Earlier this week, thanks to an extremely thoughtful gift from someone here, I had one of the most enjoyable basketball watching experiences I have had in a long time: the 1982 Eastern Eight Finals from the Civic Arena between the 26-2 West Virginia Mountaineers, coached by Gale Catlett, sporting a boutonniere, and the 18-9 Pitt Panthers, coached by the late Dr. Roy Chipman. Brought to you by, among others, Daily's Juice Products and Mellon Bank, a neighbor you can count on.
Where to begin? Everything about the game, and the broadcast, felt so real and intimate in a way that seems so rare anymore. A conference tournament final, in Pittsburgh, between two local teams who knew each other all too well, with a sell-out crowd split evenly or perhaps a bit in favor of the Mountaineers. Dutch Shample. Gene Steratore. A split announcing crew of the young Bill Hillgrove from Pitt and Jay Jacobs from West Virginia, with pre-game and halftime comments and interviews by John Steigerwald; a group that, and this would be a revolutionary concept in television today, simply announced the game.
No clock. No three point line. No media time-outs. No checking the monitor. No cut-ins from Joe Lunardi.
No comment.
As for the players, it was happy memory after happier surprise. On the West Virginia side, I knew Greg Jones was on that team, because he was a heck of a guard from Youngstown and because I can still picture Darrell Gissendanner blocking his shot one night at the Field House and breaking into the Ali Shuffle. But as they announced the starters and later the subs came in I remembered every one of them. Russell Todd, steady forward from North Fork, W.Va. Phil Collins, the lumbering big man from Illinois. Lester Rowe, leaping lefty from Buffalo, a generation before another one, Julius Page. Transfer guard Tony Washam. And the subs-the Western Pa. kids, Mike King of Fairchance Georges and big Donnie Gibson of Aliquippa, Noah Moore from Parkersburg and Quentin Freeman.
On the Pitt side, I would have been able to name more going in. Giss and Sweet George, as their warm-up jerseys read. The young Andre Williams from Brooklyn, who did some damage that night, and fellow freshman Chip Watkins from Kentucky, who didn't, unless you count the moving pick for which he was called on, by my count, his first and only possession of the game. A couple of 6-6 power players, Roosevelt "Boo" Kirby of Midland, an important player that night, and transfer Trent Johnson, who appeared only briefly before being tagged for ejection, somewhat arbitrarily in my view, in a scrum that was minor and routine in those days but might now warrant a congressional investigation.
And the two most important Pitt players of 1982, one a pleasant reminder and the other a shocking revelation, both with over 20 points that night. Clyde Vaughn, Sir Clyde or Citizen Clive as we called him fondly after we learned that he was from England when he proudly became a U.S. Citizen. The only player I ever heard talk about what a thrill it was to play in "the Fitzgerald Field House." Clyde Vaughn scored over 2000 points and had over 900 rebounds at Pitt and it was easy to see why. His stroke was pure and he could score inside and out, like Jamel Artis this past February. And while he was not the tallest or the quickest or the best jumper, he was strong and on balance and he had about the longest arms I have ever seen on a 6-4 man. West Virginia played box and one and triangle and two on Clyde Vaughn that night and could not contain him. Lest you doubt that he was a serious player, a year later, in a magical stretch, Citizen Clive would lead the Panthers to wins over Syracuse with Santifer, Rautins and Bruin, St. John's and Chris Mullin, and Georgetown and Patrick Ewing.
The WVU triangle and two did not work on its other target that night, either. Things are not always as you recall them. I barely remembered Dwayne Wallace at all and if you had asked me last week, I would have told you that he had not been very good. That night, 33 years ago, Dwayne Wallace was, as the announcers said, the best player on the court. 6-2 or maybe a little taller, quick and athletic, and on this night he was a scorer, a passer, a defender and a senior leader. He would have been Pitt's best guard tonight and it would not have been close.
There are two other things about that game in March 1982 that bear in my mind on the business at hand. The first is that, while I know it was important to me at the time and I am better than most (or worse depending upon your perspective) at remembering these things, I watched this tape without having the slightest idea who would win the game. I was pretty sure that West Virginia had made what was then a much smaller NCAA tournament field and had not recalled that Pitt did. Yet as the game went on it seemed likely and then certain that Pitt would win, which they did.
Win or lose, this too shall pass.
