Part II, February 20-February 26

For a three month road trip in which we are planning on traveling the country to see all of the sights we’ve never seen, we had spent an awful lot of time in Lawrence, Kansas, and with that in mind we thanked MJ for giving us a place to stay for so long and got on our way. The first stop was Stillwater, Oklahoma, home of Oklahoma State University and my buddy J.R., a friend from camp. Stillwater is pretty much right off of I-35, which is west of Lawrence, but we decided to take the scenic rout, going south on SR-75 from Topeka to Tulsa, cutting straight through small towns we’d never have heard of otherwise. No wonder John Mellancamp is so popular. So many people in this country know just what he’s talking about.

Hanging out with J.R. was a good time, as I was sure that it would be. Unlike most of my camp friends, J.R. was never a camper at North Star. He came to camp as a counselor in the summer of 2001, and he’s really found his niche there as a counselor and trip leader, AKA a tripper. He welcomed Meghan and me into his apartment, and the three of us had a blast. The highlight of that stop came yesterday, when J.R. scrounged together three tickets to the Oklahoma State-Texas Tech basketball game along with two student IDs for me and Meghan. Lemme tell you something: they love their basketball in Stillwater. J.R. gave me and Meg some OK State Cowboy gear, and we rolled into the gym yelling out the Cowboys’ mantra “Go Pokes!” I don’t have any beef with Oklahoma State, never have, and I like their coach, Hall of Famer Eddie Sutton, and I like their players, particularly the two stars John Lucas and Joey Graham. They’re an easy team to root for. The game was also exciting because after four years at Indiana, I was finally going to see Bobby Knight coach live, and while I don’t like Coach Knight, it is cool to be able to say that I saw him coach, especially in a game against another Hall of Fame coach in Eddie Sutton.

The game itself was a joke, with the Cowboys cruising to an easy 85-56 victory. Still, it was a fun time, and definitely a great experience, as is the case any time you get to visit somebody else’s stadium. We left Stillwater this morning, driving west to I-35, which we took due south to Dallas. On the way we stopped at a burger joint that J.R.’s girlfriend turned us onto, a place called “Two Frogs” in Ardmore, OK. Meg and I ordered mozzarella sticks first, which knocked me down a bit thus preventing me from finishing the burger. Big mistake. The burger was an absolute phenomenon. Beyond good. I’ve only eaten there once, but it’s already notched itself in as special mention on my top tier burger list.[1] Highly recommended. Meg and I left smiling and satisfied, and hopped back on 35 towards the Texas-Oklahoma border.

Ah, Texas. Just getting into Texas was a trip, because as soon as you enter Texas, you know that you are in Texas. Texans don’t leave you with any doubt that you are in their state, a state where everything is big. The state sign is big. The billboards are big. The sayings on the billboards are big, both in print and in spirit. My favorite was one featuring a big picture of Osama bin Ladin, with the following caption:

Once we were in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, we had to figure out where, exactly, we were going to stay. I-35 brought us to Texas Stadium—home of the Dallas Cowboys—which I knew was in Irving. To our left, a bit in the distance, were a bunch of big buildings, and so we turned left because our feeling was, “Big buildings means a city, and a city means a hotel.” As it turned out, the big buildings were downtown Dallas, which worked out perfectly for us. We parked, quickly found a hotel, and got settled.

I’ve never been to Texas, but having gotten past the initial shock of the overall levels of bigness just over the border, I was able to really appreciate Dallas. It’s a nice city, one that can be covered pretty easily on foot, but what has struck me the most thus far is the time division within the city. The area around the hotel we are staying at seems futuristic, with tall, sleek buildings that look like they should be occupied by large groups of men in matching silver v-neck suits. Take a five minute walk though, and you start to see buildings that look like they’ve been there since the 1950s…which they probably have been, because the building that is most notable in Dallas is not a futuristic skyscraper but rather the old book depository at the corner of Houston and Elm where Lee Harvey Oswald worked in the summer of 1963, before being fired for negligence and “suspected murder of our Commander in Chief.” It’s an eerie experience, walking through Dealey Plaza, knowing what went on there, seeing the grassy knoll and the large “X” in the middle of the street.

