Play by Play

by Verne Lundquist

  Bill carried it with him in his briefcase, and at one early season game we were at a practice, Bill was making his hieroglyphics. I was observing, looking for any physical characteristics of the players that would help me identify them quickly and aid my memorization. Famously, I was grateful one year that a St. Louis University player had dyed his hair blue—that helped him stand out and made it easier for us announcers to identify him. You’re not always that fortunate. After practice was over, Bill and I returned to our hotel. I called him an hour or so after we got back. He was in a panic. He didn’t know where his briefcase was. I told him not to worry. Someone would find it. Either we would be able to get it the next day or it could be sent to us.

  Bill wasn’t mollified. He did, however, agree to go to dinner. Throughout the meal, he kept talking about the darn notebook. I asked him if it had the country’s nuclear codes written down in it. A map to the location of the Holy Grail? Had someone passed along the secret to transform lead into gold? A smile flickered across his face for a second before he got agitated again. I couldn’t blame him, but still it was great fun to see him sweat like that.

  I wish I could say that I had his briefcase and was holding it hostage. That would have been a great prank, but the story is more mundane than that. Some staffer at the arena discovered it and got it back to Bill in time for the game. I suggested that Bill invest in handcuffs so that he would always have his Bible and his Bible holder with him. He said that he didn’t want to do anything that might inhibit him raising a glass.

  At one point in our history, we had to worry about Mother Nature raising the roof on us. We were in Atlanta on March 14, 2008, for the SEC basketball tournament. The site was the Georgia Dome, and since it was primarily a football facility, temporary bleachers had been installed to bring fans closer to courtside. That night we were doing the Alabama–Mississippi State quarterfinal game. It was a tense affair and had gone into overtime. At about nine thirty or so, I heard something above the crowd noise and the action. I’d always heard that an approaching tornado sounded like a freight train. I can confirm now that it really does. I looked up and the scoreboard suspended from the dome began to sway like a pendulum. At that point I glanced to one side and Rick Stansbury, Mississippi State’s head coach, had turned around and was gesturing to his family—his son and his wife. He led them off the court and I heard him say, “I’m going to find safety.”

  Just beyond him a temporary scoreboard had been set up for the tournament. It was swaying. The tornado hit the dome with a glancing blow, shearing off one of the panels in the roof. The public address announcer told us all to remain in our seats. We were told that it was safer to be inside than out in the storm. The tornado had passed but dangerous conditions still existed. The police department had instructed security personnel to keep us all in the building.

  Bill and I did as instructed but our producer and director, Mark Wolf and Suzanne Smith, were worried about the status of our production staff and the truck. They came up to Bill and me to tell us that they were going outside to check on things. They later reported to us that the truck was fine. Debris had demolished Suzanne’s rental car. Unfortunately, a few people who were outside the building when the tornado hit the facility were injured—none seriously.

  Bill and I sat inside for twenty minutes or so. We weren’t getting any more information, and we speculated on what all this meant for the game, the tournament, and, more critically, for Atlanta and its residents. Just how bad was this thing? It was clear that whatever had come through had gone, so we decided to join our colleagues outside. We went to the truck and saw Suzanne’s car. At that point Bill realized that he didn’t have his briefcase or his Bible. He went to the press entrance. There he was told he couldn’t go back in. It was too dangerous inside the building. Well, not only did that contradict what we’d been told previously, but that was the first time anyone had said that. What about the others still inside? Were the coaches and players in their locker rooms? What kind of danger were they facing?

  Apparently, the security person had bad intel. After an hour’s delay the game resumed and we were there to broadcast it. Mississippi State edged Alabama 69–67. Afterward, Bill and I were driven by golf cart back to our hotel. The rest of the staff stuck around to make sure that everything was broadcast ready for the next day. That was one of the stranger moments in my broadcasting life. Our cart driver took us through Olympic Park. Light poles, power lines, and other debris littered the ground. It was only then that we had a sense of what had just happened, how potentially dangerous the situation was. When we got back to the hotel that was made even more apparent. We weren’t allowed up to our rooms. Another tornado might develop.

