A Season on the Brink

by John Feinstein

  “Can he play?”

  “He can play, but I don’t think he can guard anybody.”

  “You let me worry about that.”

  That was fine with Garl. Knight was about as keen and as honed in for this game as he had been all season, perhaps in a couple of seasons. He was sick of losing at home to Big Ten teams. He was sick that Indiana had lost twice to his alma mater the previous season. He was tired of only beating weaklings in the Big Ten. He wanted no distractions this week.

  Naturally, one showed up. On Monday afternoon a young Japanese man appeared at Assembly Hall with a letter. In English, the letter explained that the young man was a Japanese basketball coach who thought Knight was a coaching genius. He had flown to the U.S. hoping to watch Knight coach for a month so he could learn from him. He spoke no English.

  Knight was stunned that the young coach had simply shown up on his doorstep this way. He couldn’t communicate with him because he spoke no Japanese. But he had an idea. He called a professor who had come to Indiana from Japan. The professor had a teenage son who spoke Japanese. How would he feel about acting as interpreter? No problem. So, for the next few weeks, the young Japanese coach and the American-born teenager sat at practice each day, with the professor’s son interpreting what Knight was saying to the team. Or at least most of it. By the time the young coach went home in February he not only had dozens of pages of notes and diagrams, he had a basketball autographed by the entire team and several Indiana shirts and sweaters to show to his friends.

  Having done his bit for international relations, Knight turned to the problem of Ohio State. Other than a healthy Thomas, he believed the key to this game would be Winston Morgan. Ohio State’s two best players were 7-foot center Brad Sellers and 6-5 guard Dennis Hopson. Sellers was going to be a problem because of his size; there was little that could be done about that. But if Hopson, averaging twenty-two points a game, could be controlled, Ohio State would not have its inside-outside balance.

  Morgan, at 6-4, was the one Indiana player with the quickness and the size to have a reasonable chance to guard Hopson. Knight had been extremely happy with Morgan for most of the season. He had even tried to get Morgan put back on scholarship when Brooks left, but was told that the NCAA would not allow that at midseason. Brooks had announced on Monday that he would transfer to Providence College. Knight was pleased about that; Providence was rebuilding and played a lot of zone. Brooks would have a chance there.

  But Morgan was a much more immediate concern. Knight had been angry with him after the Wisconsin game, and the Monday and Tuesday practices were often a five-year review of that long-running show, “The Screwups of Winston Morgan.” “If that’s the kind of crap you’re going to give us Wednesday, Winston, don’t even bother practicing because you’re wasting everyone’s time. I just don’t want to see any of that garbage like I saw up at Wisconsin.”

  Walking away, Knight said to the coaches, “I just hope God takes note of the fact that I coached Winston Morgan for five years.” But if God was handing out points for that relationship, Morgan would have a few of his own to collect.

  On Tuesday, Thomas practiced a little. He moved awkwardly and was wearing a special light cast to protect the ankle. He would play; the question was how much.

  While Knight was worrying about Thomas and screaming at Morgan, Quinn Buckner was wondering about his future. Buckner was in his tenth year in the NBA. After leaving Indiana in 1976, he had captained the U.S. Olympic team that summer and then gone on to a solid pro career in Milwaukee, Boston, and now Indianapolis. The Pacers had brought him in that summer hoping that at thirty-one he could give a young team some leadership, and because they knew his name still carried weight in the state of Indiana.

  But Buckner and Coach George Irvine had never hit it off. Irvine, a nervous, chain-smoking man, seemed to see Buckner more as a potential threat to his authority than anything else. On a team that would finish the season 26–56, Irvine was uncomfortable with anyone around who might be viewed by management as potential coaching material. Buckner, articulate, savvy, and a natural leader, was certainly coaching material.

  He had played little under Irvine even as the team struggled, constantly losing leads late in the game. Now, with Clark Kellogg about to come off the injured list, Buckner knew Irvine had to cut somebody. “I was sitting at dinner with my wife and all of a sudden it hit me,” he said. “I said to her, ‘I think I’m gone.’”

