9301090359
DETROIT FREE PRESS
930308
Monday, March 08, 1993
METRO EDITION
1C
:
Michigan's Juwan Howard and Chris Webber had reason to
celebrate Sunday.
MITCH ALBOM
SEE ALSO METRO FINAL EDITION, Page
Copyright (c) 1993, Detroit Free Press
BIG MIKE BROUGHT FUN TO THE GAME
Mike Peplowski deserved better than this. He had the years. He had the
scars. No way a guy like him should have to exit the greatest rivalry of his
career not only on the losing team, not only after a crushing overtime
defeat, but while two enemy players, Ray Jackson and Chris Webber -- just
toddlers compared to Peplowski -- danced before him on the scorer's table,
shaking their hips and leading the crowd in a wave. Peplowski looked down as
he saw this. He kept walking. That ain't no way to treat a senior. But then,
being a senior in college basketball these days often means only you didn't
go pro as a junior. Which is what made watching the tireless Peplowski play
his last green-blue showdown Sunday, plowing his way to one desperate rebound
after another, muscling inside, laying it in, trying to keep pace with the
sleeker, supersonic talent around him, seem so unfair.
Once upon a time, four years ago, when he was a bundle of youthful
hormones in a brickhouse body, a kid so happy to be alive he tattooed a
Polish eagle above his ankle that read "Pure Bred" and talked breathlessly
about riding a motorcycle across the world, once upon a time, back then,
Peplowski figured senior year would be most excellent, the biggest blast of
all.
It didn't work out. Instead, senior year has been one narrow Spartan loss
after another, like hanging on a ledge as someone stomps on your fingers and
you slowly let go, one finger at a time, of all your post-season dreams. Six
conference wins. Ten conference losses. This is Mike Peplowski's introduction
in the real world. Senior year. Big whoop.
"You want to win these games so badly," said the 6-foot-11 center, sitting
for the final time in the cramped visitors locker room under the seats at
Crisler Arena, after MSU's 87-81 defeat to Michigan. "If we could have won
today, it would have made our whole year. It would have made our season. it
would have been fun."
Fun. You don't often hear the word in big-time college sports anymore.
You hear pressure, focus, effort, intensity.
But fun? Well. Mike Peplowski always knew about fun. He knew about it
even when he dove into the shallow end of a swimming pool and broke his neck,
and even when he rode his bike off a high ramp and wound up in the hospital,
and even when he survived that awful knee surgery in high school, when doctors
said forget basketball, you'll never play again. All the time, the fun kept
him going. He would talk about his next dream before the cast came off; he
talked about sky-diving, big game hunting, deep-sea fishing, he talked with
the wide-eyed zeal of a prophet just come down from the mountain. He read
philosophy. He quoted "The Great Gatsby." He wore short hair and the
occasional earring and a grin and a motorcycle helmet and he kept on looking,
for fun, for experience. He believed in the future.
He still does. Remarkably.
"You can call me nuts, but I honestly believe we're going to end this
season with a win. I just do."
He sighed. "Every game we've lost has been so damn close."
Like Sunday. The unranked Spartans had Michigan, No. 4 in the nation,
reeling. They had the ball with 38 seconds left, score tied, 76-76. One
basket would win it. One basket might put them into the NCAA tournament. They
tried twice. Both shots were blocked. The game went to overtime. Michigan
turned it up. End of story.
And yet, even in this most sour finish, Peplowski, 22, who has always had
a keener eye than most college athletes, managed to take a mental snapshot. As
he walked out for overtime, he saw a fan in the stands, angrily flipping him
the bird.
"I just started to laugh," he says. "I mean, what could get a person that
mad except college basketball?"
He smiled again and stuffed his bag with sweaty clothes. Reporters began
to gather. Someone asked about this fierce rivalry, which State has won four
times and lost four times during Peplowski's stay. He reminisced. There was
the night last season when the Spartans came into Ann Arbor and wrestled
those Fab Five to the ground. Peplowski had 18 points and 12 rebounds. Fun.
And there was the night two years earlier, when the Spartans buried Michigan
at the new Breslin Center, en route to winning the Big Ten. More fun.
On Sunday, his last basket, a lay-up, was the last time Michigan State led
the game, 76-75. There's something fitting in that.
He pulled on a shirt and tucked it in his pants. This week, he plays his
last home game as a Spartan. By next month, he's done altogether. There will
be no Big Ten championship, no jewel to crown his senior season.
Except, maybe, the one he has created himself. I have seen Peplowski in
many poses over the years. Triumphant, leaping like a refrigerator with legs,
and despondent, angry, fighting tears that took over his huge face. I have
seen him have good nights and bad nights, seen him hug his now-senior teammate
Dwayne Stephens when they won a game in the NCAA tournament, seen him scowling
and yelling at himself after a mistake. He is a wonderful player. Not the
best ever, maybe not even NBA starting material. But he cares. He dives into
the moment. And I have come to this conclusion: Mike Peplowski has been
teaching a course out there all these years. This is the course: The
Importance of Being Earnest.
You know what Steve Fisher, the opposing coach, spoke about after his
Wolverines won Sunday and all but locked up a No. 1 seed in college
basketball's big dance? He spoke about Mike Peplowski: "Mike is a class and
quality guy through and through," Fisher said. "My only regret is that I
didn't get the opportunity to coach him for four years. We are going to miss
him in this league."
Maybe he plays pro ball. Maybe he goes to Europe. Maybe he finds a Harley
and rides off into the sunset. But Peplowski, who will graduate this spring
with a well-earned diploma and a duffel bag full of memories, did what more
college athletes should do during his career. He sucked it in. He enjoyed
every minute. He battled scars and demons and setbacks and exhaustion and he
played as if every dribble meant something. He may not seize a championship in
this, his final year, but he has done something more: He has seized the day.
The world is his.
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