April 16, 2004

I was talking college basketball one afternoon with my neighbor Ed Lockley, when he asked, "What was the most exciting game you ever played at St. John's?"

Several come to mind but the one that made light bulbs flash was the Utah game in the 1958 NIT quarterfinal in the old Madison Square Garden.

Joe Lapchick, our coach, had a special way of talking about the NIT. He pronounced "tournament," differently. He'd say, "turn-na-ment," with heavy emphasis on "turn." Whenever he talked about the NIT our ears perked up. Going to the National Invitational Tournament was why we worked so hard.

The NCAA, still in its infancy, lacked today's media hype. The NIT meant Madison Square Garden, basketball's best arena, its Mecca, the zenith of our playing careers. It's what players dreamed about. So When Lapchick said tournament, we listened to every syllable.

We played Utah on a Saturday afternoon on NBC national television, which resulted in an extra long 30 minute warm up. By the playing of the national anthem and team introductions I was exceptionally loose, on fire, ready to deliver.

The game seesawed, with a strong Utah team more than holding its own. But with little more than 3 minutes left, we gained a comfortable six-point lead.

Our team then played as if the ball was a foreign object and lost the lead to the Utes. With the clock running down, and trailing by one point, we tried desperately for a steal.

As Utah maintained their "freeze" offense, I took a swipe at a pass to the high post. Their big center Carney Crisler, annoyed with my attempted thievery, swung an elbow that caught me square on the left side of my jaw, a blow completely missed by the officials, which dropped me to the floor.

I felt a back tooth explode as if middleweight Rocky Graziano had belted me. I lay not moving above the foul line several seconds which seemed an eternity, half expecting a bell to ring.

The referees finally spotted me and halted the game allowing "Doc" Gimmler, our trainer, to run onto the court. He cracked smelling salt under my nose, which got me to sit up with my hands over my knees, shaking my head. The elbow to my jaw proved to be more shock than pain.

Gimmler in his excitement asked, "What's your name, Gus?" I smiled and walked off the court but I was a little woolly when I arrived at the bench. Lapchick tilted his head and narrowed his eyes trying to determine if he could count on me for the last few seconds of the game.

"I'm OK, Coach," I said in a strong voice, strong enough to convince him to let me play. When play resumed the ball was given to Utah to inbound from half-court. A blond headed, crew cut sophomore named Keith Ancell froze, unable to find an open teammate and was called for a five-second violation.

Lapchick leaped off the bench signaling timeout. The unbelievable had happened - St. John's miraculously had the ball and a nine-second window of opportunity to overcome one point.

The team trotted to the huddle with a new enthusiasm, a chance to pull the game out. As we huddled around our coach he unfolded his strategy. He looked directly into my eyes and confidently delivered his orders while tapping a boney index finger on my chest.

"Gus, take the last shot. You have the hot hand." With that directive he verbally sketched a loose play for me to score. Lapchick turned to Hughie Kirwan and instructed the senior guard to inbound the ball to me, with Alan Seiden an option. The Utah game was one of my best in college, shooting nine of twelve, scoring twenty-five points. I never doubted his confidence in me. I had it, too. I didn't know what I would do after the inbound pass but I knew something would open up.

The team clenched hands, shouted an emotional mantra of "Fight," and moved from the bench to take its positions on the court. As we digested instructions and headed onto the court, Coach Lapchick smiled, grabbed me by the shirt and whispered a humorous confidence. I smiled and headed for my position on the court.

I faked one way then changed direction to catch Kirwan's crisp pass on the left side near half-court with the last nine seconds ticking. As a lefty my defender forced me to the middle of the court, and I instinctively bulled my way toward the foul line. Unable to penetrate further I pulled up and launched a slightly off-balanced, floating fourteen-foot desperation jump shot that caromed high off the back rim and toward a crowd of Utah players on the left side of the basket.

Out of nowhere, among the tall Utah rebounders, sprung 5-10 Seiden who alertly back tapped the ball to teammate, Lou Roethel.

With only two ticks left on the clock, the bespectacled center wisely took one dribble to balance himself and flipped up a flat, crooked twelve-foot angle hook shot that acted as if it were magnetized to the rim and dropped in. St. John's won, 71-70. The Garden erupted.

The bizarre Utah ending demonstrated the unpredictable quality of basketball. An injured player stops the clock, causes a turnover that leads to a missed shot, a back tap and a fluky one-point buzzer shot victory. But it also taught me something else. When I look back on my coaching experiences, it was games like Utah that made me believe in myself, made me confident. These exciting Madison Square Garden games taught me that everyone feared failure, that every team is afraid of losing, but someone would win, and why not bolster a team to believe it could be them? I learned to pass my confidence to my teams.

As fans poured onto the floor, the team smothered Roethel as if he were a World War II hero while Lapchick choked back tears of joy. The "not good enough" label that had earlier rejected St. John's from the Holiday Festival and had driven our team, was suddenly forgotten. Coach was thrilled and relished the win. The Redmen had reached the NIT semifinal.

[This story appears in Gus Alfieri's, Cast A Gaint Shadow, a manuscript biography of his St. John's coach, Joe Lapchick.] [I would like to hear from the reader. E-Mail aalf@optonline.net]