chance it. DeVoe was. As Kentucky tried to set up on offense, Tennessee was trapping every pass. Finally, Manuel was trapped on the sideline. Clarence Swearengen slapped the ball loose. Manuel reached for it but it rolled off his hand and out of bounds. Tennessee ball. Ten seconds left. Time-out.

Now DeVoe wanted to spread the floor and let Swearengen use his quickness on Chapman. He had been effective all night, getting inside for 10 points and 8 assists. Swearengen caught the inbounds pass and went right, Chapman with him. He started a drive and as he did, Chapman slipped and fell down. Swearengen kept going. Now the defense had to come to him. When it did, Swearengen looked and saw Bell just behind him to his right. He fed the ball back to his teammate and as Manuel tried desperately to get to him, Bell, off balance, tossed up a ten-footer from the lane.

Swish. The buzzer went off before the ball was all the way through the net. It was over. Tennessee—72, Kentucky—70. Bell, lying on the ground, was being mauled by his teammates. Griffin, tears pouring
down his cheeks, was pounding on him and so was everyone else. The arena was complete bedlam. DeVoe didn’t need to wave any white handkerchiefs on this night.

Games like this
make
college basketball. An undermanned team, fighting for
something
—pride, a coach, an injured teammate—whatever it may be, finds a way to beat a superior team and the victory produces memories that everyone in the arena will share for years to come.

DeVoe was thrilled, but realistic. “We still have to go on the road and find a way to win there,” he said when the celebration was finally over later that evening. He looked around at the huge arena, now dark and empty. “Either way, though, I’ll remember this one for a long time.”

He wasn’t alone.

They weren’t really sure how to feel in the Deandome today. North Carolina had won a basketball game. That was hardly unusual. But the
way
the Tar Heels won was both unusual and unsettling.

They had been facing a team that was struggling. Maryland had talent, loads of it. But it was a team still searching for itself. Coach Bob Wade had yet to figure out which parts went where and because of that the Terrapins were not playing up to their vast potential. When they came into the Deandome and promptly fell behind 28–11, there was every reason to believe Carolina would go on and cruise to an easy victory.

But it didn’t happen. The Tar Heels couldn’t take care of the basketball and they couldn’t hold on to the lead. Maryland cut the lead to 30–25, thanks largely to the kind of mistakes Dean Smith-coached teams almost never make. J. R. Reid, Carolina’s superstar, turned the ball over seven times.

Before the game was over, Jeff Lebo, Carolina’s resident brain, had committed as stupid a foul as can be committed—he jumped into Maryland’s Steve Hood while Maryland was trailing by four points and out of time-outs. If Lebo had stayed away from Hood, even if his shot had gone in, the game would have ended without Carolina even having
to inbound. As it was, Hood made the two free throws and, because Lebo had stopped the clock by fouling, the Tar Heels had to inbound the ball again and make two more free throws before their 74–73 victory was secure.

“I didn’t think Jeff fouled him,” Dean Smith said, avoiding the question of what in the world Lebo was doing anywhere near Hood. “Give Maryland credit for a great comeback.”

Wrong, Dean. If Wade had known what he was doing on the bench, Maryland would have won the game. Something was wrong at Carolina and no one, least of all Smith, really wanted to talk about it.

To make such a statement about a team that was 20–3 sounds ludicrous. But it was true. It had started in October with the murder/suicide of Scott Williams’s parents. Shortly after that, Smith started having trouble with nose bleeds. His doctor ordered him to cut back from two packs of cigarettes a day to eight cigarettes a day, which he did, often lighting a cigarette, taking three or four drags and then putting it out delicately so he could relight it a few minutes later.

Then came the J. R. Reid, Steve Bucknall assault/spitting incident in the Raleigh nightclub. Smith’s initial comment on the incident was that Bucknall and Reid shouldn’t have been in Raleigh. “I told them that going over there once a year to play was plenty,” he said.

Two weeks after that incident, Smith, his wife, and his parents went to church at the Duke Chapel. When the service was over, Smith went to get his car, a brand-new Cadillac. As he was pulling out of his parking space, he was sideswiped by a Duke transit bus. Damage to the bus: about $20. Damage to Smith’s car: about $2,000. No one said anything to Smith about not going to Durham except to play.

Once the season began, the Tar Heels, as usual, won a lot of games. Playing without Reid, they upset Syracuse in the opener and moved to No. 1 in the polls. They were upset by Vanderbilt, so they dropped. But for the most part, they won. They did lose to Duke at home but they beat N.C. State on the road, then Maryland and Virginia.