After exploring Dallas a bit this afternoon, Meghan and I found a bar to watch the NBA’s All-Star Game, easily my favorite all-star game of any sport. The Pro Bowl is worthless, so we can cut that out of the conversation, and I don’t care for hockey, though the North America vs. the World format is intriguing. Baseball’s all-star game always has a real sense of history, but the rules of baseball don’t do well within the all-star format, because the manager is trying to get all of his players onto the field, and of course once a guy is out he cannot come back, which means that the starting pitcher only throws two or three innings and a close game at the end can come down to an at-bat featuring whichever token Tampa Bay Devil Ray made the team that year. But the NBA’s All-Star Game has always been terrific, because the talent on the court for both teams is so extraordinary, that once they settle down and start really playing, you get a lot of spectacular basketball. Plus, if the game is close, the stars can stay on the court.

Along with the stalwarts of the past five years—Shaq, Iverson, Duncan, KG, Kobe, T-Mac, Vince, Dirk—2005 has brought some very exciting first year All-Stars, namely LeBron, D-Wade, Amare Stoudamire, and Gilbert Arenas. These guys all looked genuinely excited to be All-Stars—particularly Arenas, who was glowing throughout—and it was wonderful to see young guys who really look committed to hard work and team ball. (Incidentally, the East won the game 125-115, with my main man Allen Iverson winning his second career All-Star MVP award.)

After the game, Meg and I walked back to our hotel. It was very nice out, mid 80’s, and it felt good to be wearing summer clothing in the middle of February. The hotel had free internet, and when I checked my email and the news, I was saddened to see that the great writer Dr. Hunter S. Thompson had committed suicide. The famed “Doctor of Journalism” shot himself in his Colorado home at the age of 67, which, when you think about it, is a remarkable achievement in and of itself, considering the massive amounts of drugs and booze that had gone into and out of his system over the years. Perhaps he was just tired of waiting, because I doubt it was spur of the moment. Hunter Thompson was always big, as visible in his own work as the work itself, so perhaps this was his way of writing his own ending. I honestly can’t say. All I know is that in my mind, Hunter S. Thompson looms large, both as a writer and as an American personality. Everything about him was big.

There is talk that the NBA might be looking at another lockout in 2005-06, but hopefully they will learn from the mistakes of the NHL and find a common ground. I say this not only for all of the reasons I stated earlier about the NHL, but also because the Bulls are finally on their way back to the playoffs after six long painful seasons. Going into the All-Star break this year, our record stood at 26-23, three wins more than we had all of last season. Scott Skiles has found a way to mold this team into a hard working group, and not only am I absolutely confident in the Bulls making the playoffs, but I really think that we can do some damage in the East. Today begins the second half of the season, and it starts with the best team the Eastern Conference has to offer: the Miami Heat, led by Shaq and Chicago-product Dwyane Wade. Meghan and I are in Austin, Texas right now visiting my camp buddy Bubba as we slowly make our way towards Mesa for a pair of Cubs spring training games, and being out of the Chicago-land area is starting to take its effect on me. We bought tickets for a 7:00 PM showing of Million Dollar Baby tonight without remembering that the Bulls-Heat game started at 7:30. O’well. These things happen. I found out that the game was today when my brother called me a half hour before tip. Mankameyer does a lot of online betting, and wanted my opinion. I talked to MJ for a bit before getting on with Mank.

“So Jack, what do you think? The over-under is 199 and the line is Miami by four and a half.”

“Four and a half?” I think for a second. “Well, the Bulls aren’t going to lose a close game, so only take the points if you think the Bulls will win.” Gambling on your team is always difficult—it’s a clash between head and heart, love and money—and even tougher when you’re helping someone else gamble because they see you as an authority on your team. That’s a big responsibility. “I know the Bulls can win, but also, this is the first game after the break. Shaq’s gonna be all charged up for a big game…”

“I would say…ooh, this is tough…You know what? I would say take the Heat and lay the four and a half. They won’t blow us out, but they might wear us down in the fourth with Shaquille and Wade…I’m having trouble here Mank. You know, it’s tough to pick against your own team…”

“Yeah…” Man this is hard. “I guess you should take the Heat. That’s probably what I would do if I were an unbiased gambler. If I weren’t a Bulls fan I probably wouldn’t be having this much trouble with it.” I pause again, thinking. “I’m rooting for the Bulls, obviously--”

“Take the under. The Bulls will play tough ‘D,’ so even if we have an off night and Shaq and Wade are hot, they won’t make it to 110, and the Bulls won’t lose a close game, which would put us in the 90’s. It’ll be close, but take the under.”

