Time passed quickly in the hotel. In fact, it went right past my hopeful wake-up call into mid-morning before I found a way out of bed. My room was absent an alarm clock — an odd quirk caused by my early check-in on Thursday — so Amy provided that service with a long-distance good morning.
The conversation was fuzzy. In addition to a heavy diet of basketball and database programming, I crammed in enough consciousness the previous night to watch the movie Ghandi before going to sleep. My dreams overflowed with non-violent dunks. When the phone rang, I remained groggy as I talked with Amy and made plans to hook up at Conseco Fieldhouse prior to Session Four. After our goodbyes, I climbed out of bed and slipped into something red.
The hike to Conseco was unpleasant. For the first time, the weather in Indianapolis was not cooperative. The pleasant breezy spring days were replaced by a cold, harsh rain that quieted the pep rallies outside the stadium. I skirted inside to await my rendezvous in the lobby and watched the crowd assemble.
Wisconsin’s loss to Iowa ruined the ideal semifinal matchups pitting the four conference co-champions in head-to-head battle. There would be something appealing about closure achieved by breaking that first-place tie. I was happy for the substitution since I feared the Badger defense more than Recker’s payback for boos suffered in Bloomington. It didn’t change my rooting interests, though. Another Indiana-Illinois battle was spotted just crossing the horizon.
Camera crews were everywhere trying to track down fans with something to say about Indiana, Recker or how much they paid to see the game. The season sweep of Iowa and negation of Recker this season gave fans reason to expect a pleasant tomorrow. IU support came in two flavors, young and old. The latter was grizzled and proper, fans loyal for long enough to refer to Coach and mean McCracken. The former was boisterous and cocky, sometimes downright rude. Middle-aged couples in yellow clutched elbows tightly as they wended their way through the flaws of youth.
Amy and her sister Meg arrived a few minutes later than expected, sans father. The weather had combined with the mass migration from Bloomington to lengthen travel time. Dad was presumably looking for parking. Some long-overdue hugs ensued, comforting everything save my anxiety about returning to my seat.
Experience improved my fourth trip through the security checkpoints. I deftly removed my jacket and unfastened my pack for inspection, proactively disclosing my digital camera.
“Need to look under your hat, sir,” the screener said. I revealed my thin matte of hair and made a mental note for Session Five.
Our arms filled with food and Dews, I led my wife to our seats and held for applause. Sections were filling up everywhere that afternoon; A head count would have no trouble matching the reported attendance. Admiring the view, she settled into the empty seat next to me. When watching the Hoosiers play basketball, I would much rather have Amy by my side than anyone, but I did miss the pricey coat rack that willingly stowed my game gear.
A few minutes later, Tim showed up with Thea, his wife and soon-to-be mother of his child. They sat immediately behind us for the pregame and chatted while we ate our food. Thea apologetically explained her intention to root for freshman guard Pierre Pierce. A teacher in Illinois, Thea saw Pierce perform for rival Westmont High School. She clung to that connection as tightly as she did her ticket stub.
“You can root for him to have a good game,” I said. “Just not enough to win.”
That echoed my attitude toward Recker. Even overcompensating for popular Hoosier sentiments, the best I could offer him was pulling for a career day in a losing cause. I tugged nervously at my gray and red Indiana sweatshirt, imagining the Four jersey as I did. It remained behind at the Hyatt, still sporting the aroma of Thursday’s use. I also wore it last month for the Hawkeye trouncing in Assembly Hall. Recker was a non-factor. That luck vanished in the Tuesday’s wash, and it seemed risky to tempt fate.
“They’re going to win, right?” Amy asked just before the band started playing the countdown to tip-off. This was her nervous ritual to avoid unwarranted worry, like checking the back of a new murder mystery to make sure the principle characters are still breathing.
“Sure,” I answered. “Of course.”
Home-Recker
Once, Luke Recker sank 22 free throws in 25 attempts to overcome a 13-minute field-goal drought by the Indiana Hoosiers. He was on pace to obliterate Steve Alford’s school record of 178 steals. Luke was the man down when Bob Knight was hit with three technicals trying to attend to him. The Valentine’s Day Massacre (named for the referee, Ted) is best remembered by most as another day Coach went ballistic, but I remember being worried about how serious Recker’s injury was. For two years, Luke Recker was the game-winner for Indiana, the promise of a better future. He was the man who would take the home team back to the Final Four and national glory.
Ah, but one can never go home again. Not without enduring boisterous boos whenever one touches the ball and cheers when one pulls up lame. That was what awaited Luke in 2002.
