A Season Inside (70 page)

The coaches expected Manning to be brilliant. They thought the key to the game was Pritchard. He had the quickness and the athletic ability to handle the Oklahoma press as long as he played on instinct and didn’t think too much. It was strange. A national championship was at stake and the most crucial thing for a coaching staff was convincing a player
not
to think.

As the teams were introduced, everyone in the building felt the tingles that are part of a national championship game. It had been 172 days since Manning had sung his awful rendition of “My Girl.” Now, he was getting ready to play The Game, and there were 289 other teams wishing they could be where Kansas and Oklahoma were.

It wasn’t just the players who felt the tingles. Everyone in the building felt it. The officials had butterflies too. Tim Higgins, waiting to throw the ball up to start the game, stood bouncing the ball so hard it seemed possible he would put a hole in the floor.

The beginning was not encouraging for Kansas. Six seconds into the game, Blaylock hit a jumper. Nine seconds later, working against the press, Pritchard traveled. One could almost hear Brown thinking, “Don’t think!”

But the Jayhawks settled down quickly. Manning hit a jumper and
then a baby hook, letting the Sooners know he had definitely come to play. Then Pritchard made two good plays, hitting a pull-up jumper and feeding Newton for a lay-up. It was 8–4 Kansas.

Tubbs, hyper in his first national championship game, was all over the officials. John Clougherty, not hyper in his second, walked over and said quietly, “Billy, just calm down.” Tubbs did.

The first twenty minutes of this game belong in a time capsule somewhere. Basketball just didn’t get much better than this. Kansas was not the least bit intimidated by Oklahoma’s press. Rather than pull the ball out at center court after breaking it, the Jayhawks went right to the basket. Since Oklahoma was doing the same thing on every possession, the pace was torrid.

There were omens early on. Newton, trapped by the Oklahoma defense, threw up a reverse prayer and it dropped. Clint Normore, the converted football player, threw up a three-point shot as the forty-five-second clock was running out—and it swished. Keith Harris, zero-for-four against Duke, tossed up a hook as soon as he came into the game and it went in. Lincoln Minor, a forgotten man for the last month, came off the bench (because Brown had to play a lot of people due to the pace) and made a quick steal and two free throws.

Still, nothing was easy for Kansas. Manning picked up his second foul trying to block a King jumper with 10:26 left and had to come out for three minutes. The Jayhawks were making every shot they looked at, but also were turning the ball over. That explained why, with 7:16 left, they had hit 17 of 20 shots from the field but only led 36–35.

On the bench, even though his team was playing wonderfully, Brown was petrified. “We can’t play with them like this,” he kept saying to his assistants. But the shots were there, they had to be taken and they were dropping. Two straight OU steals gave the Sooners a 39–36 lead, the second a thunderous one by King off a bad Scooter Barry pass. That made 13 turnovers for Kansas. Would the wheels come off?

No. Manning hit a hook shot and Minor made his steal. Dave Sieger, having a remarkable first half with six three-pointers in eight attempts, hit another one. But Newton answered that to make it 43–42. Sieger hit again, Minor tied it. Sieger hit one more and Newton answered. Back and forth they went, quicker, it seemed, than a Ping-Pong ball.

Manning then made the play of the half, stealing the ball from Sieger, driving across the lane on King and flipping the ball in over him as he was going down. Normally impassive, Manning was shaking his
fist after that one and Kemper was rocking. That made it 50–48 before Ricky Grace tied it once more. Manning missed a three-pointer at the buzzer and walked off with his hands clasped on the back of his head, angry with himself. He had 14 points and 8 rebounds. It was 50–50. Twenty minutes to decide a championship.

If the players weren’t exhausted, everyone else was. The game was reminiscent of Villanova-Georgetown in 1985 when the Wildcats had shot 79 percent to pull one of the great upsets in history. Kansas had shot 71 percent in the first half—and was even.

“We have to slow them down some, guys, you know that,” Brown told his players. “If the break is there, I want you to take it, but be prepared to run some time in our halfcourt offense.”

They understood. There wasn’t much more for Brown to say. They had heard it all. “Twenty minutes,” he said simply. “We just need one more great half.”

To Manning, that meant him. “If you lose, it’s because the best player doesn’t play well enough,” he said. “I had lost us some games during the year. Now it was down to this. It was my job to make sure we got what we came for.”