We got out of the movie at around 9:30, and I promised to call my mom as soon as I saw it, as she had seen it and thought it was the year's best picture. Mom and I have this thing about the Oscars…we try to see as many big Oscar movies as we can, and we’re very big on movie-talk. So I called my parents as soon as we got out of the theater, hoping to talk about the film with Mom and get a score update from Dad.

“Oh man! That sucks! Is he OK?” I never pull for a guy to get injured, but I have a particular affinity towards Shaq.

“Man, I hope he’s alright.” And then… “Has Curry been doing well with Shaq out?”

“He’s scoring alright, but Skiles had been playing Tyson a lot more for his defense and rebounding.”

“Miami hasn’t been doing much better though. That’s why we’ve hung around. You wanna talk to Mom about the movie?”

“Yeah but come on. It’s the Bulls.” I give in. “OK,” I say, sighing, “that’s OK. Anyhow, we’re down six. Not looking good.” I change gears. “So, we just got out of Million Dollar Baby.”

“YES!” Meghan’s been listening, and making sure that I’m driving the right way. I look at her disapprovingly, and she’s glowing. “He was totally crying!”

“Absolutely. The Aviator was great and all, but I’m not going to think of it when I think Scorsese. It’s certainly not in the league with Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, GoodFellas...on the other hand, when people think Clint Eastwood, Director, they are going to think of this movie.”

“I totally agree. I thought he was great. And she was great, too. And Morgan Freeman was great.”

“They all were. Freeman was terrific, and Hilary Swank was really good, and Clint was good. But Freeman was the best.”

“You were right, Mom. I mean, he was incredible throughout the whole flick, but I wouldn’t’ve given it to him for sure until that last line. The way he delivers the last line, it really makes the movie.”

“OH HELL YES!” I slap the steering wheel in celebration. “HELL YES! Alright! OK! What happened?”

“Man! Ben Gordon is just lights out in the fourth. OK, what’s going on? One sec Mom.”

“92-90. Heat had the ball, and they missed a shot, and Gordon got the rebound, so now it’s Bulls ball. They’re coming out of a timeout.”

“Uh, OK here we go. Bulls, moving it around…Hirnich…Duhon…down low…”

“Back up top…they kick it over to Hinrich, he shoots…BLOCKED! Miami blocked the shot, and they’ve got it with 3.6 on the clock. Timeout Heat.”

It’s really frustrating watching a game like this, and even more frustrating not watching a game like this, if you know what I mean. “Yeah that’s fine. Hey Mom,” I say, nearly out of breath.

“Oh, I remember. The script. Wasn’t it a great script? Really subtle, but still really powerful, and great dialogue…”

“It was perfect. It was storytelling at its best. It really was. It was everything they teach you to do as a writer. Everything that came next was a surprise, but once you got there it was obviously the perfect decision, and exactly what was supposed to happen.”

“It didn’t even hit the backboard. He just grabbed the airball and tossed it back up.”

“Yup. They’re counting it. We’re going to overtime. I’ll let you talk to Mom. Here she is.”

“OK. But can you come back when there’s like two minutes left or something?”

The sign on the left says to exit for 35^th Street, with 45^th Street coming up next. Meghan looks at me.

“Yeah.” My focus is locked up in two intense areas: finding out about a Bulls game that is now in overtime and a film conversation with my mom on a movie that had me crying, laughing, and smiling all at once as the screen faded to black. My concern over our directions is minimal, and I state rather matter-of-factly: “We went the wrong way.”

“Just get off here. We can catch Lamar and take that back the other way to 5^th.”