After leaving pastoral Bloomington for greener pastures, Recker did not look back. He continued playing the same game that won adoring fans as a Hoosier star. Sans Recker, Iowa came to Bloomington with Alford as head coach in 2000. That tense reunion featured only an ex-player and his former head coach, not the prodigal son sitting out the year due to transfer. Recker did revel in engineering a comeback victory over Indiana at Iowa City during his junior year, but he suffered karmic heartburn when he cracked a knee cap and was sidelined for the rest of the season. That injury prevented him from playing in the Iowa victory over IU in the Big Ten Tournament title game last year, Mike Davis’ first as head coach. From the moment the fax was sent announcing his transfer, Hoosier fans waited patiently to be reunited with Recker in Assembly Hall.
It didn’t go well, for Recker or sportsmanship.
Smugly confident during player introductions, Iowa failed to live up to the hype on the court and got blown out. One month after fouling out with just 12 points in a home loss to these same Hoosiers, Recker hit just 3 of 10 shots and spent most of the second half on the bench. At one point, before the rout was official, Recker collided with an Indiana player and hobbled around in pain. His only cheer of the day came at that inappropriate moment.
The tenor should have been different, even Luke sensed that. Late in the game, the Auburn legend was noticeably aware of what he missed by leaving. During timeout in the second half, the famed William Tell routine rallied on the court with waving large red and white flags. Recker couldn’t concentrate on what his coach was saying, turning often to watch the flags run past. I imagined him thinking about playing with Kirk Haston and Jared Jeffries last year and giving a rousing senior speech. Thousands of Hoosier fans cheering every syllable instead of jeering every dribble.
At Conseco, the boos accompanied him onto the court once more. The rumbling was softer, though, muffled by the distance of one month and an hour drive from Bloomington. Buoyed by the growing enthusiasm of the yellow Iowa corner of the stands, the team managed a good start for the first time in three games. A sleight 9-7 Indiana lead was turned into a six-point Indiana deficit on the back of three straight Brody Boyd treys. The Hoosiers rallied to regain the lead, but Recker tied it with a his only points of the first half. At halftime, Iowa trailed just 33-30.
Jeffries — the current IU savior — struggled, too, matching Recker’s three points at the break. Still hobbled from an ankle injury suffered weeks before, Jeffries deferred to his teammates. The first half was keyed by AJ Moye, an energetic sophomore guard who led the club with 11 points early. Upon being inserted into the lineup, Moye electrified his teammates and the partisan crowd, screaming with primal exuberance as he played.
“This kid is going to be fun to watch as a senior,” I told Amy. She nodded out of habit. I made that same statement at least twice a game. “It’s great when a senior plays his best.”
The halftime act was an omen. Two guys dubbed The Gentlemen Jugglers waved to an indifferent crowd, wielding grand smiles after each successful toss of a bowling pin or a metal knife. One of the Gentlemen, in a bowler hat dropped a couple pins and scooped them up with Plan B flourish. Unfazed, he mounted a basket-high unicycle and pedaled around the court looking for things to toss and catch. While his partner interacted with the crowd, bowler man shot free throws from his uni-bike. His success indicated some prior coaching by Lou Henson. Every brick repelled another curious fan into private conversation and concourse dining.
In the second half, it would be Indiana’s turn to drop the ball.
Five minutes after the resumption of play, Recker drew a Tom Coverdale charge. The crowd booed the ex-Hoosier, of course, but had rage to spare for the official making the call. I proved a flashpoint for everything that followed. Indiana still held a one-point lead, but the sulking Hawkeye start found his game. A Recker fast break put Iowa up for the first time in an hour. It appeared initially as only a short respite for Hawkeye fans — Moye keyed a run with two rebounds and a three-pointer, and Indiana was in control at 54-45 — but Luke was in a zone.
“Other tournament scores from around the country,” the PA Announcer boomed. “Kansas 83. Texas Tech … 35.”
A groan swelled from the Fieldhouse as we collectively contemplated the 48-point deficit for Coach Knight’s new team. Many more followed. The Indiana lead fell from nine to two with Recker and Pierre Pierce doing the scoring. Thea’s guy would finish the game with 11 points, seven rebounds and three assists, the bulk accumulated in the last ten minutes.
Try as they may, though, Iowa could not get past the Hoosiers. Time was running out. When Indiana looked up at the scoreboard with 1:20 left in regulation, they were relieved to discover a 60-57 advantage. One more defensive stop or an Indiana bucket, and IU would be returning to the title game. More importantly to me, Amy would be returning to Indy.