The second is that all of the participants are now in their 50's and at least one of them, Darrell Gissendanner, is gone. This was their time to be young and strong and alive. Hopefully we can see past our basketball grievances of the moment and whatever else we project from our lives as we watch these games, to appreciate that. To know that they are giving whatever they are able to give, and that long after we have moved on to the next season, the next team, the next set of hopes and dreams, and the next set of grievances, they will be the ones living with the joys, the sadness, the triumphs and the regrets 33 years from now.
Where to begin? Everything about the game, and the broadcast, felt so real and intimate in a way that seems so rare anymore. A conference tournament final, in Pittsburgh, between two local teams who knew each other all too well, with a sell-out crowd split evenly or perhaps a bit in favor of the Mountaineers. Dutch Shample. Gene Steratore. A split announcing crew of the young Bill Hillgrove from Pitt and Jay Jacobs from West Virginia, with pre-game and halftime comments and interviews by John Steigerwald; a group that, and this would be a revolutionary concept in television today, simply announced the game.
No clock. No three point line. No media time-outs. No checking the monitor. No cut-ins from Joe Lunardi.
No comment.
As for the players, it was happy memory after happier surprise. On the West Virginia side, I knew Greg Jones was on that team, because he was a heck of a guard from Youngstown and because I can still picture Darrell Gissendanner blocking his shot one night at the Field House and breaking into the Ali Shuffle. But as they announced the starters and later the subs came in I remembered every one of them. Russell Todd, steady forward from North Fork, W.Va. Phil Collins, the lumbering big man from Illinois. Lester Rowe, leaping lefty from Buffalo, a generation before another one, Julius Page. Transfer guard Tony Washam. And the subs-the Western Pa. kids, Mike King of Fairchance Georges and big Donnie Gibson of Aliquippa, Noah Moore from Parkersburg and Quentin Freeman.
On the Pitt side, I would have been able to name more going in. Giss and Sweet George, as their warm-up jerseys read. The young Andre Williams from Brooklyn, who did some damage that night, and fellow freshman Chip Watkins from Kentucky, who didn't, unless you count the moving pick for which he was called on, by my count, his first and only possession of the game. A couple of 6-6 power players, Roosevelt "Boo" Kirby of Midland, an important player that night, and transfer Trent Johnson, who appeared only briefly before being tagged for ejection, somewhat arbitrarily in my view, in a scrum that was minor and routine in those days but might now warrant a congressional investigation.
And the two most important Pitt players of 1982, one a pleasant reminder and the other a shocking revelation, both with over 20 points that night. Clyde Vaughn, Sir Clyde or Citizen Clive as we called him fondly after we learned that he was from England when he proudly became a U.S. Citizen. The only player I ever heard talk about what a thrill it was to play in "the Fitzgerald Field House." Clyde Vaughn scored over 2000 points and had over 900 rebounds at Pitt and it was easy to see why. His stroke was pure and he could score inside and out, like Jamel Artis this past February. And while he was not the tallest or the quickest or the best jumper, he was strong and on balance and he had about the longest arms I have ever seen on a 6-4 man. West Virginia played box and one and triangle and two on Clyde Vaughn that night and could not contain him. Lest you doubt that he was a serious player, a year later, in a magical stretch, Citizen Clive would lead the Panthers to wins over Syracuse with Santifer, Rautins and Bruin, St. John's and Chris Mullin, and Georgetown and Patrick Ewing.
The WVU triangle and two did not work on its other target that night, either. Things are not always as you recall them. I barely remembered Dwayne Wallace at all and if you had asked me last week, I would have told you that he had not been very good. That night, 33 years ago, Dwayne Wallace was, as the announcers said, the best player on the court. 6-2 or maybe a little taller, quick and athletic, and on this night he was a scorer, a passer, a defender and a senior leader. He would have been Pitt's best guard tonight and it would not have been close.
There are two other things about that game in March 1982 that bear in my mind on the business at hand. The first is that, while I know it was important to me at the time and I am better than most (or worse depending upon your perspective) at remembering these things, I watched this tape without having the slightest idea who would win the game. I was pretty sure that West Virginia had made what was then a much smaller NCAA tournament field and had not recalled that Pitt did. Yet as the game went on it seemed likely and then certain that Pitt would win, which they did.
Win or lose, this too shall pass.
The second is that all of the participants are now in their 50's and at least one of them, Darrell Gissendanner, is gone. This was their time to be young and strong and alive. Hopefully we can see past our basketball grievances of the moment and whatever else we project from our lives as we watch these games, to appreciate that. To know that they are giving whatever they are able to give, and that long after we have moved on to the next season, the next team, the next set of hopes and dreams, and the next set of grievances, they will be the ones living with the joys, the sadness, the triumphs and the regrets 33 years from now.
