Conseco Fieldhouse cleared in between Sessions on Friday. I was only four blocks from my laptop and an hour of work owed to my employer. For me, leaving the arena was an opportunity of convenience, a chance to make use of the time created as basketball rejected me. For others, it was simply an opportunity to reject basketball. The allure of the local boys gone, Indianapolis was in exodus.
Since my Indiana relatives were opting to skip the evening session entirely, two second-row balcony seats were at my disposal. My work responsibilities made it impossible to convert the seats into cash myself, so instead Tim and Tony received a modest upgrade. They shed their nosebleeders for $20 each and watched the first game from the front of the upper-deck end zone. The pair planned to join me in the lower section for Game Seven. I would stay as long as empty seats permitted, but if anyone should watch the Illini closely it was a loyal alum.
I was merely the honorary variety. College hoops came late to me, but most of the 1980s was spent as an Illinois fan. It was a natural association for a kid raised in state, with friends attending classes. My favorite team — the Chicago Bears — mimicked the same orange and blue color scheme, so I was already properly attired. I could admire Bob Knight from afar and long for a scenario whereby he would replace Lou Henson and wear sweaters in my color. The best I could offer Hoosier fans, though, was a vow not to hate them.
That changed, of course, when I found myself in love with one. I hoisted up her wedding dress to expose a traditional garter adorned with a button that read, “I Do If You’re For IU.” For the first few years of our marriage, Amy and I co-existed with a grudging respect for our teams of choice. It only approached friction on the twice-a-year conference matchups, achieving quicker detente when Indiana defeated Illinois. That truce turned to bliss, however, one Thanksgiving Day when I announced my conversion to her family. I simply flip-flopped the top of the pecking order, but doing so allowed my devotion to evolve into obsession. With spousal blessings.
The match was a natural. While living in Metairie, Louisiana, I followed the boxscores of a young local McDonald’s All-American and Indiana recruit named Neil Reed. That scouting proved the catalyst for my transformation as I discovered one day I knew more about the Hoosier program than the Illinois. A Final Four appearance not far removed, I feared accusations that I was hitching a ride on the nearest bandwagon. I need not have worried. As I changed into red-and-white stripes, Indiana blindly entered a dark decade.
Whether my heart resided in Champaign or Bloomington, the 2002 tourney bracket facilitated grudging respect. As the third seed, Illinois was as far removed from Indiana’s fourth seed as possible. Tension could not possibly wake without the joyous scenario that pitted IU and U of I in the title game. My Hoosier wife was not by side; That space was reserved this day for my age-old pal from Illinois. For one evening, at least, I jumped back in time to live as the other half, as I had once lived myself.
The Clone War
It was a strange feeling to root for Ohio State. My first Illini game was against Jimmy Jackson and the Buckeyes, starting them low on my conference totem pole. Like Purdue, they did not get my support come NCAA tourney time. The only thing separating them from the Boilermakers was a greater indifference. But the team fell to the bottom of the league as I was relocating to Bloomington. And instead of Jackson and Lawrence Funderburke came inspiring players like Michael Redd, Ken Johnson and Scoonie Penn. Ohio State changed coaches and arenas. Eventually, hatred subsided and indifference gave way to ambivilence.
I knew Ohio State fought with Indiana all season for the Big Ten lead, but I couldn’t name a single Buckeye. Echoing Bob Knight’s stubborn team concept, Ohio State wiped the names the back of their jerseys and offered me no assistance. The team was an amalgam of two players, one Black and one White, cloned several times over to fill the roster.
Against Michigan, State played like clones. They sped through the first eight minutes and ran up a 17-7 lead. No single player appeared to dominate. Sophomore Zach Williams led the way for a few minutes, then seniors Brian Brown and Boban Savovic rotated through their stints as floor leader.