There was no defensive stop for Indiana. Instead, Recker launched a shot from behind the arc to pull the Hawkeyes even with the Hoosiers, 60-60. Had Luke been wearing red that day, the crowd would still be cheering his final minute of play. Instead, red-shirted fans reacted nervously.
Still in control, Indiana ran the clock and looked for a good shot. The shot materialized, but the bucket did not. Jeffries and Jeffrey Newton were as tenacious under their own basket as they were off target. One miss was followed by an offensive board, and again and again. Instead of taking the new shot clock and the ball to the free throw line when Iowa was forced to foul, Jeffries kept at the net until he lost the ball on a hop out of bounds. It looked to be Indiana’s ball, but from out of the mob of bodies a yellow jersey emerged. Recker leapt for the departing ball, cradled it and signaled time with 13.2 seconds remaining. Although not an ESPN highlight, that heads-up maneuver gave the Hawkeyes a chance at their seventh-straight tourney victory.
The last play diagrammed differently than it was executed, thanks to an alert Indiana defense that filled every open lane. Everyone knew the ball was going to Luke Recker. Jeffries demanded it and clung to the ex-Hoosier for every second of the Iowa possession. With gangly arms in his face, the sideline at his back and time vanishing, Recker let the ball fly. It was a shot he was born to make. I snapped a picture as it left his hands; 0.0 lit on the game clock. An instant later the minority crowd cheered in ecstasy at the improbable 62-60 upset over Indiana.
“The clock,” I said. “Did time run out?”
Yellow jerseys mobbed the court even as officials huddled. In my tiny digital viewfinder, the answer was more ambiguous than on the television monitors plugged into the scorers table. The shot counts. Indiana loses. Recker wins.
The idea of Indiana losing is never pleasant. It is distressing to lose matchups the team should win and more so when they deny me additional games. Indiana would not play on Sunday, of course, but neither would Amy return to the Fieldhouse. The seat in section 103 accepted its fated role as coat rack. In my book, that was the only thing that damned Luke Recker.
Final Score: Iowa Hawkeyes 62 – Indiana Hoosiers 60
Player of the Game: G Luke Recker, Iowa
(Honorable mention to AJ Moje and Pierre Pierce)
Last One Out, Turn Off The Lights
“I am so sorry,” uttered Tim’s voice from behind me.
As my friend extended his hand in comfort and extolled other virtues of the game, I thought back to a mid-tournament loss to Duke in the early 1990s. After that unfortunate outcome, Amy and I received a phone call. It was Tim. He sang a happy rendition of “Duke of Earl” that brought red splotches to Amy’s face. Tim, now older and wiser, has made a point never to sing Motown in her presence again.
My switch in allegiance made for home viewing of Illinois-Indiana games possible, but was replaced by the friendly tensions of winter parties. Though compassionate, my Illini pals have been eased into magnanimous post-game chatter by the frequency of Indiana losses. Passions are not so easily masked during the game, however, and have occasionally spilled outside the border rivalry.
Nine months pregnant and ready to pop, one pal’s spouse rooted heartily for Penn State at a Super Bowl party because the Lions opposed Indiana that day. Further justification was not required. The new mother had a C-section the next day, hopefully not a result of the IU victory. Even before Bob Knight’s departure altered Indiana University’s status as Evil Empire, my friends had softened to the point of sincerity in their hope for better days and outcomes for the Hoosiers.
“I really was hoping for Indiana and Illinois to meet,” Tim said. “Recker was just …”
“I know,” I said, completing the thought.
Amy left, as planned, to rejoin our son and his Nana in Bloomington. That was the plan even had Jared Jeffries connected on his final block attempt. The rest of Hoosierdom, though, had no such excuse. For the locals, the Indiana loss extended into the evening and Sunday games. Hoosiers now vanquished, there was no stomach for basketball. The mass exodus stripped away swaths of section 103, leaving plenty of openings for Tim and Thea.
“That entire row is definitely empty,” I told them, “and I think this one is, too. I’m not sure about the row behind me. And I don’t know if these two guys are coming back.”
While the couple squatted into the seats next to me, the speakers reported a final in the Texas Tech drubbing: 90-50. “Ouch,” I grimaced. “Hope that doesn’t mess up the big tournament.”
It wouldn’t. The amazing Red Raider turnaround and another 20-win season for Coach Knight was enough even for critics to proclaim success. An NCAA bid was imminent. Coach, however, was no longer judged on the formality of victories unless they occurred in March.
