Listening to the Master

Deron Washington blocks UNC's last gasp shot to beat VT. Notice the photo-shopped scream face in the background.

Last night, Virginia Tech's men's basketball team defeated the highly ranked UNC Tarheels for the second time this season, 81-80 in overtime at the UNC home court in Chapel Hill, NC. As a result, I've had a hard time getting basketball off my mind today.

Listening to the Master

As I listened to the game last night both times, I was initially upset that Billy Packer, legendary basketball analyst, seemed to be writing off and missing out on an amazing Virginia Tech effort until it was almost too late. He was guilty of charging VT with various phantom infractions from illegal screens to flagrant fouls. I was most incensed by his assertion that Coleman Collins was shoving off inside to get free when it seemed obvious that he had staked out superior inside post position.

After the game though, I realized something that struck me in a very personal and profound way.

I'm about 47 years old and basketball has been a large part of my life since I was five years old. When I was 10 and until I was about 12, I played recreation ball in the Roanoke Catholic Saturday League (RCSL). I remember those days playing on my father's team and other teams as being so exciting. The level of competition was intense and the instruction was topnotch. My father is probably the greatest basketball teacher I've ever met. He came by his skill through years of playing and coaching experience. He starred for his high school basketball team back in the 30's and averaged about 6 points a game. He possessed sound ball fundamentals and a deadly two-hand set shot. Later, he coached many Roanoke area recreation teams (Northwest Rec and RCSL). When I played for his teams I learned all about defense and ball handling. Besides my father, I had other excellent coaches; Bob Canfield, Jack McKenna, and Charlie Moir-who would stop by once or twice a year for clinics.

A couple of my teams were dominant. One year I was the (non-shooting) shooting guard on a team with Herbert Jones, a local Roanoke Catholic High School star who went on to play football at UNC. At the time, Herbert was 5’8” tall playing as a giant against kids who hadn’t even thought of breaking 5’0”. My job was to play defense and feed Herbert with a steady diet of low post passes, although I did manage to score one point on a steal in the last seconds of my last game on that team. I was hacked on my way in for the left-handed lay-up and made one of two from the line. I think the only reasons I started all year was because I could do a left-handed lay-up in practice, I could feed Herbert, and I was an annoying defender. I was the kind of player that would always seem to be right in your face. I took pride in how I was able to take away an opposing team’s scorer. That’s probably why I like Jamon Gordon so much to this day. When opposing players come up against him, their whole game changes as he takes them away from their comfort zones.

About that time in my life, I fell in love with ACC basketball. Pilot Insurance began covering ACC basketball back in 1957, but it only captured me around 1970. Several times throughout the broadcast, I’d be treated to the Pilot Life Insurance commercial with seasoned, salty voices singing “Sail with the Pilot, all the way, And get on board the Pilot Ship, today!” ACC basketball for me came to be represented by that jingle and those stormy waves breaking over the bow of a clipper ship with the brave pilot standing strong at the helm.

As Jim Thacker with Billy Packer and Bones McKinney camped at the microphone, I listened to every scene during the Saturday afternoon games. Bones and Billy knew so much about the game. They really were teachers of the finer points and grand cheerleaders for the outstanding play. By 1972, UVA became my team. Since my sister went there, it was natural for me to root for those teams with Parkhill, Hobgood, Drummond, B. Stokes, Walker, and later Lamp, Raker, and Ralph.

Through it all, Billy Packer gifted me a very thorough knowledge of strategy and through repetition I had ingrained a complete set of rules along with a situational decision-making model. Packer was the best. He explained everything with a certain decisive passion that was unmatchable. He could give a listener a very clear and understandable reason why certain things happened or why certain things should happen. He was a Yoda of the Hardwood.

When my older brothers decided to go to Virginia Tech, I began to begin to pay attention to their basketball and over the course 1970’s my allegiance began to switch over. Players like Price, Bell, Robinson, and Ashford replaced all others. During that stretch, I first learned the magic of Cassell and what basketball passion sounds like.

So last night, as I was listening to an older Billy Packer chastise VT players for this play or that, I found myself having a conversation with my master. Quietly at first, then with strong voice out loud, I dared contradict him in the silence of my basement family room.

“No Billy, it wasn’t an illegal screen on VT; the UNC guard had impeded Zabian Dowdell’s progress through the lane by clutching onto him.”

“No Billy, it was not a flagrant foul on Jamon Gordon; it probably should have been called an intentional foul, but not a flagrant foul as you suggest.”

“No Billy, it wasn’t a push by Coleman. He simply established superior inside post position on Hansbrough.”

Master Billy may know that his time has passed. Yet despite that, he continues to sail with the Pilot through the storm.