  The next morning, Irvine called him in for a meeting. Buckner’s instincts had been correct; he was being placed on waivers. Little-used and thirty-one, Buckner knew that his being waived was probably the end of his NBA career. Buckner was much too bright and much too well set up financially to be crushed, but it still hurt. It hurt his ego, and it hurt to have Irvine almost try to make him a scapegoat for a lousy team. When Buckner got home that morning he called Knight.

  This was Wednesday. Knight had just gone through a morning walk-through with the team. “Why don’t you come down here for the game tonight?” he asked Buckner.

  Buckner wasn’t sure. He thought maybe he would just like to stay home with his family and give himself a little time to feel sorry for himself. “Quinn,” Knight said, “it would mean a lot to me.” End of discussion. Buckner called Tom Abernethy and asked for a ride to the game.

  Knight had Thomas do some extra work with Pelkowski and Brian Sloan after the three o’clock walk-through. He wanted him to try catching the ball in the low post, turning, and shooting. Normally, this was Thomas’s favorite move. Now, he looked uncomfortable wheeling to make the move.

  The theme for this game was simple: January 15. “Let’s remember January 15,” Knight said at the pregame meal, “as a beginning. As the beginning of us becoming the kind of basketball team we want to be. It won’t be easy. It will be hard. I promise you that. But this is an opportunity for this team. Let’s make this a night when we do something to someone rather than having someone do something to us.”

  With that, he went off to his pregame steam. He had stopped announcing his weight in mid-December, and the suspicion was it was creeping back toward 230.

  Buckner and Abernethy walked in shortly after 6:30. Knight, lying on the couch, pointed them to chairs immediately. “I need you guys tonight,” he said briskly, acting as if Buckner’s waiver had never happened. “Quinn, you gotta talk to Morgan. Take him in the hall and tell him, ‘You owe this f—— operation a lot and tonight you start paying it back.’ Tommy, I want you to talk to the inside guys about not committing stupid fouls.”

  They both nodded and got up to leave for the players’ locker room. “Don’t screw this up now,” Knight said. “Quinn, I’m holding you responsible for Morgan’s defense on Hopson.”

  “He’ll guard him,” Buckner said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Knight had already given Crabb his marching orders. After the teams were introduced, Knight wanted Abernethy and Buckner introduced. Both were sitting on the Indiana bench. Abernethy had been through this before, since he was a regular at home games. But Buckner, because of his pro career, had not been to a game in Assembly Hall since graduation.

  Buckner’s introduction was lavish. “. . . Captain of the 1976 national championship team, captain of the 1976 gold-medal-winning U.S. Olympic team . . . one of Indiana’s all-time greats . . .” They were standing and cheering before Crabb even said Buckner’s name. Buckner didn’t know what to do. He finally settled for a wave. They were still cheering him when he sat down next to Knight.

  The first half was almost perfect. Morgan was making life miserable for Hopson. Thomas was holding his own inside. By halftime he had eight points and seven rebounds. Alford was merely Alford with seventeen points. At halftime, Indiana led 39–30, and the only noticeable chink was a running feud Knight had started early in the game with official Darwin Brown.

  That chink became a problem right away in the second half. On the opening possession, Alford, going up to shoot, appeared to get fouled
. There was no call. A moment later, after Ohio State’s Clarence McGee scored to make it 39–32, Knight was still screaming at Brown about his not calling a foul on the previous play. Brown, who had warned Knight in the first half, nailed him with a technical.

  The timing could not have been worse. Not only did Ohio State get two points from the two free throws, but it got the basketball back from Indiana. When Hopson hit from twenty feet for his sixth point of the game, the lead had gone from nine to three in less than a minute.

  Knight was so furious that he called Ralph Floyd from the stands and sent him to press row to tell the new Big Ten supervisor of officials, Bob Wortman, that Brown was incompetent. Wortman didn’t necessarily disagree, but that wasn’t going to change this game. “Brown,” Knight yelled, getting in the Last Word, “why don’t you do everyone a favor and quit?”

  Brown did Knight a favor and didn’t give him a second technical.