“Great. So, Mom…” and right back into it we go, talking about the Best Actress race between Swank, Annette Benning, and the woman from Vera Drake, and talking about how Eastwood also did the music for this movie, and talking about the similarities between Eastwood’s characters in this and Unforgiven, and before I know it we’re on 5^th street, pulling into the parking garage. And just as I’m pulling out the little swipy-card thing that Bubba gave us so that we can get into the garage for free…

“OK, two minutes left in overtime…Bulls are up 100-92…Gordon has hit three, no, two threes here and the Bulls are up.”

“OH HELL YES! HELL YES!...what?...no, we’ve got this thing.” I hand the swipy-card to the attendant who swipes it in front of the machine and waves us under the gate. “Thank you. What?” I ask Dad. “No, not you. Sorry, we had to go in the garage.”

“No problem.” He continues. “Alright, Miami bringing it up. They look a bit hurried. It looks like they’re trying to work it to Wade. Bulls are D-ing up. Heat swing it around. Anderson jumper…missed. Captain Kirk with the rebound. Bulls setting it up. Deng, back to Kirk, back to Deng…what’s this?”

“OK. Sorry Dad, Meghan was telling me…OH YES! OK…” My head is spinning. “Meghan, I need you to drive.” And then before she can answer: “OK, nevermind, I can do it. OK, Dad, sorry…”

“OK. Second Deng free throw is good. Bulls up four now, Heat coming down…”

…and he tells me about a steal from Gordon and a free throw from Gordon, and Meg and I park and get up into Bubba’s apartment, and my dad tells me about a Damon Jones triple to pull the Heat to two, and Duhon twice splitting a pair to put the Bulls up four, and me pacing in a corner of the kitchen as Meg and Bubba watch me, and he tells me about Wade missing a jumper, and finally, the Bulls pulling out the ‘W.’

“OK Dad, thanks a lot, but we’re at Bubba’s place now and I don’t want to be rude.”

I hang up, sit down, and breathe. Meghan and Bubba are staring at me, and I high-five both of them for the Bulls victory. Bubba laughs, Meghan smiles and shakes her head.

When I was a senior in high school, it was all about DePaul. Northwestern was always my team growing up, and the Fighting Illini were a strong second, and after that all Illinois schools were pretty much the same. But that changed when I became friends with Jonny Corwin.

My family lived in Evanston from 1984-1995, and in that time I made lifelong friends. When we moved to Wilmette the summer before eighth grade, I made some new friends, but I was still an Evanston guy and on weekends and over breaks I hung out with my Evanston group. During my sophomore year at New Trier, I became tight with Samoil Vangelovski, AKA Moil, AKA Smoil, AKA Sammy V. Moil and I first met at Wilmette Junior High, and then we had gym together sophomore year and became good buddies. We both knew Jonny, and the three of us became close during our junior year. We started hanging out on weekends, watching sports, eating burgers and wings, playing hoops, shooting pool, going bowling—basically all of the activities most beloved by the young active male.[2]

That was also the year that DePaul’s head coach Pat Kennedy brought some pride back into the program by landing three prized hometown recruits: Lance Williams, Bobby Simmons of Simien, and the best of them all, Quentin Richardson of Whitney Young. In the days of head coach Ray Meyer, DePaul basketball was a powerhouse. The team dominated college hoops from 1979-1981, bookending that run as the number one team in the regular season at the end of both the ’79 and ’81 seasons. I bet it would’ve been something to watch those teams play. Unfortunately, they too were a Chicago area team with bad luck or bad fate or bad timing or something—I try to keep the “choke” label away from us as much as possible—as they never even made it to a championship game. It was downhill from there. When I was becoming “aware,” DePaul was good but nowhere near the level of their glory days, and by the time I was reading the sports page every day, Ray Meyer was retired, his less successful son Joey was coaching the team, and DePaul basketball was somewhat of an afterthought.