  Ever the Pied Piper, Bill suggested we go back out to get a bite to eat. The power outages were intermittent and we wound up at a Hooters eating burgers. Things were so surreal that that location seemed somehow appropriate for the evening. By the time we got back to the hotel, we were allowed to return to our rooms. The next morning we learned that the damage to the Georgia Dome was severe enough that the SEC had no choice but to change venues. The rest of the tournament would be held at Georgia Tech—an Atlantic Coast Conference school. For a variety of reasons, only the teams, family members of the players and university staff, the cheerleaders, accredited officials, and four hundred fans from each of the schools and the school’s bands would be allowed to view the game live. Alexander Memorial Coliseum seated roughly 12,000 but I would say that 10,000 of those seats were vacant when play resumed that Sunday. That was a strange experience, playing to a mostly empty house. The ringing of the dribbled ball was audible even through our headsets.

  The great part of the story was that the University of Georgia, which came into the SEC tournament with a sub-.500 record, won the whole thing. They advanced to the tournament as a result. Cinderella’s slippers were duck boots, but still they got her to the dance. She didn’t stay long. Georgia bowed out in the first round. There were no true Cinderella stories that year—as far as advancing to the Final Four. All four top seeds made it to the Alamo Dome, where Kansas took the title over Memphis. They won it in overtime thanks to what Kansas fan’s now speak of as Mario’s Miracle. Mario Chalmers hit a three-pointer with 2.1 seconds left to get the game to overtime. In retrospect, it was more of a miracle that no one was severely injured or killed at the Georgia Dome a few weeks earlier.

  In the category of what-ifs, I had time to reflect on the events of March 14. We even taped an insert in which Bill and I talked about our experiences. It got plugged into CBS’s coverage of other tournaments that weekend. Two people had been killed in Atlanta and that was a sobering reminder of everything that had taken place and how truly fortunate we were. Later, it hit me that if our game hadn’t gone into overtime, a whole lot of people would have been outside or on the streets following the game. Alabama’s Mykal Riley hit a clutch three-pointer with two seconds to go in the game to tie it. As Bill often said, “Onions!”

  Just to lighten things up a bit, here’s one of my favorite Raftery and NCAA tournament moments. I frequently give after-dinner talks, and of course I have to talk about my good buddy Billy. I also use video from the games I’ve covered to add flavor to the presentation. In 2009, we had Siena–Ohio State in an eight (Ohio State) versus a nine (Siena) in Dayton. Regulation came down to the wire. Sienna tied it on a made free throw, had a chance to go into the lead on a second free throw, but missed. Ohio State’s Evan Turner missed a layup. Overtime.

  In the first overtime, Ronald Moore of Siena bailed out the Saints with a three-pointer with three seconds left to again tie the game.

  “Onions!” my partner said.

  In the second overtime, the Saints were down by two with twelve seconds left. From the same spot on the court, Moore rose up again and hit the shot to win it.

  “Onions! A double order!”

  A great game, a great call.

  I use that game in many of my speaking engagements. I love seeing
the confused expression on the faces of some folks when Bill lets loose with his signature expressions. I’m tempted to say that it has something to do with Georgia and the sweet variety of that vegetable produced in my part-time home state.

  It is safe to say that everyone loves an upset in the NCAA tournament. That is, with the exception of the team that was victimized. It’s also true only to an extent at the network which hopes that the big-market or big-name teams make it through the early draw and deeper into the tournament. Billy and I were a part of a couple of thrilling upsets in our day.

