A Season Inside (61 page)

In the huddle, while everyone was still trying to figure out what had happened on the first play, Lewis nudged Stephens. “Donkey show,” he said.

Stephens cracked up. He had been thinking the same thing. The reference was to a trip to El Paso when the three seniors had been freshmen. On an off night, seven of the Boilermakers had gone across the border into Mexico in search of “The Donkey Show.” They had been told this was must-see stuff, a girl and her donkey at work.

“We got into these cabs and told the drivers we wanted to see ‘The Donkey Show,’ “Lewis said. “They said they knew all about it, knew just where to go. We drove around and around and around. Stopped a dozen places. We never found the thing.”

From that day forth, any time someone from that group got taken, the Donkey Show reference came up. The three seniors were now the only players left from that historic trip. Stephens and Lewis were still giggling when they walked out of the huddle. Mitchell came up behind them. “We’re lined up over here, you jackasses,” he hissed. He remembered too.

Any sense of dread was long gone now. Lewis hit a three-pointer, Mitchell scored, and the lead was 49–35. Memphis State was through.
The lead just kept growing. Finch, frustrated by the growing margin, drew a technical from referee Woody Mayfield with 10:48 left. During the next time-out, Finch yelled at Mayfield, “I got two more left, Woody, and I’m gonna use ’em up.”

The officials were merciful and let Finch vent his wrath without further penalty. Purdue wasn’t so kind. Even with Keady clearing his bench, the final was 100–73. The barrier had been cleared.

“It will feel good to be practicing instead of watching next week,” Keady said. “This is a new feeling, an awfully good one.”

Ironically, Purdue’s next opponent would be Kansas State, Keady’s alma mater. Mitchell, Lewis, and Stephens were delighted to finally be in the round of sixteen. And slightly amazed at how easy it had been. “For a half they were a tough team,” Mitchell said. “Then they just fell apart completely. We played well, but they just died.” He shrugged. “I’m not complaining, though.”

The donkeys were marching on.

It had snowed in Cincinnati on Friday. It snowed in South Bend on Saturday. But in normally snowy Nebraska, Sunday dawned clear and sunny, the temperature pushing toward 60 degrees.

This was a funny place for the NCAA basketball tournament to come. After all, how many places were there in the country where the basketball arena was named after a football coach? But the Bob Devaney Arena was packed, even if the sports editor from Omaha was on vacation—preparing for the start of Nebraska spring football.

The Pittsburgh Panthers were delighted to be in Lincoln. They had opened the tournament Friday with an easy victory over Eastern Michigan; now they faced Vanderbilt. Paul Evans was mildly concerned about his four freshmen, who had not been shooting well lately. Sean Miller had stayed after practice Saturday to work on that very thing.

“If Sean hits his first shot or two it will give us a big boost,” Evans said. “I think the freshmen are a little tight.”

Evans was tight too. But that was normal. He is, most of the time, a game-day wreck. His assistants often wonder how he can sit comfortably the next day because on game day he makes so many trips to the
bathroom. The gum he chews takes a beating from start to finish. He paces. He sweats. In other words, he’s a worrier.

Today, Evans was worried most about Vanderbilt’s seven-foot center Will Perdue. It wasn’t so much Perdue’s scoring that worried Evans—he expected him to score—as his ability to get Charles Smith into foul trouble. Smith had a tendency to pick up quick fouls in big games and Evans didn’t think the Panthers could afford to play very long without him.

“If we concentrate, we’re fine,” he said, pounding away on the gum. “But with this group, I just never know.”

His concern was not relieved when, during his pregame talk, Jerome Lane asked Evans if he was to take the ball out of bounds against the press.

“Jerome,” Evans said as calmly as he could, “this team doesn’t press.”

He turned to Smith. “Charlie, it doesn’t matter if Perdue scores his 25. What matters is that he doesn’t score them from the foul line. You know we need you in the game.”

Smith nodded. Pitt had been assigned to the Nebraska women’s locker room, which was not only too small but had all sorts of inspirational sayings on the walls. There was even one from Bob Knight: “The will to win has always been overrated as a means of doing so. The will to prepare and the ability to execute are of far greater importance.”

Evans had nothing quite so deep to tell his players. “Let’s get [win] number twenty-five and let’s get to Detroit so Demetrius [Gore] can play at home. We win a couple more and Charlie and Demetrius can go out of here as part of the best Pitt team in history.”

