A Season Inside (51 page)

It had been a long month for Kerr. Tonight, Arizona would play its final regular season game against Washington. Although the Pacific 10 tournament would be played in the McKale Center, meaning that Kerr and fellow seniors Craig McMillan, Tom Tolbert, and Joe Turner would play here again, this was, technically speaking, their last home game. A major pregame ceremony was planned.

Kerr was looking forward to it but was also glad that a little of the emotion involved would be deflected by his knowledge that this wasn’t
really
his last game. “If this really was the last one, I might get choked up about it all,” he said. “This way, it will be nice, but not that big a deal.”

Kerr didn’t need any more big deals or any more attention right now.
He wanted to get some rest, focus his mind on the NCAA Tournament, and put the month of February behind him. It had not been an easy one.

There had been the now-standard crush of demands on his time. Interviews, speeches at local schools and to charity groups, appearances. The team ended January with a 20–1 record, then had gone a little flat. The spark that had carried them through their tough December schedule had gone out; faced with the desultory competition of the Pac–10, they weren’t the same team.

“In a way it was inevitable,” Kerr said. “Let’s face it, playing Oregon and Washington wasn’t the same as playing Syracuse and Duke. We knew it, the coaches knew it, everyone knew it. We kept having team meetings saying we had to get emotional again but the fact was we were dragging a little.”

They dragged into Stanford and found themselves up against an inspired team, perhaps the only one in the Pac–10—other than underachieving UCLA—that had a reasonable chance to beat them. The Cardinals came up with their best game of the season, the Wildcats didn’t score in the last three minutes, and Stanford pulled the upset, 82–74. “That woke us up,” Kerr said. “But only a little. It wasn’t like we went into Cal two days later saying, ‘Hey, these guys can beat us.’ We knew they couldn’t.”

Nonetheless, Kerr had managed to get himself into hot water in Berkeley. The week before the game he had gotten a phone call from Michael Silver, the sports editor of the
Daily Californian
. Silver and Kerr had gone to Palisades High School together and had co-written a column called “The Riptide” in the student paper. Silver wanted Kerr to write a column about Cal and it’s often-funny fans for the
Daily Californian
prior to the game.

Kerr, naturally, loved the idea. And this is what he wrote: “Well Cal fans, the roles are reversed. The shoe is on the other foot. After four years of taking more abuse from you than Larry Holmes’s face took from Mike Tyson’s fist, I finally get my chance to get back. At last I can throw insults your way, fully aware that you will see them, read them, and know them. Yes, Cal fans, the Tuna is on the other sandwich.”

The last was a reference to Cal students’ picking a “Tuna of the game.” Kerr was always the tuna when Arizona was in town.

Kerr went on: “I’d like to take this time to respond to some of the
more prominent insults I’ve heard during my career. First, to the guy in the referee shirt in the front row who mockingly shouted, ‘How’s the knee?!’ for two hours straight last year, I say, ‘It’s doing quite well, thank you. How’s your brain?’

“To the earthy-looking, Birkenstock-wearing girl who, during one game two years ago, repeatedly yelled, ‘Kerr, what kind of hairspray do you use?’ I say, ‘Before you and all the rest of Berkeley ask for advice on hairspray, try thinking about the simple basics of personal hygiene—like showering.’

“Also, to the Shakey’s employees who double as Cal [Straw Hat] band members, and who each year obnoxiously parade across the floor as we attempt to warm up, I ask, ‘Why don’t you stay off of Pete Newell Court? You’re an embarrassment to Harmon Gym—not to mention Harmon Arena. Or is it Newell Pavilion? Or the Harmon Alameda Coliseum? The Kapp Center? The Granola Dome? Or simply, Lou’s Bread box?’ ”

Kerr had one last shot: “Finally, to all of you sophisticated intellectuals who each year cleverly ask, ‘Hey Kerr, why don’t you go to a
real
school,’ I say, ‘I wanted to, but Stanford didn’t accept my application.”

Naturally, they were waiting for Kerr when he and the Wildcats arrived at Harmon Gym/Arena/Stop ’N Shop/Drive Thru Bank.

The Straw Hat Band not only marched through Arizona’s warm-ups but followed Kerr everywhere he went during warmups. They also presented him with a number of Shakey’s pizzas, several tunas, and lots and lots of words of advice. It was all in good fun. The only one who didn’t seem to understand that was Cal Coach Lou Campanelli, who expressed annoyance with Kerr’s irreverence. Come on, Lou, loosen up.

