9201130505
DETROIT FREE PRESS
920407
Tuesday, April 07, 1992
METRO FINAL
1A
Photo JULIAN H. GONZALEZ
:
(JULIAN H. GONZALEZ/Detroit Free Press)
Duke's Christian Laettner scores two of his game-high 19 points
over Juwan Howard.
MITCH ALBOM
DEVIL'S NIGHT; SEE ALSO CHASER EDITION, Page 1A ; NCAA CHAMPIONSHIP: DUKE 71, MICHIGAN 51
Copyright (c) 1992, Detroit Free Press
DEVIL'S NIGHT
YOUNG U-M'S LOSS IN FINAL WON'T BE END OF THE STORY
MINNEAPOLIS -- As the seconds ticked away on their fabulous lives as
freshmen, suddenly the expressions were different. The eyes were wide. The
mouths hung open. Chris Webber watched Duke's Antonio Lang slam down an
uncontested dunk; Webber turned upcourt with a weary look. Jalen Rose watched
Grant Hill hang on the rim after another slam; Rose clenched his jaw in
disgust. This was not right. This was all wrong. The Wolverines were suddenly
a team full of genies corked and stuck inside the bottle. Only when the buzzer
sounded were they free to run and jump, to do their magic, but by that point
it was too late. The Duke players were the ones leaping and hugging and living
out the dream. The Wolverines sat on the bench with their heads in their hands
and covered their eyes with towels.
End of chapter.
Beginning of story.
This was no funeral, this 71-51 title-game loss to the defending champions
of college basketball, the Duke Blue Devils, who put on a clinic in the second
half, getting the absolute most from an exhausted yet intelligent bunch of
players. Oh, it might have looked bad, especially those last few minutes, when
Duke, obviously relieved to see the light at the end of the tunnel, put on a
kick and left the Wolverines in the dust. But a death knell? Not for Michigan.
Hey. Come on. They're kids. They're 19 years old. They made it to within 20
minutes of a national championship. You gonna bury them over that?
Sure, it wasn't what they wanted. There are a lot of teams in America that
say that after they play Duke. Here was a Blue Devil team that seemed ripe
for the taking, that was playing beneath itself, turning the ball over, not
hustling. Even its star players were missing shots and drawing fouls. And yet,
there is a reason Duke has been to the championship game three years in a row
and won the last two. The Blue Devils come back. They play smart. They turn up
the defense, they watch you make mistakes . . . and then they take
advantage.
"THREE-PEAT! THREE-PEAT!" the Duke fans yelled. Well. Maybe. But it is
also worth noting that three years ago, in Duke's first appearance, they lost
to UNLV by 30 points. Under that standard, Michigan is ahead of the game,
right?
"We'll be back," Juwan Howard promised as he trudged down the tunnel to the
Wolverines' locker room. "We got three more of these to go."
End of chapter.
Begining of story.
Stealing the show
Win or lose, this was going to be a great tale for the Wolverines. Were it
a movie, you would have been mesmerized from the opening credits. Jimmy King,
a leaping gnome from Texas, the most sought-after player in his high school.
Rose, a slinky fireball of confidence, the most sought-after player in his
high school. Howard, a dominating big man with an uncanny soft shot, the most
sought-after player in his high school. Ray Jackson, a bundle of offense and
defensive pressure, the most sought-after player in his high school. Webber,
the prototype big forward, muscled beyond his years, agile beyond his frame,
the most sought-after player in the country.
All five? At the same school? Let's face it. This was a team that made news
on move-in day. From the time that Fisher unhooked the bridles and let all
five of them start Feb. 9, 1992 -- mark that on your sports calendars -- they
became more than five kids tossing around a basketball; they became an event.
A thing. A moving, jelling, growing, laughing, learning, twirling,
rebounding, shooting, boasting, toasting, dunking, ker-plunking single unit of
basketball talent. Oh, they made mistakes, they lost games, but the defeats
always seemed more accident than inability. The early-season loss to Duke was
followed by five straight wins. A blown game to Ohio State was avenged by a
big win over Indiana.
