<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
8601140642
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
860401
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Tuesday, April 01, 1986
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1D
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1986, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
WHOOSH! IT'S LOUISVILLE IN A FULL-THROTTLE BATTLE
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
DALLAS -- Duke. Louisville.

  Louisville. Duke.

  For the last 48 hours in this maddened, beer-sucking city, these were the
only two words on everyone's lips. The people in blue hats would yell  one,
the people in red hats would yell the other.
  Duke! Louisville!
  Louisville! Duke!
  The hotel lobbies echoed with chants. The people on streets outside Reunion
Arena took sides. Hours before  the game, fans staked out curbs and sidewalks.
Red or blue? Friend or enemy?
  Duke. Louisville.
  Louisville. Duke.
  College basketball, this was, and these were the two best. Weren't they the
 two best? They had endured an elimination like no other in major sports, from
64 loaded pistols down to two chambers fighting over one bullet. They had each
won five games in this gut-testing NCAA tournament,  and the jeweled crown --
the national championship -- awaited the team that took the sixth.
  Sixty-two skeletons. Two warm bodies.
  Duke. Louisville.
  Louisville. Duke.
Slap, then a dash  You trembled when they took the floor, that's how
deafening the roar was. This was more than  16,000 shrieking throats crammed
in for the biggest game in college basketball. 
  Duke was cast as the  intelligent team, the yuppie team, the No. 1 team in
the nation.  Five smart role players led by a blur named Johnny Dawkins, who
could do all a guard should do with a ball: push it, pass it, pop it.
  Louisville was the streak team, the cruise controller. Five supersonic
leapers under a scowling ringmaster named Denny Crum, whose racing machine had
sprinted past its last 16 opponents.
  This  figured to be faster than your heartbeat.
  Duke. Louisville.
  Louisville. Duke.
  Jump it up.
  And, whoosh, they're gone. Speeding like a drumroll. Which was appropriate,
because the game  immediately turned into the Johnny Dawkins Show. Dawkins
from the outside. Swish. Dawkins drives the lane. Swish.
  The Duke defense was also living up to its billing. The Blue Devils played
slapdash  -- as in slap it away, dash for a score. Could you steal an NCAA
championship?
  Meanwhile, the Louisville seniors (Milt Wagner, Billy Thompson, Jeff Hall)
were floundering. Bad sign for the red, right?
  But you never know in these games.  Enter freshman center Pervis Ellison,
the baby of the team, who simply kept Louisville in the game. Scored 12 points
in the first half, and dominated Duke's Jay  Bilas. The buzzer sounded. And
while it felt as if Duke was pocketing this thing, it didn't read that way. It
read the Blue Devils, 37-34. Three points? What kind of lead was that?
Louisville comes  alive  There is usually a moment when the script becomes
clear. On this night it seemed to come with 12 1/ 2  minutes left in the game,
when, within  11  seconds, Louisville's Wagner and Thompson both  picked up
their fourth fouls, then  went to the bench.
  Well now. A plot. How could Louisville win without its two biggest stars?
But on magic nights you get magic performances, and behind their supporting
cast -- most notably Ellison, whose game here will be talked about for years
-- the Cardinals pulled back.
  And . . . look up. Five minutes left. Wagner and Thompson are back in. And
we're right back  where we started.  Same cast. Same maddening crowd. Same
stomach doing flip-flops. And a one- point game, see-sawing back and forth.
  How can you describe those final minutes? Raging? Furious? Delirious?  Say
only that Louisville came alive, Wagner and Thompson and Ellison, dominating
the boards, hitting their shots. Duke, so much in control earlier, suddenly
went flat. The shots hit rim, not net, Dawkins  seemed spent, too tired for
any more miracles.
  Fate had found its team. And when  Hall threw up an air ball and Ellison
caught it and dropped in the easiest of jumpers to make it 68-65, Louisville,
with 38 seconds left, fate had taken the Cardinals and kissed them squarely on
the lips.
  "They broke us down," would be the way Dawkins would put it, and he and his
teammates would learn a painful  lesson: It's not who wins the beginning, it's
who wins at the end.
  The final score would be 72-69. A magnificent game. Two teams only a breath
apart in talent and only three points apart on the scoreboard.
  How will it be remembered? Maybe this way. It was a game summed up by two
words going in and one word going out.
  Duke. Louisville.
  Louisville. Duke.
  Louisville.
</BODY>
<DISCLAIMER>

</DISCLAIMER>
<KEYWORDS>
COLLEGE;BASKETBALL
</KEYWORDS>
</BODY.CONTENT>