Arizona didn’t play very well, but won fairly easily, 74–62.

They slogged on through February, beating up on the Oregons at home. In the Oregon game, a one-sided 89–57 rout, Ducks Coach Don Monson drew a technical foul in the second half. Kerr went to the line to shoot the two shots. When he missed the first, the ball bounced right to Monson. Not wanting to throw the ball to the official he was still angry at, Monson threw the ball back to Kerr.

“He threw it kind of hard,” Kerr said. “And I wasn’t sure if he was trying to show me up or what. Later, I realized he was doing it to the ref, not me.”

In the heat of the moment, angry at missing the free throw, Kerr
reacted instinctively: He threw the ball right back at Monson. Fortunately, Monson had turned his back and walked away. He stared hard at Kerr for a moment and Kerr stared right back. Nothing more happened.

After the game, Monson, not in a great mood after a 32-point loss, wouldn’t comment on what had happened. Kerr, of course, found humor in it. “He didn’t do a very good job of coming to meet my pass,” he said.

That night, watching the various replays on the news, Kerr heard over and over again, “Of course, this was very uncharacteristic of Steve …”

Kerr laughed. “Uncharacteristic, huh? If it happened a hundred more times I’d do the same thing a hundred times. Throw the ball right back at him.”

The next day when Kerr went to speak at a local elementary school there was a new question added to the usual, “Can I have your autograph?” and “Will you win the national championship?” repertoire. It was, “Why did you throw the ball at the coach?”

The Wildcats were on the road the next week, routing USC before winning a tough 78–76 overtime game at UCLA. Kerr found it amazing that UCLA could play so well against Arizona and so poorly against other teams. “You watch them on tape and they don’t even get in a defensive stance half the time against other teams,” he said. “Then against us, they’re like a top ten team.”

That left one road game—at Arizona State. Inevitably, every year, this was Arizona’s least pleasant road game. The ASU fans had none of the good spirit or sense of humor that existed at Cal and at Stanford. “The only game their fans even come to is ours,” Kerr said. “They draw terribly except when they play us and then the fans come in with a chip on their shoulder. It’s never any fun playing there like it is at other places.”

No fun is one thing. What happened on the night of February 27 went way beyond no fun. It was, without doubt, the most appalling behavior ever displayed by any group (calling them fans would be an insult to fans everywhere) at a college basketball game in all the years the game has been played. Given the ugly incidents that have taken place over the years, this is no small statement.

A little less than an hour before tip-off, Kerr and his teammates went out on the floor to shoot around and warmup. As they began shooting
in the still near-empty gym, a small group of Arizona State students, perhaps a dozen of them, began taunting Kerr.

“PLO, PLO, Hey Kerr, where’s your dad!” they chanted.

And then, “PLO, PLO, go back to Beirut!”

At first, Kerr couldn’t believe what he was hearing. That anyone could possibly be so cruel as to taunt him about his father’s assassination in such a manner was impossible. But in the near-empty gym, the impossible words kept echoing: “PLO, PLO …”

“At first, I tried to ignore it,” Kerr said. “I took a couple more shots but I was shaking and my body actually felt kind of numb. I had to go and sit down. I just couldn’t believe anyone would do that.”

The other Wildcats didn’t know what to do. The thought crossed everyone’s mind to just go over and shut the idiots up one way or another. “But that wouldn’t have been good,” Kerr said. “If we had done that, then we would have ended up coming off as the bad guys.”

As Kerr sat on the bench trying to collect his emotions, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Wally Joyner, the California Angels’ star first baseman, standing there. Joyner, unaware of what was going on, had come over to introduce himself to Kerr.

“I just wanted to tell you I’m a fan of yours,” Joyner said. “If you can get a chance, come out to a ballgame sometime.”

Kerr, in the middle of this trauma, was thrilled that Joyner would come over to introduce himself. Being a big baseball fan, he thought it quite something that a major leaguer would want to say hello to him. But when Joyner walked away, the insane chants were still there. Finally, it was time to go back into the locker room.

“Everyone was really pissed,” Kerr said, “including me. For the first time in my life I actually found myself thinking about what I was going to say to the press about something that had happened. I just wanted to
get
those people somehow.”