All the time, they were learning to play together, building their
machine, fitting the screws and attaching the pipes, until, by tournament
time, they were on line and running. Five freshmen starters. Beating Temple.
Beating East Tennessee State. Beating Oklahoma State -- once ranked No. 2 in
the nation -- and beating Ohio State, everyone's favorite selection from the
Big Ten. Then coming here. Beating Cincinnati. Going to Monday Night in
Minneapolis, against the defending national champions.
And still, no nerves. Ninety minutes before the game, the Duke players came
down the tunnel, dressed in suits and ties, dark blue or light tan, polyester
slacks, black leather dress shoes.
And 10 minutes later, here came the Wolverines, in their maize and blue
sweats, white sneakers, headphones on, bopping to their music.
There was nothing to compare them to. There was nothing like them.
They were fabulous.
They were frightening.
A team on edge
And they took that attitude onto the court Monday night. The game began
tightly, with points coming as rarely as a smart idea in the presidential
race. Christian Laettner, who holds the record for most points scored in NCAA
tournaments, most minutes, most starts, and a barrel full of other things,
looked like he was playing in his first game in junior high. He turned the
ball over five times before he scored a point. He threw up a brick that
bounded off the backboard. He walked down court. Unfortunately for Michigan,
they were also on edge. Turnovers were frequent. And then there was the matter
of the referees. Webber got two fouls in the first five minutes. Rose got his
second with 7:19 left. The Wolverines led in theatrics, with Webber slamming
and staring and Rose tossing in close shots and King soaring for an alley-oop
dunk. But when the buzzer sounded for halftime, they had only a one-point
lead.
And when the second half began, so did Duke. You can't say this team
dazzles you. It just plays smart, moves the ball around, draws fouls -- man,
can it draw fouls -- and wins. So it was that the Blue Devils clamped down on
the Wolverines' pizzazz, held them without a shot on several possessions, took
balls off their legs or out of their hands. "We just didn't let them get any
shots, that was our goal," said Grant Hill, who may be the reason Duke wears
the crown today, having scored 18 points as a starter for the injured Brian
Davis.
Dream comes unraveled
And in the end, it was Rose, who was limited by foul trouble, scoring just
11 points and winding up on his back in the lane, as the final seconds ticked
down. And it was Jackson, who didn't play well -- or even many minutes -- in
the last two games of his freshman year, flicking a towel in disgust. It was
King shooting 3-for-7, and Howard grabbing just three rebounds.
"We unraveled with bad shots and you can't do that against a good team,"
Steve Fisher sighed.
And so it ended.
There will be those who say it is better this way. Too much too soon can
drown a program. Maybe they are right. You won't get Michigan to admit it.
But to let the season end in sadness, to put on maize-and- blue sackcloth
this morning, would simply be foolish. Remember, this was the championship
game. What was Michigan doing here at all?
Better to remember these Wolverines in happier poses: Webber, throughout
this tournament, slamming dunks that were matched in ferocity only by the
expressions on his face. Or Rose, slicing into the lane like a rabbit goes
through the hedges, tossing up a soft shot that contradicts his speed, yet
curls in anyhow. Or Howard, posting up, turning and banking, the classic big
man move. Or King, flicking the "jump" switch and soaring to the middle of the
backboard for a dunk.
Or James Voskuil and Eric Riley, coming to the rescue with big games. Or
Fisher, sipping water on the sidelines, staying calm with all this youthful
mayhem.
Better to remember them on Sunday, when they sat before the nation's media,
laughing, joking, walking around a hotel lobby with people trailing behind
them as if it were the most natural thing on earth. It wasn't stardom that
threw them. It wasn't pressure. It wasn't youth. It was simply a team that, on
this night, was the better warrior. No regrets. Nothing but praise. When you
dream, you can never fail. You just dream again. End of chapter. Beginning of
story. Get yourself a candle and a comfortable chair; this will be a good
read before it's over.
COLUMN; BASKETBALL; U-M