Once again, the start was not encouraging. After Harvey Grant had hit a jumper to put OU up 52–50, Manning was called for his third foul, a charge, only twenty-five seconds into the half. He would stay in, though. He had to.

The third foul wasn’t going to deter Manning. He put Kansas ahead with a rebound basket and hit a double-pump scoop inside to make it 58–54. By now, Oklahoma had dropped its press to a halfcourt trap on most possessions. Kansas went cold briefly. Grace hit a three-pointer and Sieger hit one more. That gave Oklahoma the lead, 61–60.

Blaylock stole the ball from Barry for a lay-up and Sieger stole it from Pritchard. He missed, but King rebounded and scored. It was 65–60 and Kansas looked frazzled. Strangely, though, the game was right where the Jayhawks wanted it. By dropping the press, Tubbs was playing into Brown’s hands. Kansas didn’t want the racehorse pace that Oklahoma loved. Now, the game was being played at a walk.

Piper hit a jumper to break the Kansas drought and Manning beat the defense with a shoulder dip and roll. He was fouled and tied the game at 65 with 11:33 left. They seesawed to 71 each. Pritchard hit a jumper to make it 73–71 and then Manning stuffed King. Television took a time-out with 4:26 to play. In the huddle, Brown was screaming.
“Look at the clock,” he said. “We’ve got ’em now if we just keep playing like this. They haven’t been through this before. We have. Okay?”

Okay. Down came the Jayhawks with a chance to go up by four. Manning took the ball on the right side, drove the middle, found his right hand up against a body, put the ball in his left hand and hit a short hook. It was the shot of the tournament. Kansas led 75–71.

Grace missed. Manning—who else?—rebounded. Piper hit a jumper as the shot clock buzzer went off with 3:05 left. It was 77–71 and, suddenly, it was the Jayhawks’ championship to win or lose. Oklahoma didn’t quit. Grace cut the lead to 78–75 with fifty-eight seconds still on the clock. Piper tried to inbound to Pritchard. But Blaylock was too quick. He stole the ball and flipped to Grace, wide open for a three-pointer to tie. No good. Manning rebounded and was fouled. He had just missed twice, proving he was human and a little too pumped. Now, still quivering, he missed the free throw. A Blaylock jumper cut the margin to 78–77 with forty seconds left.

Oklahoma called time to set up the press once again. The Sooners were a tired team. Tubbs, who had used his bench effectively all year, had not used it at all in the second half. This was as strange as his decision to drop the press. Brown had gambled, subbing the entire game, and now it had paid off. His team was fresher at the end.

Kansas got the ball inbounds and up the court. The Jayhawks spread the floor and, with the shot clock off, the Sooners had to chase. Finally, with Tubbs screaming at them to foul, Blaylock fouled Scooter Barry. This had not been Barry’s best game. He had missed a lay-up, made a bad turnover, and committed a silly foul. But if there is one thing Rick Barry’s son can do it is shoot free throws.

There were sixteen seconds left. Tubbs called time to let Barry think about it. When he walked back to the line, Barry was itching to get the ball. He practically snatched it out of Clougherty’s hands. The first shot swished. It was 79–77. But the second one was short. Manning and King scrambled after it. One more time, Manning was a tad quicker. He picked up the ball, just as King piled into him. Now the clock was at fourteen seconds.

Throughout this sequence, Ed Manning never moved. He was frozen on the bench, almost afraid to move for fear he might change what was happening on the court. “All I was thinking,” he said later, “is ‘When is this game going to end?’ It just seemed to go on forever.”

The end was near. Manning stepped to the line, taking deep breaths to make sure he didn’t get overexcited. “Sometimes at the end of a game when he’s a little tired he forgets to bend his knees on the foul line,” Ed Manning said. “During the last time-out I just reminded him.”

Danny Manning remembered. He bent his knees and pushed the shot up. It hit nothing but net. Again, he bent his knees and shot. Again, it was a swish. Kansas led 81–77. Grace raced downcourt and, with Kansas not wanting to foul, quickly hit a lay-up to make it 81–79. Seven seconds were left and Oklahoma used its last time-out.