I contemplated this double-dip of disappointment spanning two conferences. I was melancholy imagining Recker’s joy today was dampened by the absence of Bob Knight. Was the sum of my emotions the same as it was when Knight and Indiana were again synonymous? I shuddered at the thought of another season-ending blowout for either and instead tried to picture a tournament game pitting the Red Raiders against the Hoosiers. I couldn’t continue the daydream without suffering a recursive loop in my mental programming.
“You’re in our seats,” my neighbors said when they got back to their seats. They were friendly Hoosier fans from Indy, prematurely presumed to be among the missing. My section had filled up a bit with tip-off approaching, but Tim spotted two seats left unoccupied two rows down. He and his wife relocated with a wish of good luck from me, and the Indy brothers reclaimed their perch.
“Didn’t know if you were going to be back,” I said by way of explanation. I knew then I’d see them tomorrow.
Illinois blazed through the first seven minutes looking every bit the team predicted to win the conference outright and advance to the NCAA Final Four with ease. Frank Williams was still off his game, but Cory Bradford was on the mark. When Lucas Johnson drew a charge and crashed to the hardwood, Tim and I exchanged knowing glances, smiling about the new stat we had created. By the second timeout, the Illini led 16-8. That proved to be the high point of the game.
The no-name Buckeyes took ten minutes to methodically trim the Illinois lead to three. When Ohio State’s Number Four dropped in a bucket and a free throw to tie the game 35-35, I pulled out my program to look him up. Brent Darby walked on that play — much to the dismay of orange-shirted critics in the stands — but the officials missed the call. The game was born anew with 1:26 to play. Darby had hit another three before the buzzer, and the Buckeyes went into the locker room thankful for a 41-40 advantage.
Halftime brought Chief to the floor, but not the one we wanted. As as substitute for Illiniwek, the tourney entertainment director gave us “Christopher,” a guy rigged up as a one-man Village People. To the beat that owned the late 1970s, Christopher danced around in a contraption that allowed him to play all five People at once. Christopher was bedecked as the Indian Chief. Each time Chief took a step, the Policeman, Biker, Cowboy and Construction Worker shook their respective booties in sync. Macho Man. In the Navy. YMCA. Just that, for about ten minutes.
It would have been helpful to the cause if Christopher performed the March of the Illini routine at the half. Although their team led most of the game, this Illinois crowd appeared only mildly enthused. The Illini veterans tried to add a spark. After a Darby bucket extended the Ohio State lead to nine, Frank Williams matched the Buckeye leader with a series of great baskets. Illinois’ view of the fireworks was better, and the game was eventually tied at 49. OSU responded with seven straight points, and again the veterans responded with a 13-8 run to keep within a bucket. And so it went. Each time Illinois got close, the interchangeable parts of Ohio State clicked into high gear. The Illini were playing hard but losing ground.
Coupled with the Hoosier loss already in the books, the situation became desperate for me. Nameless Buckeyes made drives to the basket and played nearly flawless basketball; the prospect of losing loomed large. I again found my mind wandering and wondering. Would I feel any different about the outcome of this game had my childhood hoops fantasy had come true and Lou Henson been replaced at Illinois by Coach Knight? My favorite team at that time unified with my favorite coach, in theory making both wins and losses more intense. Iowa, whose amateur wire-tapping once exposed Illini recruiting to NCAA sanctions, would be my Purdue. And Indiana, but for Bob Knight, would be lost in the hierarchy. I was pulled back to reality by a Sean Harrington bucket that shortened the Buckeye lead again.
In timeout at 2:16, Ohio State led by a bucket. It was a final hurdle for Illinois so slight and tantalizing. I pictured Sunday as a happy day when former favorites would battle, allowing myself a mental prescription for the afternoon pain. Cook finished with 21 for Illinois, and Williams — in the mix of so many attempts to come back — scored 17 in second half. But when the clocked stopped at 33.6 seconds to attend to a Johnson foul, Illinois made the hurdle a point higher. The co-champs couldn’t clear it, stumbling the rest of the way to a 94-88 loss. Illinois joined Indiana and Texas Tech on a long ride home.
Outside the arena, winter stubbornly clung the Midwest as if sensing the collective dreariness. Any thought of cashing in extra seating for money was gone. Iowa vs Ohio State was a scalper’s nightmare that would see 19,000 seats half used and too much gray mixed with the red. Leaning into the wind, I walked back to the Hyatt with Tim’s gang, our heads down. We made arrangements to reconvene for an evening of dining. Our conversation would turn to movies, babies, politics, television and work.
Anything but basketball.
Final Score: Ohio State University 94 – Illinois Fighting Illini 88
Player of the Game: G Brian Brown, Ohio State
(Honorable mention to Frank Williams and Brent Darby)