They started superbly, leading 25–14 after twelve minutes. Everyone’s shots fell. No one was tight. A blowout seemed possible.

But it didn’t happen. Pitt went cold. Vanderbilt put together a 12–2 run and cut the lead to 27–26. At halftime, it was 34—all. Evans took his time before saying anything to his team. When he started, he was firm but quiet.

“It’s always the same shit with you guys. You don’t know how to put people away. Charlie, you pull up and shoot when everyone else is expecting you to pass. There’s no one to rebound and we blow a possession. You can’t do that at this level! This time when you build the lead up, keep going inside and don’t start rushing.”

There would be one change. Freshman Bobby Martin had done well
against Perdue. He would start on him in the second half in place of Jason Matthews as Evans went to a bigger lineup.

There would be no big leads in the second half. Pitt led briefly, 48–43, but Vandy immediately ran off eight straight points to lead 51–48. It became a game where every possession seemed like life-and-death.

Vanderbilt led 61–57 with 6:20 to go but didn’t score for almost six minutes. By that time, Pitt led by three, thanks largely to Darelle Porter, who coolly hit a three-pointer to put Pitt up 62–61 and then hit a jumper to make it 64–61. Eric Reid broke the Vandy drought with a short jumper that made it 64–63 with 1:40 left. Pitt ran the clock down, then ran a clear-out for Gore. Wide open from fifteen feet, Gore missed. But Lane came down with the rebound. Pitt ran the clock all the way to seventeen seconds before Smith was fouled going to the basket.

He hit the first shot to make it 65–63, but missed the second. This time, Lane pulled the ball out of Perdue’s hands. It squirted free and went right to Smith. He was fouled immediately but Vanderbilt wasn’t over the limit, so Pitt inbounded rather than going to the line. Matthews was fouled right away. Once again, one of the freshmen came through. Matthews hit both shots and with twelve seconds to go it was 67–63.

Vandy had scored two points in 6:28. Now though, desperate, Barry Goheen threw in a three-pointer from the corner to make it 67–66. Vandy called time with five seconds left. Pitt ran a lob play on the inbounds, getting the ball to Smith. He grabbed the pass and was instantly fouled by Perdue. There were four ticks left.

That was Perdue’s fifth foul. Dejectedly, he walked to the bench, certain his career was over. “Don’t five up yet,” Coach C. M. Newton whispered. “You may have more basketball left to play.”

That hardly seemed likely when Smith hit both free throws to make it 69–66. Perhaps, here, Evans should have called time to make certain his team knew what he wanted on defense. The clock was stopped anyway, so why not be sure? Evans thought that Porter understood what to do: Foul Goheen right away if he got the ball. That would keep him from having any chance to shoot a tying three-pointer.

Goheen took the inbounds pass and streaked upcourt. Porter never fouled. Goheen bobbled the ball for a moment, got it back and, as the buzzer was about to sound, went up from twenty-three feet. Porter was
in his face, but it was too late, he should have been there earlier. As the buzzer was sounding, Goheen’s shot swished cleanly. It was 69–69. Overtime.

That shot, for all intents and purposes, ended Pitt’s season. The Panthers were a stricken team in overtime. Smith missed a wide-open Lane underneath and took a bad shot on the first possession. Frank Kornet, who had one field goal in regulation, promptly hit to make it 71–69. Smith then missed a dunk and grabbed the rim for a technical in the process. Goheen hit the technical and Eric Booker hit a three-pointer to make it 75–69. Pitt never got even again. The final was 80–74.

Evans didn’t have much to say in the aftermath. He started to get on Smith, then realized it was pointless. “Jerome was wide open, Charlie,” he said.

“Wide open, man,” Lane added.

Smith was fighting tears. “My fault,” he said.

“No, it wasn’t,” Evans said. “It was all of us. I don’t want anyone getting on Darelle for not fouling [Goheen] because his shooting got us back in the game. All you freshmen did a great job. You had a hell of a year. Charlie, Demetrius, I wish you were coming back next year.”

Evans left the building soon after that. He would fly to California the next day. What he didn’t know, when he left, was that Smith and Gore, stunned and hurt by the sudden end of their careers, had made him the scapegoat, claiming he had not told anyone to foul on the last play of regulation. “Anyone who knows basketball knows whose fault this was,” Gore said.