Piper would inbound again. In his mind, he could still see Blaylock stealing the pass fifty-one seconds and several of Ed Manning’s lifetimes ago. When no one flashed open immediately, he called time quickly to avoid a five-second call. Oklahoma was one steal from getting back in the game. Kansas was one pass and two free throws away from finishing it. This time, Brown made certain the ball would get to Manning, ordering a screen for him as he came to meet Piper’s pass.

Piper threw the pass, a half-lob, and Manning jumped to catch it. Grant, a half-step behind, fouled him quickly. With five seconds left, the national championship was in Danny Manning’s hands. Oklahoma was out of time-outs. If Manning made both shots, even if the Sooners scored, they would be helpless. The clock would run out.

Manning knew all this. “It’s over,” he told himself. “It’s over.” Ed Manning, several years older than he had been nine clock seconds earlier, folded his hands as his son walked up to shoot. Brown took off his glasses, wiped his brow, and put them back on. In the stands, Darnelle Manning said a silent prayer for her son.

Kemper Arena, except for the far corner where the Oklahoma fans were trying to make noise, was almost quiet. Everyone was standing. Manning dribbled, looked up and shot. The ball hit the top of the front rim, slid over it—while Ed Manning’s heart stopped beating for a split second—and dropped through. It was 82–79. Now, it came down to the last shot of Danny Manning’s college career. This was exactly the way he wanted it, the way he had always dreamed it. Like every kid who had ever held a basketball in his hands, Danny Manning had played this scene out thousands of times.
Make this shot and win the national championship
.…

This time, Manning didn’t need the rim. It was 83–79. The celebration
began as Grace threw up one final shot. Manning, playing right to the buzzer, grabbed the rebound and turned around, the ball in his hands as if to say, “Is there anything else I need to do?”

There was nothing. Except jump for joy, fall into Piper’s arms and go find his mother. “If Danny plays basketball for twenty years in the NBA and wins ten titles, he’ll never feel like he felt that night,” Ed Manning would say. “All I could think of was how close he came to leaving and how sad it would have been if we had missed out on this.”

It was a poetic ending to a superb basketball game, one worthy of the setting and the stakes. Kansas had achieved one of the most dramatic victories in tournament history, not just on this final night but throughout the nineteen days. They had come a long, long way from taking the court in Lincoln, wondering if they could beat Xavier.

“If we had lost in the first round it wouldn’t have shocked me,” Brown said. “But right from the beginning it seemed like one of those destiny things, starting with Xavier getting booed because of what they said about Lincoln and us all of a sudden being like a home team. Then all the upsets and us getting to play our last three games against teams that had beaten us before.”

It had fallen into place for the Jayhawks. But their victory had little to do with luck. It had to do with grit and perseverance and an extraordinary coaching job by Brown. It had to do with Manning becoming what his coach and father had always pushed him to be,
the
best player. On the final night he had 31 points and 18 rebounds in a memorable performance. Four years after the beginning, he and Brown could part friends, knowing it had all been worth it for both of them.

“You play for him, there are going to be times you want to kill the guy,” Manning said later. “But there is no question about his coaching ability. He’s the best.”

And now Manning was the best, a part of history. The 1988 NCAA Tournament would be known forevermore as “Manning’s tournament.”

The parties on the last night are generally quiet. Everyone is tired and a lot of people have early planes to catch. The Kansas fans were the exception, of course, staying up well into the night to celebrate. Brown retreated to his room to contemplate his future, changing his mind
about whether to go to UCLA or stay at Kansas several times before dawn.

In the press hotel, they showed a replay of the game. It was closing in on 3
A.M.
when Manning grabbed the last rebound one more time. Outside, Dick Vitale still wasn’t tired. As the screen flickered off, his voice could be heard very clearly.

“So, who is Number One preseason? Illinois? How about Duke? …”

The basketball season was officially over. Only 194 days were left until October 15th.

The weeks following the end of the 1987–88 college basketball season were almost as hectic as the Final Four. Almost every day, or so it seemed, a new story of major import to the sport broke.

It started two days after the Kansas victory when Lefty Driesell made it official: He was coming back to coaching. He signed a five-year contract at James Madison and hired his son, Chuck, as one of his assistants. “My wife thinks I’m crazy doing this,” he said a few days later. “I had a great setup at Maryland and now I gotta go out and get players and work all kinds of crazy hours again.”