The team came together that season, going to the N.I.T., and it was clear that Richardson—or Q as the people were callling him—Simmons, and Williams were a special group. Jonny was a big DePaul fan, and his fandom has always been contagious, so Moil and I were pretty quickly roped into Blue Demon fever. Jonny also introduced us to Jake Bressler, a sophomore who announced games with Jonny, the kid who three years later brought me to the Bears-Eagles playoff game. The four of us began following the Demons intensely, going to games and keeping up with their stats, and as they got hotter our passion for them grew. We knew that the team needed one more season to become Great, to become a classic Chicago team. The potential was there, but there was a problem. Q was getting a lot of attention around the country, and talk was growing that he might leave the Demons as a freshman and head to the NBA. When Duke freshman, Fenwick graduate and Richardson rival Corey Maggette[3] split out of Durham to join the NBA, many thought that Q would do the same. But he didn’t. He stayed. The following season, Coach Kennedy reeled in recruit Steven Hunter, a seven foot rail-thin shot-blocking center, and with Q now a Player of the Year candidate, DePaul was a favorite to win the Conference-USA title.[4]

When senior year came around, Moil, Jonny, and Jake were my three best friends at New Trier. Evanston and Wilmette are neighboring suburbs, but the division between the two school districts (Evanston and New Trier) is massive. I lived in Evanston for eleven years, and in that time I learned to think of New Trier as a rival. And then, only a year before I was supposed to attend ETHS, we moved and I found myself headed for New Trier. It was weird. When you move into a new city, you don’t have to adopt their sports teams, but when you go to a new high school it’s kind of hard to root against them. Yet at the same time, this was the school that I was raised to oppose.

It’s not really the same as college, when I went to Indiana and rooted for Northwestern. I chose to go to IU because of its newspaper and journalism program, because it was a Big Ten school, and because of its proximity to Chicago. Had I not enjoyed school at IU, I could have transferred, and then what ties would I have to Indiana? None. But that’s not really how it is in high school. First of all, most people don’t choose their high school; for the most part, kids go to the high school in their district. Secondly, high school is much more packed in than college is…it’s difficult to go to your high school basketball game and root for the other team.

By senior year, however, I really liked NT, and while I never went balls-out crazy for them during sports games like other kids, I wanted them to win and most importantly, I felt a connection to the school, to the teams, and to my classmates. It took a little while, but I did find my niche at New Trier, doing work for the radio for four years and the newspaper for three. I had been doing a radio show called SportsLife with two other kids for three years, but we faded apart and by the beginning of the school year it was clear that my senior year would be spent doing SportsLife with Moil and Jonny.[5] Senior year was also the year that I became co-editor-in-chief of the New Trier News. Moil became the sports editor, and just for kicks Jonny joined on as a photographer, though his main thing was announcing the football, basketball, and baseball games for WNTH with Jake. (We had a whole multi-media thing going on at New Trier between the four of us. It was pretty cool.)[6]

So that’s what we did senior year, and it was great. Moil, Jonny and I had all gotten into school—Mizzou,[7] UCLA, and Indiana, respectively—so that school year was a blast since we didn’t have many responsibilities. We did our radio show together, we did the newspaper together, and we watched the Blue Demons together. That team filled the excitement void created by the overall level of crappiness in Chicago sports at the time. The Bulls had just started Rebuilding Plan # 1, the Bears had an exciting but bad 1999, Northwestern football had an unexciting and bad 1999, the White Sox were boring, and the Cubs had just finished one of their most disappointing seasons ever, falling apart after the Wild Card season of 1998. Illinois basketball was good as well, with the three Peoria-Manual guys, but for us it was all about DePaul. Q was the best—there was no doubt about that—but the difference between a team that you like and a team that you love is the role players. I liked that Illinois team…I enjoyed watching them play, and I knew the starting five (Frank Williams, Cory Bradford, Sergio McClain, Marcus Griffin, and Brian Cook, in case you were wondering), but I didn’t know the role players. That DePaul team, that was the squad right there. It wasn’t just about Q. It was about hard working Bobby Simmons, a guy who busted his ass to make sure that his effort matched his talent. It was about five-foot-something point guard Rashon Burno, the little man who everyone loved. It was about Paul McPherson, the guy we nicknamed P-Mac, an athletic dunk-machine of a two-guard who became a somebody on that team. It was about Kerry Hartfield, a senior who let the spotlight shine on the other guys while he did his job. Moil kept the newsroom’s sports page corner covered with newspaper and magazine pictures of local teams, and as the season went on the corner turned into a DePaul shrine. We covered the wall with DePaul clippings from the Trib and Sun-Times, we used New Trier’s poster-machine to blow up pictures of P-Mac, Q, Burno, Simmons, and Hunter, and to top it off Jonny and Moil made a giant Q-Tip out of butcher paper, newspaper, and cotton, and placed it in the corner across two shelves. It was awesome.