  In 2006, Steve Alford and his Iowa Hawkeyes were a third seed, and they took on the Northwestern State Demons out of Natchitoches, Louisiana, a 14 seed. We were in Auburn Hills, Michigan. In our pregame preparation, we got to meet the players and staff from the Southland Conference champions and they charmed us. This was only their second tournament appearance in the school’s history. From head coach Mike McConathy to their sports information director, Patrick Netherton, I’d seldom come across a more accommodating group. With about seven minutes to go before the game, the two teams came off the court. The Demons went to their locker room but their coach went over to the broadcast table and sat down. He did an interview with their radio guy. Billy and I noticed that. Most coaches were too caught up in the moment to do that kind of thing. After the game, we asked Mike about that and he told us, “Well, I’ve coached them all I can. They’re not going to listen to anything I’ve got to say right now, so they might as well go back to the locker room and concentrate on what the task is. I’m going to come over here and do the radio show, and it’s my way of relaxing.” That was enough to make a broadcaster tear up.

  I think Mike wanted to tear up when his team was down by 18–4 early on and then by 54–37 later on. Still, they didn’t give up. Thanks to better shooting and a frenetic defense that saw them force 19 turnovers, with just 14 seconds left, following an Iowa missed free throw, they were down 63–61. Jermaine Wallace got an offensive board off a missed three. He dribbled near the corner and with three seconds left put up an off-balance fadeaway jumper. He hit it. Iowa’s desperation heave missed and one of the bigger upsets in tournament history was in the books.

  What I remember most was the unabashed pleasure the Demon players took in their win. It was reminiscent of Jim Valvano’s North Carolina State squad celebrating their national championship. That Northwestern State victory over Steve Alford’s squad was one of the most thrilling things I’ve ever been a part of in the NCAA tournament. That’s saying something.

  Another one that Bill and I were very much a part of was George Mason over the University of Connecticut in 2006 in the Washington, D.C., regional final. George Mason wasn’t very highly regarded and UConn was the No. 1 seed. In fact, Billy Packer had given George Mason very little chance of advancing. Jim Calhoun’s squad had an air of imperiousness about them. George Mason stuck around, and the longer they did the angrier Calhoun got. He was a fiery competitor and was known to explode on his team and could be cranky with the media. I was the beneficiary of Jim respecting Bill because he was a former coach. It was because Bill was a coach that I think he became critical on-air of Calhoun’s behavior. At one point he shouted, “Where are the assistants?” He felt they should have been better able to handle their boss. Later, he made some pointed remarks about Calhoun’s behavior as well.

  As the game unfolded in the final minutes, it was clear that George Mason’s advancing as far as they had to that point was no fluke. Being from the D.C. area certainly helped have the crowd on their side. They didn’t have UConn’s size. They didn’t have UConn’s athleticism. They didn’t have UConn’s tradition. But they did have a lot of heart, and they fed off the energy of that crowd. I have to give UConn credit. They were down by four at 74–70 with twenty-three seconds left but managed to tie it. The game went into overtime and everyone expected that with momentum on their side, the Huskies would pull it out of the bag. They didn’t. Never trailing in the overtime, George Mason won it, 86–84. After the final buzzer, two of George Mason’s players came over to the scorer’s table, jumped on it, and led the crowd in a well-deserved celebration. They had made it to the final four as a No. 13 seed. I don’t know where to rank my statement, “By George, the dream is still alive.” It was a bit hokey but it worked.

  As CBS shuffled its broadcasting lineup and Billy Packer fell out of favor, Bill Raftery eventually got promoted. I was happy for him. That’s an understatement. I thought that Billy often went underappreciated by his peers. In May 2017 I was honored with the Lifetime Achievement Award for Sports at the thirty-seventh annual Sports Emmy Awards ceremony at Lincoln Center. That was an unexpected and incredible honor. I was even more pleased that my good friend Bill Raftery was up for an Emmy Award as well. This was his first nomination, and I believed he should have been honored with one for years. When his name was announced as the winner, I jumped out of my seat and shouted, “Yes!” Cris Collinsworth, one of the best there’s ever been as an analyst and who’d won the award multiple times, was seated a few rows in front of me. He turned to look at me. I may have violated the rules of decorum but Cris didn’t seem to mind. He mouthed the words “I understand” and continued applauding. A great moment and two wonderful men who are a credit to the industry I called home for more than fifty years.