The attack was as dependable as it was balanced. Ohio State rarely made mistakes, contrasting the spotty play of the Hoosiers hours earlier. Good shots followed Michigan turnovers, and free throws were converted. With just over a minute to go, State led 42-31.
“In other conference tourney action around the nation,” interrupted the PA announcer. “Texas Tech 73 … Oklahoma 51.”
Had more Hoosier fans remained for the nightcap, the cheers for Bob Knight’s Red Raiders could have drowned out the raucous groaning around me. And the owners of those voices would have joined me in wondering if the second helping of hoops came with too much cheese in the middle.
If Mike Brady was a circus performer instead of an architect, he and his lovely lady would have roped their kids into the next halftime show. The Faber Family Jugglers comprised of two parents and a gaggle of children ranging in age from 4 to 26. The menagerie included a one-armed heir to the Faber Family throne and a little girl used chiefly as a prop. The Faber kids tossed many things into the air, sometimes throwing and catching in formation. Mr. Faber balanced things on his face, including a canoe and the little girl. I was hoping for more. I was hoping for some Jesse White Tumblers to clear the lot of them in one giant leap.
The game tumbled a bit at the start of the second half. After establishing an 11-point lead, State allowed the 10th-seeded Michigan Wolverines to creep back to within three. Some questionable officiating was to blame, especially after Michigan’s Chris Young passed the ball to an open space on the sidelines and temporarily got it back. Mostly, Ohio State’s machine just started squeaking.
After Brown missed three shots and Savovic another two, oil was applied during a timeout. Five different Buckeyes scored over the next four minutes. The co-champs tried to open up the throttle behind freshman Terence Dials’ 10 straight points for State, but the Wolverines hung tight. Chris Young hooked in a shot at 5:48 to cut the lead to one, but that was as close as it got. The desperate Wolverines missed their final five attempts to seal their doom.
The dust settled to reveal five Buckeyes in double digits, but nary a one with a linescore distinguishable from the next. Seventy-five points had been scored by the second seed, and I still couldn’t tell them apart.
Final Score: Ohio State Buckeyes 75 – Michigan Wolverines 68
Player of the Game: F LaVell Blanchard, Michigan
(Honorable mention to Terence Dials and Brian Brown)
What? No Chief?
Ambiguity did not exist on the Illini roster. Despite their second-school status behind Indiana, I continued to take great pride in what Illinois accomplished. I sat behind the Indiana bench during head-to-head matches, but even the Hoosier losses — plentiful since my conversion — were tolerable. Like playing the slots and having your best friend hit the jackpot after you walk away.
This crop of Illinois stars had done a number on Indiana during their careers. Four seniors — Cory Bradford, Robert Archibald, Lucas Johnson and Damir Krupalija — took turns hurling daggers at the Hoosiers. Krupalija, in particular, had some career games as IU’s opposition, baffling Illini friends who endured the erratic and injury-prone forward during the rest of schedule. Johnson was Illinois’ Dane Fife, a hard-nosed player with a reputation as a thug. And Bradford scorched IU as the Big Ten Freshman of the Year before falling back into the rotation of a deep and talented roster. These were the friends I could visit when the old neighborhood beckoned.
Although a considerable number of Indiana fans took the night off, the house was still packed with Buckeye, Gopher and Illini boosters. The arena turned from red to orange, as if exposure to the daylight bleached the crowd between sessions. Tim and Tony descended from the balcony to claim my seats. I was prepared to pass them scaling the aisles, but an entire row of fans cleared out beneath us never to return. We all slid down into the empty seats and watched the game in style. Around us, vocal Minnesota fans basked in residual glow from Thursday’s basketball clinic. Confidence pulse from all corners of Conseco. This game would be a classic.
I lamented to Tim how much better it would have been had the Buckeyes and Illini swapped seeds. It pained me to root against the Golden Gophers and their young blue-chipper Rick Rickert. Next to my indifference enveloping the last game, rooting to send the loyal Minnesota boosters home early felt unethical. The guilt subsided in time to cheer as Bradford hit Illinois’ first basket.
