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<UID>
9301110126
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
930321
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Sunday, March 21, 1993
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
COM
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1H
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1993, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
JUST TWO POINTS MAKE ONE DREAM COME TRUE
</HEADLINE>
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</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
TUCSON, Ariz. -- He didn't want much. Just one basket. That's not a lot to
ask from a college career, is it? One basket?

  For this, he would work. For this, he would sacrifice. For this he would
sit at the end of the bench, night after night, year after year. Without a
scholarship. Without fame. He would travel to cities, dress in the uniform, go
through warm-ups. Then take off the uniform,  travel back home, go to class.
Year after year. Night after night.

  One basket.
  Sean Dobbins is the other side of the Fab Five. The far side. He was a good
little high school basketball player  who chose Michigan, like most kids, to
get an education. He paid his own tuition. No one recruited him. 
  One day, early in his freshman year, Dobbins got an idea. He took his high
school scrapbook  to the basketball office and asked to see Steve Fisher. 
  "Coach, I'd like to play for your team," he said. "These are some
articles about me in high school."
  Fisher, who had just won a national  championship, was amused. Big-time
college basketball schools begin recruiting players when they are in eighth or
ninth grade. They follow them -- hound them, sometimes -- until they sign.
Only the best get taken.
  Now here was a kid with a scrapbook.
  "I'll take a look," Fisher said.
 Finding room on the roster 
  Five weeks later -- to everyone's surprise -- Dobbins was on the team.  A
walk-on. True, he still had to pay his own tuition. True, he was mostly there
to help practice. But the kid with the scrapbook was in the club, dressing
next to stars like Rumeal Robinson and Terry  Mills.
  He went through drills. He sweated every scrimmage. He dressed for the
games, but almost never got in. To be honest, it was a big deal if he unzipped
his sweat suit.
  Sophomore year, he  made a free throw.
  That was the highlight of his season.
  "I still dreamed about making a basket," he says. "I figured I had two
years left."
  Then, a setback. Michigan recruited five star  freshmen -- the Fab Five --
and  there was no room on the team for Dobbins. He spent his junior year
practicing in the gym with other students. When the NCAA tournament came
around, he drove to Atlanta,  on his own. And he drove to Lexington. And he
drove to Minneapolis. He sat behind the team, in the stands, longing to be
part of it again, to wear the uniform, to maybe get a shot at that one basket
he'd been dreaming about since freshman year.
  Suddenly, he was a senior.
The free throw just didn't count 
  "The guys on the team were really pulling for me now," he says. Given his
old spot  back  --  and  the fact that because U-M was so talented, there
should be plenty of "garbage time" -- Dobbins was optimistic. He practiced
hard, as usual. He dressed and undressed, as usual.
  But  the games slipped away. Pretty soon, it was the regular-season finale
against Northwestern, and Dobbins still hadn't scored a hoop. Fisher put him
in,  and he quickly took a shot -- which clanked off  the rim. The crowd
moaned. In the final seconds he got the ball again, spun toward  the basket
and -- AHNNNNNNN! 
  The buzzer sounded. The season was gone. And so, Dobbins figured, was his
chance.  
  Which is what made Friday night so special. Friday night, first game of
the NCAA tournament, the most serious basketball of the year. Michigan found
itself ahead by 30 points late against Coastal  Carolina. Fisher looked down
the bench, saw the kid with the scrapbook, and said, "Get in there."
  This time, the whole U-M team, which has come to love Dobbins for his
never-quit spirit, was ready.  With four seconds left, and a free throw about
to be shot at the opposite end, the Wolverines called Dobbins over and hid him
in their midst. "Don't move," they whispered, "just wait." The other team
didn't even see him.
  So when the free throw was made, Rob Pelinka grabbed the ball, and heaved
it downcourt to Dobbins, who stepped out of the camouflage and was suddenly
all alone.
  "All I could  think of was 'Catch it! Catch it!' " Dobbins said.
  He caught it. He dribbled toward  the basket. Three seconds. Two seconds.
He laid it up . . .
  . . . and in!
  Score! The buzzer sounded.  And the Wolverines mobbed Dobbins as if he'd
just won a championship. "You shoulda dunked it!" laughed Chris Webber.
"DOBBS! DOBBS!" yelled Juwan Howard, grabbing him in a headlock and carrying
him to  the locker room.
  We watch so much college basketball, we forget that they are kids out
there. Kids with dreams. Some dream of winning it all. Some just dream of
scoring two points.
  "It was the  greatest moment of my life," said Dobbins. "If I never scored,
the experience would still have been worthwhile. But now, it feels . . .
great."
  Mission accomplished.
  Unless any NBA teams are  interested . . .
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