He was wrong. No one person was at fault. As Evans had said, it was everyone. Pitt just hadn’t been able to rise to the level needed at this stage of the tournament. Evans’s concern about this team in January had been correct. “You don’t have the mentality to be great,” he told his players.

Prophetic words.

Larry Brown watched the end of the Pitt–Vanderbilt game in amazement. First, N.C. State had been upset a round before Kansas would have played them. Now, Pitt had been beaten one round before it would have played the Jayhawks. “You know,” he told Ed Manning, “we couldn’t have matched up with Pitt. No way.”

Maybe all the bad luck of the winter was becoming good luck in the spring. There was still the not-so-small matter of beating Murray State that day. Brown, of course, was nervous. Danny Manning wasn’t. He sensed that his team was about to go on a roll. The loss in the Big Eight Tournament had been deceiving because Kevin Pritchard, their point guard, had sat out the game with a bad ankle. Pritchard was healthy now.

Still, there was nothing easy about Murray State. The Racers had a tough-to-guard point guard in Don Mann and a pure scorer in Jeff Martin. The Jayhawks came out flying, taking a 25–13 early lead. But Murray came back to trail just 28–23 at half. The second half was a struggle for twenty minutes. Paul King put Murray up for the first time, 50–48 with 6:50 left. Pritchard answered with a three-pointer. The lead seesawed. A drive by Mann and a follow by Martin put Murray up 56–53 with 3:55 left. Brown called time.

Every team that wins a national championship must survive this type of game. Somewhere along the line an underdog shows up, plays loose from start to finish and pushes the favorite to the limit. If you survive, good things often follow. If not …

Manning cut the lead to 56–55, rebounding his own miss. Mann missed a jumper, then Newton hit a twisting jumper to put KU up by one with 2:10 left. They traded misses until Martin hit two free throws to give Murray State a 58–57 lead with fifty-one seconds to go.

Now came the most important possession of Manning’s career. A miss here and it might all be over. The thought never occurred to him. “I just never thought we were going to lose,” he said later. “We’d all been through so much together this just seemed like something else we had to take care of. I really thought we would get it done.”

It was not easy. Pritchard got the ball to Manning to the right of the basket and he calmly tossed a baby hook in with forty seconds left. Kansas was up 59–58. But now Murray would get the last shot. The Racers called time with twenty-four seconds left. Their plan was simple: clear out and let Mann penetrate.

He did just that. With Scooter Barry—playing because Pritchard’s ankle was still tender—guarding him, Mann drove right, popped into the clear and was about to toss a scoop shot up with no one near him when, suddenly, Manning slipped around a screen and jumped. He didn’t get to the ball. To make sure there was no contact, he only jumped
toward
Mann, not
at
him.

But Mann, seeing Manning flying at him, had to adjust his shot. The ball rolled around the rim—and off. Manning grabbed the rebound and was immediately fouled. Only one second was left. The Jayhawks were celebrating as Manning went to the line. “Hey,” Manning commanded sternly, “calm down. It’s not over yet.”

They calmed down. But it was over. Manning made both shots, then intercepted the last Murray inbounds pass. Kansas had survived, 61–58. In the last forty seconds, Manning had hit the winning basket, helped out on the crucial defensive play, grabbed the rebound, made the free throws, and intercepted the final pass.

Remarkably, Kansas was in the final sixteen. “That’s not my goal,” Manning said softly. “I’ve been to the final sixteen before. There’s still more to do.”

The term Sweet Sixteen is a relatively new one in the sports vernacular, coined partly to grant glory to more teams at the end of each college basketball season, but also used in recognition of the fact that reaching the NCAA round of sixteen is not nearly as easy as it once was.

Until the 1975 expansion of the tournament, seven conference champions were seeded right into the round of sixteen without having to play a game. Nowadays, with sixty-four teams in the field, it takes two victories to reach the sixteens. Often getting those two victories is not so easy.

The 1988 tournament was a perfect example of how difficult it is. None of the 1987 Final Four made it back as far as the sixteens. Providence didn’t make the tournament: Indiana was gone in round one; Syracuse and Nevada–Las Vegas were gone in round two. In fact, only five of the Sweet Sixteen of 1987 made it back in 1988: North Carolina, Iowa, Kansas, Oklahoma, and Duke. To go one step further, only three of those five—North Carolina, Kansas, and Duke—had gotten to this point three years running.