  But the first technical had brought Ohio State close. It stayed close, but couldn’t seem to catch up. The lead went down to two, then popped back up to eight. Indiana had a chance to go up ten, but Thomas turned the ball over and committed his fourth foul. A disastrous possession. Hopson promptly posted Morgan and hit to make it 54–48.

  But that was Hopson’s last basket. With Buckner giving him private counseling sessions at each time-out, Morgan was hanging right with him. The problem was Sellers. He was too big and too quick to be stopped when he chose to play. Against Indiana, he wanted to play. Time and again he jumped over people for rebounds or shots. He would score twenty-nine points and get sixteen rebounds before the game was over.

  But Indiana was hanging on. A baseline jumper by Alford with 5:15 left made it 62–56. It took Indiana three minutes to score again. By then it was 62–60, and only the defense was keeping the Hoosiers alive. Alford hit a short pop to make it 64–60 with 2:10 to go. Sellers answered to make it 64–62. With 1:30 left, Calloway was called for a charge. Ohio State had a chance to tie. “This,” Hammel said, “is as big a possession as I’ve seen in a long time.”

  Hopson drove and beat Morgan. Morgan fouled him before he shot. It would be one-and-one with 1:10 left. Hopson missed! But Sellers jumped over everyone and rebounded. He flipped the ball outside and went into the low post. Thomas was practically clinging to him. Sellers spun to try to get position. The whistle blew. Foul. Thomas’s fifth? No. It was an illegal screen on Sellers. “Good call,” Sellers said later. “He caught me. Thomas wouldn’t give up. He showed guts.”

  There was still a full minute left, meaning Indiana would have to take a shot before the forty-five-second clock ran out. But Ohio State guard Curtis Wilson foolishly fouled Alford going for a steal. Since Ohio State had not yet committed seven fouls in the second half, Alford didn’t get to shoot free throws. But the forty-five-second clock recycled, and with thirty-seven seconds left, Indiana now did not have to shoot the ball again.

  Ohio State had to foul and did, Gerry Francis slapping at the ball as soon as Calloway caught the inbounds pass. So Calloway went to the line. One year ago, he had been playing for a bad high school team. Now, he stood in suddenly quiet Assembly Hall trying to be a hero for Indiana University. No problem. Calloway made both shots to make it 66–62.

  Wilson partially atoned for his foul on Alford with a drive down the middle. That made it 66–64 with twenty-three seconds left. Ohio State needed a steal or it would have to foul. It almost got a steal on the inbounds when Morgan couldn’t find anyone open. He called time—just in time—before a five-second violation could be called. The second time he did exactly what Knight wanted: he inbounded the ball to Alford.

  Alford was fouled immediately with fifteen seconds to go. Alford on the foul line with a game on the line is exactly what Knight would ask for in any close game. Not only does he hit 90 percent of his foul shots, but the pressure of the endgame almost always brings out the best in him. He calmly made both shots. It was 68–64. Sellers tried one last shot. It rimmed out. Thomas rebounded, passed to Alford and, seconds later, it was over. Indiana had the victory it had to have. It was now in position to get into position. Or something.

  The joy in the locker room was unrestrained. It had been a difficult, draining game. But it had been the kind of game that one year ago would have beaten Indiana. Tonight, Indiana had overcome everything thrown at it: Sellers’s size, Thomas’s injury, Knight’s foolish technical.

  Knight was subdued when he walked into the locker room. Subdued, but happy. He was carrying a basketball, the game ball. Without a word, Knight flipped the ball to Alford.

  “Hey, that was a great effort, boys,” Knight said. “It really was. I’m sorry I dug you a hole at the start of the second half. I’m proud of all of you. Daryl, you couldn’t have done that a year ago. I guess you stitched up that vaginal orifice, huh? You went out and you dealt with the pain and you hung in there the whole game. You should feel really proud of what you just did. Ricky, I had absolutely no doubt about you sticking those two free throws—none. If you had had to guard somebody, I might have been worried, but not free throws. Hey, that was just a hell of a win, boys. A hell of a win.”