They were in first place in the ACC after the Maryland victory but something wasn’t quite right with this team. Reid was such a big star, with his distinctive haircut, wide butt, and ability to take over a game, that it made Smith uncomfortable. This was a coach who had kept Michael Jordan from becoming bigger than his program, so he certainly didn’t want Reid doing it. What’s more, Smith was annoyed by Reid’s
lack of improvement. As good as J.R. was, he still committed foolish turnovers (witness Maryland) and took bad shots. That had been okay a year ago, but not now.

There was more. Lebo wasn’t comfortable at point guard. The only senior, Ranzino Smith, was so limited that Smith had to take him out of the starting lineup, something he hated doing. His replacement was Kevin Madden, a redshirt sophomore who had been forced to sit out a year because of poor grades. The top recruit for next fall was Kenny Williams, an excellent player but a suspect student who had yet to meet Proposition 48 requirements. Why was Dean Smith—whose greatest strength was his clean, untarnished reputation—suddenly recruiting bad students?

Smith doesn’t talk about recruiting, one of his many rules. Everything is relative, of course. The chinks in Smith’s armor might be considered strengths in many programs. And yet, sitting in the Deandome listening to 21,444 people make no noise at all while the Tar Heels were winning an important ACC game, one had the sense that all was not well in Paradise.…

Twenty miles and a lifetime away in Raleigh, things were pretty good. Georgia Tech was in town to play N.C. State and Jim Valvano was feeling good about his team. The Wolfpack, buoyed by its victory at Duke, had almost won at North Carolina for the first time in Valvano’s eight years at State. They had lost in overtime but the sense was there that State could play with anybody. A win at Clemson on a night when Shackleford had to sit out with a bad ankle had reinforced that notion.

Georgia Tech was a hot team, too. After struggling through January, the Yellow Jackets had won four in a row, a streak started when freshman Dennis Scott hit a twenty-five-foot three-point shot at the buzzer to beat DePaul 71–70 on national television.

Tech’s program was an interesting one. Bobby Cremins had become the coach there in 1981, taking over a program that was in shambles. Tech had been in the ACC two years and had a conference record of 1–29. Within three years, Cremins turned everything around. Recruiting with boundless enthusiasm and aggressiveness, he brought players like Mark Price, John Salley (now a star with the Detroit Pistons), and Bruce Dalrymple into the program.

In 1985, Tech beat North Carolina three times—a remarkable achievement in itself—won the ACC Tournament, and reached the Final Eight of the NCAA Tournament. Cremins was
the
hot young coach in America. He was easy to like with his Bronx accent and his malapropisms. Cremins had been a very good player at South Carolina in the late 1960s, but had left college unsure of what to do with his life.

“Let’s be honest,” he said. “All coaches will tell you they want to help people and teach. That’s nice, but it’s a crock. If we all wanted to help people and teach, we’d go join the Peace Corps. Even that may not be the answer. When I played basketball in South America after I got out of college, I knew some Peace Corps guys and all we ever did when I was with them was hang out and smoke dope.”

It is just like Cremins to casually admit that once upon a time he smoked dope. Most coaches would be too frightened about what it might do to their image, but Cremins is secure enough to know that in 1988, very few people are going to judge him on something he did in 1970 unless he decides to become a Supreme Court judge. Or unless he starts losing.

Deciding the Peace Corps wasn’t the answer, Cremins got into coaching. He landed the job at Appalachian State, stayed there for five years, then moved on to Tech. By the fall of 1985, with the guts of the ACC championship team back for ’86, Georgia Tech was everyone’s preseason No. 1 pick.

But things didn’t work out for the Yellow Jackets that year. The one starter they had lost, center Yvon Joseph, proved to be more critical than anyone had anticipated. And, in the big games, the shots that had fallen so easily on the way to the top weren’t falling anymore. Tech lost the ACC final by a point to Duke and was upset in the NCAA round of sixteen by LSU.

Price and Salley graduated off that team, and even with a superb pair of young forwards in Duane Ferrell and Tom Hammonds, Tech dropped to 16–12 in 1987. Now, with super-freshman Scott to go with Ferrell and Hammonds and senior point guard Craig Neal finally playing up to his vast potential, Tech was one player short—a big center—of being a great team. Even without that center, it was still a dangerous team.

Valvano liked Cremins as much as he liked anyone in the league. And he respected him. Like everyone else, he loved to tell Cremins
stories. “A few years ago I asked Bobby how old he was. He said, ‘Thirty-six or thirty-seven.’ I said, ‘Well, what year were you born in?’ And he said, ‘Oh, I think it was ’46 or ’47.’ ”