  Though we don’t work together anymore, our friendship has endured. Bill and I are in touch once a month, and he is among my dearest friends. Some of that has to do with our closeness in age. We spent fifteen wonderful seasons together, and you get to know a guy a bit when you spend that much time with someone. Bill tried to keep his age under wraps. I don’t think it was out of vanity but necessity. This isn’t necessarily a young man’s game, but when you’ve been around a long time, it’s pretty easy to hear the footsteps coming up from behind you.

  CBS didn’t seem to mind us two older guys working together. For most of the time Billy and I were together Mark Wolf, now the lead producer for college basketball, was our producer. Suzanne Smith made us look good as our director. Maybe four or five years into our tenure together, someone from the NCAA tournament organizing committee asked about the regional assignments. I don’t know if it was completely off the cuff, but it came as a surprise to me when I later learned that Mark had dubbed Billy and me “the Sunshine Boys.” CBS picked up on that and used it in some promotions.

  I believe that it had its origins in two things—our generally upbeat disposition and a Neil Simon Broadway comedy turned feature film called The Sunshine Boys. It starred Walter Matthau and George Burns as a couple of vaudevillians of a certain age. I believe it has stood the test of time and is worth watching. I’d like to think the same can be said for Billy and me and the many years we spent together.

  At CBS, one of my partners was Len Elmore. I had never seen Len play in person when he was a standout at the University of Maryland or with one of five NBA teams. I knew he was a New York City guy and that he’d gone to Power Memorial High School, the same place Lew Alcindor, later Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, had attended. Like Kareem, Len is possessed of an amazing intellect. In addition to his exploits on the basketball court, he graduated from Harvard Law School, served as district attorney in Brooklyn, worked at a major New York law firm, is president of the Retired NBA Players’ Association, and serves on the Knight Commission on Intercollegiate Athletics. Len is obviously an astute guy and his commitment to preserving the integrity of college sports in the face of so many challenges speaks volumes about him.

  In 1990, Len and I were paired for another major upset. We were at Cole Field House on the campus of Len’s alma mater. Syracuse was playing Richmond. For the first time in tournament history a No. 15 team, Richmond, knocked off a No. 2, Syracuse, in a first-round match-up. Following the game Len and I got one of “those” phone calls. Ted Shaker, the executive producer in charge of our NCAA basketball operations, let us know that we’d done a great job on the game and throughout the weekend. For a lot of us doin
g the first round, the goal was to get to the second week of the tournament. We knew that the Final Four were not in the picture. Despite what Ted had to say, we weren’t advancing. Len and I were surprised, stunned, really, but Len took it well. I suppose it helped that he had all those other irons in the fire, but he had as much pride in doing the job as anyone.

  After I covered Jack Nicklaus’s remarkable win in the 1986 Masters, the great golfer told me that he and I were joined at the hip. He made the putt; I made the call. I feel the same about Len and me. I would feel that way because he is such a caring individual, but even more so because he and I shared one of the most amazing experiences of my life. We were privileged to call what many consider, as I do, the greatest college basketball game in history—Duke versus Kentucky in the regional semifinal in 1992.

  Len and I got assigned to Philadelphia. Jim Nantz and Billy Packer requested Lexington. I’m not sure what influenced their decision. Ohio State, Oklahoma State, Arizona, and North Carolina were the 1–4 teams in the Southeast. Michigan, which would go on to face Duke in the final and had their amazing collection of freshmen, the Fab Four, was only a No. 6. Maybe it’s true that the longer you stick around the better your chances are of having something great happen for you. Our top line was Duke, Kentucky, the University of Massachusetts, and Seton Hall. Talk about a Murderer’s Row of programs and a hall of fame of coaching—Mike Krzyzewski, Rick Pitino, John Calipari, and P. J. Carlesimo, respectively.