For the next seven minutes, I reveled in the 20-9 start. Until that second timeout, the damage was done primarily by Bradford, who finished with 18 points at the half. The Illini grew cold, briefly. Then junior sharpshooter Sean Harrington swished a bucket and sparked another mini-run to 28-11. The maroon-and-gold fans to my right appeared stunned.
“Luke Johnson doesn’t dive enough,” Tim joked. The bad boy had spent much of his time on the court — literally, on the court — going after rebounds, loose balls, Gopher shooters and Illinois passes.
“Too bad they don’t list Diving to the Floor as a statistic. He’d be having a great game.”
The highlight of the first half was Krupalija’s first real action in conference play. Not counting the token appearance in Illinois’ Senior Night victory over Indiana, the Hoosier killer spent the Big Ten schedule hobbled. Damir made his presence known against the Gophers with a quick rebound and three-pointer. By halftime, he had a nifty seven-point, two-rebound game off the bench.
A cacophony of fight songs accompanied the players off the court and left us to watch four people bouncing on trampolines. The troupe was hyped as “world champions.” I suspected tramping must be a Summer Games event since these guys were not part of the record US medal count last month in Utah. While the two smaller champs bounced higher and higher, all I could do is wonder what Jesse White’s guys could do with that kind of equipment.
I also wondered where Chief Illiniwek was hiding. The Chief appeared at the tournaments held at the United Center, but he was conspicuously absent at Conseco. The controversial school mascot was part of a unique tradition dating back to a 1926 halftime show 1926 by an Eagle Scout named Lester Leutwiler. The act was a hit repeated at major student events for the last 75 years, a new Illinois student selected to be the Chief. Once, the job even fell to a woman — Idelle Stith-Brooks — who in 1943 became Princess Illiniwek while able-bodied men were at war.
For those looking for something beyond gender bias, the Chief provided plenty of targets. In 1989, critics lumped Chief with the Cleveland Indians and Washington Redskins and proclaimed him offensive. The campaign had successfully changed school mascots around the nation, but Illinois alumni resisted and countered that the halftime dance and headdress were respectful to the culture inspiring it. That assessment, I conjectured, probably didn’t account for the Indian head logos adorning boxer shorts and toilet seat covers.
“I think the conference curtailed a lot of school traditions,” I hypothesized to Tim. “Indiana didn’t get their William Tell Flag ceremony, either.”
The hoops on display before the champ trampers had been promising for Minnesota. Senior Travarus Bennett’s eleven points had keyed a late surge that cut into a 14-point lead. The Gophers didn’t lose much ground through the first five minutes of the second half, but hope for an NCAA berth quickly faded. By 13:59, Illinois led 60-41 and thereafter hovered around a 20 points over their opponents.
Dusty Rychart played his final conference game for Minnesota with a 23-point, 10-rebound effort. He got little help from his teammates. On the other side of the ball, Bradford remained the high man with 25 points while Brian Cook and Sean Harrington combined for 34. Notably absent from the scoring binge in the 92-76 Illini victory was Frank Williams. The pro prospect was hard-pressed to follow his 2000-2001 campaign with a strong encore and predictably struggled during winter. Williams had just one point at the half and just four by the final buzzer.
Satisfied from the fresh victory, we rose to leave. Before heading up the aisle with Tim and Tony, I paused to look around. I pictured how the place would look on Saturday. Red and orange with highlights of yellow. Colors rippling in alternating waves of dissatisfaction and approval. The blowout and late hour created a lot of empty seats. All seats would be filled tomorrow, including the one next to me. It was reserved for a woman who justified the high cost of admission simply by showing up.
Final Score: Illinois Fighting Illini 92 – Minnesota Golden Gophers 76
Player of the Game: G Cory Bradford, Illinois
(Honorable mention to Dusty Rychart and Sean Harrington)