  Knight paused and looked around the room. When he started talking again, his tone was soft, and as he went on, each sentence became tougher and tougher to get out because his throat was choked with emotion.

  “You know, I’ve been coaching here fifteen years. We’ve had a hell of a lot of big games in that time. I talk to you people about leadership and I talk to you about what it means to play basketball at Indiana. And I talk to you about the guys who have played here before you. Their names are in your lockers all around this room.

  “We talk to you when we recruit you about how special it is to come to Indiana. And we talk to you about how special it is after you’re gone, because you’ve been a part of it. Tonight, Quinn and Tommy came down for the game. Let me tell you about Quinn. Quinn just got put on waivers today by the f—— Indiana Pacers. He’s down here to see you people play tonight. He’s in here in the locker room with you, working his ass off. He’s trying to keep me in control on the bench, he’s just, I don’t know when I’ve ever seen someone show a more selfless approach to something than this kid did tonight.”

  Knight was barely audible now. “Fifteen years, all the wins we’ve had here, we’ve never given a game ball to anybody. Let’s give this one to Quinn, what do you say?” Knight was crying by the time he finished and so was everyone else in the room. Alford handed the ball to Buckner as the players burst into cheers and whistles. Knight just turned and walked out of the room, wiping his eyes. Buckner was wiping his.

  When Buckner talked about the scene later, he would laugh and say, “I would have broken down completely if not for that damn pedestal I’m supposed to be on.” Some of the players were yelling, “Speech,” but Buckner waved them off. He was no more capable of talking at that moment than Knight was.

  Knight wasn’t quite finished with the Indiana Pacers. After he had put himself back together, he went into the interview room. He talked about the game and how pleased he was with Thomas. And then he talked again about Buckner and how much it meant to him to have Buckner come to the game that night.

  “Buckner contributes so much to any team that understands basketball,” Knight said. “He gets everybody to play better. It’s a damn shame in a state like this that loves good basketball that we have a professional organization up in Indianapolis that so clearly doesn’t understand anything about the game.”

  When Knight returned to the locker room he told Buckner what he had said. Buckner smiled. “Thank you,” he said.

  By blasting the Pacers, Knight, naturally, started a flap. The Pacers’ beat writer, David Benner, blasted Knight in a column in The Indianapolis Star three days later. Knight, Benner wrote, had no more right to criticize the Pacers than the Pacers had the right to criticize Knight. What’s more, teams were not exactly lining up to grab Buckner, so apparently all twenty-three NBA teams didn’t underst
and much about basketball.

  Others agreed with Knight’s analysis. The Pacers were a horrid team, so they were easy to knock. Their record at the time of Knight’s speech was the worst in the league, 10–30.

  But what people didn’t understand was that Knight would have said the exact same thing if the Pacers had been 30–10. To him, it wasn’t a question of won-lost record or statistics or Buckner’s age or anything else. One of his own had been wounded, hurt. Knight was going to attack those who had hurt him. As Mike Krzyzewski once put it, “Bob Knight is the guy in the military who jumps on the grenade to save everyone else without giving it a second thought.”

  If Buckner needed a grenade jumped on, Knight was there.

  The Ohio State victory was crucial not only because it put Indiana into position to get into position, but because it came just before an eight-day break in the schedule. Each team in the Big Ten has two weeks during the season when it only plays one conference game. For Indiana, it is always the two weeks that it plays Ohio State because Ohio State is Indiana’s “travel partner.” This means that they play the same opponents each week. When Indiana plays at Michigan on Thursday, Ohio State plays at Michigan State. Then they trade opponents for the weekend. It works that way throughout the league. The week you play your travel partner, you only play once.

  Most coaches use those weeks to schedule a nonconference game that might interest one of the TV networks. Knight was the only major coach in the country who refused to do this. Indiana didn’t need TV exposure or TV revenue. Knight wanted no nonconference games to distract his or the team’s attention once conference play began.

  That meant a week off for Indiana. A loss would have meant misery for the players. But with the victory, it meant rest. Not for Knight, though. The eight days between the Ohio State game and the Purdue game were just about as hectic as any period during the season for him.