Once again, Kerr was in a situation where if he had backed away or gone into a shell of some kind no one would have blamed him. But he has proven time and again that he is one of those rare people who always seems to rise above being a victim. When the game started, Kerr was a man possessed. “Usually, I wait for an open shot, I don’t look to shoot,” he said. “This time, I wanted to shoot.”

He took a three-pointer and hit, shaking his fist to the crowd. He took another one and hit again. Then another. By halftime he had hit six three-pointers and had 20 points. Arizona only led 47–41 but ASU
had had to shoot 61 percent to stay within shouting distance. In the second half, the Sun Devils came out in a box-and-one, focusing their entire defense on Kerr. “They acted as if they hadn’t played it much before,” he said. Kerr now became the decoy and the rest of the Wildcats ran amok. The final was 101–73. If there was ever a night when Olson and Arizona would have been delighted to run up the score, this was it.

“Actually it was a little unfair to be angry with their players and coaches,” Kerr said. “They had nothing to do with it. But I was just so angry I wanted to beat them by 50.”

After the game Kerr called the “people” who had been taunting him “the scum of the earth.” The reaction to the incident around the country was immediate and universal. Many people called on Arizona State to find out who the culprits were and expel them from school. Arizona State’s only response was to apologize to Kerr for the “unfortunate” incident.

Once again Kerr found himself in the role of a martyr when all he really wanted to be was a basketball player. But he understood that, just as he could not escape his father’s death four years ago, he could not escape this. As the mail poured in from everywhere, he tried his best to answer it all. “I just can’t keep up,” he said. “There’s like twenty-five letters a day, sometimes more. I’m saving them for after the season when I’ll have a chance to answer them.”

One of the letters he received truly stunned Kerr. It came from one of the taunters. “I’m sorry if you were upset by what we did,” he wrote. “But there’s no way you can understand the intensity of the ASU—UA rivalry and some of the things we have had to put up with when we’ve gone to Arizona over the years.” Naturally the letter was unsigned.

Kerr couldn’t believe his eyes. “The guy actually tried to justify what they did,” he said. “I didn’t know whether to hate the guy or feel sorry for him for being so sick.”

Now, with the Pac–10 tournament in Tucson the following week, Kerr had another concern: retribution by Arizona’s fans against Arizona State. “They wouldn’t do anything sick, but still they shouldn’t do
anything
,” Kerr said. “The players and coaches didn’t do it. They’re all pretty good guys.”

Kerr, with help from Arizona administrators, was planning an open letter in the local newspapers asking Arizona fans not to retaliate.
Always sensible, Kerr understood that an entire school should not be branded because of the sins of a small group of sick people.

Tonight, though, was not a night for unpleasantness. It was a night for nostalgia and fun—and the Arizona fans came prepared for both. Every corner of McKale Center seemed to have a sign thanking the seniors. One by one, PA announcer Roger Sedlmayr introduced them, along with their families. Each senior came through a giant papier maché cutout with his number on it. Each one heard thunderous cheers. Finally, there was only one senior left.

Sedlmayr paused for a moment, showing a sense of the dramatic. Everyone was standing now, clapping in rhythm, waiting. Finally, Sedlmayr began: “The last of the seniors. He came to Arizona five years ago and …”

The rest was drowned out. Everyone knew the story. When Sedlmayr was finished, thirteen thousand people became one. And through the paper cutout came … “Steeeeeeeve Kerrrrrrrr.” Corny, sure. Overdone, probably. But what the heck. So many people in sports are heroes for all the wrong reasons. Here was someone who was a hero for the right ones. If you didn’t feel chills as Kerr stood there drinking in the cheers, you needed CPR to get your heart pumping.

Kerr had been selected as the spokesman for the senior class. “When they first told me that I’d been chosen as the spokesman I was really honored,” Kerr said. “But then I saw the alternatives.” Typical Kerr. Start out with a wisecrack. A good one at that. But then he added, “I can’t begin to tell you what an unbelievable experience this has been for me. You guys are the best. Thank you.”

They cheered some more after that and there were some tears, too. Even when you know it’s the right thing, it’s tough when your son leaves home and that’s what was happening now. Tucson’s favorite son was going off into the real world, and this was the first of several going-away parties.