One night towards the beginning of the season, Sven and I went to a barbeque and blues place in Chicago called Famous Daves for a night of wings, chicken fingers, and good conversation. Before the live music started, Daves had a huge projection screen up in front of the stage, and they were showing the DePaul-Duke game. These were two teams that were supposed to have very different years. Duke was supposed to struggle in a transition year, having lost Brand, Langdon, Avery, and Maggette, and DePaul was supposed to be the exciting high flying squad of up-and-comers. But Duke was the better team that night, as an inconsistent DePaul effort gave the game away towards the end. Duke was also the better team overall during the season. Their three freshmen recruits—Jason Williams, Carlos Boozer, and Mike Dunleavy, Jr.—played terrific ball all year and led Duke to another number one seed. DePaul floundered, playing great at times and poorly at others, and never really becoming comfortable in the national spotlight. Still, they went to the NCAA tourney for the first time in a long time, notching a 9 seed.

When tourney time came around in March, we were excited, but cautious. By this point, the city was much more excited about the Illini than the Demons, as Illinois had played competitive and consistent ball to earn a number four seed in the tourney. But we were still all about the Demons. They were our team. The four of us taped copies of our March Madness brackets up to the front of the newsroom door for the whole school to see, and we used the poster machine to blow up a blank copy of the brackets for our “actual results” bracket that we put on the door and filled out as the tourney went on. Jonny picked the Demons to go all the way, and the first step was a first round matchup against the underachieving Kansas Jayhawks. That game wouldn’t be too much trouble as long as DePaul played the way that we knew they could, and after that we couldn’t help but look ahead to a round two rematch with Duke.

But wouldn’t you know it, the Demons did not play the way we knew they could. They lost to Kansas 81-77, and that was it. Q went pro and was drafted by the Clippers in the first round, P-Mac—against common thought—also went pro, Simmons and Hunter left a year later, Burno and Hartfield graduated, and Jonny, Moil, and I went off to our separate colleges.

People don’t talk about that DePaul team much anymore. They didn’t leave a winning legacy like Ray Meyer’s teams did, and they didn’t meet with a tragic shocking demise like so many other Chicago teams did. They were a good team that underachieved and missed their small window. But they were our team during our senior year. And for that I am thankful.

[1] Mustards, Hackneys, and Nana and Papa’s country club Northmoor are the Big Three.

[2] We did not, however, play a lot of video games as a group. Moil and I did, but Jonny wasn’t much into them. That’s the only stereotypical/wonderful activity that was really absent from our friendship.

[3] Coming out of high school in 1998, Richardson and Maggette were the region’s top two recruits. Maggette went to Duke to play for Coach K alongside future NBA first round draft picks Elton Brand, Shane Battier, Trajan Langdon, and Will Avery. When you think about the NBA talent that went through Duke from ’98-’04, it’s a wonder they only won a single national championship in that time.

[4] The Cincinnati Bearcats with K-Mart, DerMarr Johnson, Satterfield, and Logan were THE favorites, but DePaul was the sleeper favorite and at the very least the clear cut number two team.

[5] Jake did another show with two other kids.

[6] The other super dupe angle to being editors on the papers was that both Moil and I both got keys to the newsroom, which meant that we could hang out there during lunch and free periods. It was a lot less noisy and hectic than the two massive school cafeterias, and we could listen to music and talk sports and just hang out. Dynamite.

[7] Quick story: one night during senior year, Moil and I were hanging out at my house, having dinner and watching basketball. Moil had yet to select his college, though his choices were finalized at Mizzou and Kansas, and since those were his two final schools, he decided that “whoever wins this game, that’s where I’ll go to school.” Quin Snyder’s Tigers beat Roy Williams’ Jayhawks, and Moil was off to Mizzou.