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<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
8901110863
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
890318
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Saturday, March 18, 1989
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO EDITION
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1C
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>
Photo ALAN KAMUDA
</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>
SEE ALSO METRO FINAL EDITION page 1C
</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1989, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
BO REACTS TO VICTORY  AS IF IT WERE . . . FOOTBALL
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
ATLANTA --  The Michigan game was just minutes away. He was psyched, he was
pumped, he was ready to go charging out of the tunnel. Except there was no
tunnel. There was no field. For pete's sake, the  whole thing was . . .
indoors! 

  Bo Schembechler, the nation's most explosive football coach, was trapped
inside basketball land.

  "Ready to go, men?" he asked, grabbing the wrist of Glen Rice  as if he
were a fullback. Rice nodded.
  "Go get 'em, big fella!" he said, squeezing the elbow of Terry Mills. Mills
nodded.
  "Here we go, Mark!"
  "Rumeal, go at 'em!"
  "OK, big Sean!"
  He might have liked a little helmet-banging. He might have liked the drill
where one guy slams the other guy's shoulder pads. Basketball? Was he really
here in Atlanta for basketball? Bo? Isn't this  spring football season?
  It is. And he was. In the past few days, Michigan sports have been turned
upside down. The old basketball coach, Bill Frieder, is suddenly the new
basketball coach somewhere  else. The old assistant, Steve Fisher, is now the
interim head coach. And Schembechler, the football coach who is also the
athletic director, is commuting back and forth between basketball and
football,  via private jet, because both are his responsibility, both are
Michigan, and he is, as you can plainly see, a Michigan Man.
  "OK, Loy, big game now! . . . "
  I figured this would be a good story.  I figured this would be an
interesting story. Sit next to Schembechler, the football guy, as he rooted on
the basketball guys in the first round of the NCAA Tournament. Of course, I
also figured Steve  Garvey was a good husband.
  Here is what you get when you sit next to Bo. Ouch. As in "DID YOU SEE THAT
LOUSY CALL?" he screamed, slapping me in the arm. Ouch. "CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT
STUPID PLAY!"  he yelled, slapping me in the shoulder. Ouch. 
  I don't want to say that Bo is animated during a game. I don't want to say
it, because he might hear me. I will say that some reporter is still looking
for his Coke. It was last seen flying off the table, after Bo slammed down his
fist.
  But I'm getting ahead of myself.
First off, you should know it is tough for any good coach simply to watch a
sporting event. They want to be involved. Especially a football coach.
Especially when he is sitting right behind the bench, at the press table. Bo
was in the seat reserved for USA Today. Its reporter  never showed. Must have
been an Oprah Winfrey story breaking.
  "I hate this," Bo admitted, "I hate sitting and not being able to do
anything about the . . . about the . . . HEY REF, COME ON! LOUSY  CALL!"
  About the game.
  Here came Terry Mills on a breakaway. He had Rumeal Robinson open on his
left.
  "PASS THE BALL YOU BIG . . . nice play."
  Here came Xavier's Mike Davenport, gliding  down the lane for a lay-up.
  "WHY DON'T THEY PLUG THAT HOLE! TAKE THE FOUL!"
  Here came Glen Rice, popping for a three-pointer. Swish.
  "HOW'S THAT FOR SHOOTING?"
  "Great," I said.
  Ouch.
  Did you know that Bo once played basketball? Yes. In the army. He was the
12th man on a 12-man team. He never saw action, he said, unless the game was
very won or very lost.
  "Were you a guard or  a forward?" I asked.
  He laughed. But he never answered. I guess, in the army, it didn't matter
all that much.
  Now you may criticize Bo for not passing the football. You may criticize Bo
for his  conservative, tough style of coaching. But you cannot criticize his
spirit. Not Friday. The Wolverines needed support. They needed to know they
were not abandoned. They needed to know they lost a coach,  not a program. Bo
was here. Second day in a row. Clapping? Yelling? I half expected him to start
singing "The Victors" and do a handstand at mid-court.
Let us pick up the game in the closing minutes,  with Xavier ahead, 82-81.
Rice sets up deep. Hits a three-pointer.
  "ATTA BABY!" yells Bo.
  The ball is loose, two players chase, and it goes out of bounds.
  Finally, with Michigan ahead, 90-85,  Rumeal Robinson is fouled. There are
18 seconds left. Bo can control himself no longer. The coach inside bursts
out.
  "NOW, RUMEAL," he bellows, as if he were on the 50-yard line, "I WANT THESE
FREE  THROWS!"
  I don't know whether Rumeal hears him. Maybe he does. Maybe he hears the
Coke landing somewhere in the third row. Anyhow, he makes both shots, and all
Michigan has to do is run out the clock  with a 92-85 lead. Bo leans back in
his chair.
  And so it ends. Michigan wins, 92-87, and the first person to come running
over, all smiles, is Jack Weidenbach, the co- athletic director.
  "HEY,  HEY, THEY DID IT," says Bo.
  "How about that!" says Weidenbach.
  Here they are, the upper management of the Michigan sports department,
celebrating a victory like kids at Christmas. And they pat  the Wolverines on
the shoulders as they come off the court. And they congratulate the new coach.
Nice.
  I guess that's the way it should be. And I guess you could even talk me
into sitting next to  Bo for Sunday's game against Southern Alabama.
  Just let me put on these pads.  . . .
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