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| March 21, 1993
Section: Express Edition: Metro Final Page: 1G Duane Noriyuki, Staff Writer |
| It has been a momentous season for the Marauders, a team that, three years ago, had a season record of 0-22. Not since the 1960s had they advanced beyond the first round of the state tournament. Like other Division III community colleges, they find themselves on the bottom rung of college basketball. There are no athletic scholarships, no dormitories, no trainers or pep band. They aren't sure if they have a fight song. But this year, they've climbed miraculously to this moment in late February. Tonight marks a pivotal point in the season: If they win, they will advance to regional competition in Wisconsin and, possibly, the national tournament in New York. But if they lose, their season - and for some, their basketball careers - will end. Each of the 10 players in the locker room has his reasons for being here. When they were kids out on the playground, they dreamed about someday wearing the uniform of Georgetown or Duke or the hometown U. They didn't dream about playing ball at Minneapolis Community College. But for reasons of talent or grades or injuries or plain dumb luck, they found themselves here - together. Head coach Jay Pivec enters the room and calls the team together as he paces slowly back and forth. Earlier this week, his father died. It has been difficult to concentrate on basketball. Pivec wears the same unwashed clothes he's had on for the past five games. He figures they have brought luck, so he will wear them until their karma runs out. The death of his father hit him hard. Jay Pivec's father, Frank, taught his children honesty, faith and compassion. His father's death reinforced what the son already knew: Winning games is not important, and neither is basketball. That is what he tells his team. ``The outcome tonight is irrelevant,'' he says in the locker room. ``You guys are winners no matter what happens. No one has beaten the odds more than you.'' He gives them final instructions, tells them what to expect from their opponent. ``Fouls negate hustle,'' he tells them. It's a message repeated throughout the season. ``I'm spent,'' he says. ``I can't give you any more. I'm done. This is not my game tonight. This is your game.'' He turns his glance to Eric Thompson, the team's leading scorer averaging almost 20 points a game. ``Eric, you gotta play like an All-American tonight, son. You gotta play like an All-American.'' Out on the court, the game for third-place is nearing its end. Pivec tells his team it's ``time for reflection.'' They bow their heads. ``Dear Lord,'' Pivec begins. ``Again we gather in your name. It has been one heck of a week ... It's been a painful week ... Let us, when we feel things are going against us, look through the window out there and see how many people have it much worse than we do. Let us realize how you have blessed us. It's been a heck of a journey.'' For Pivec and his staff, each season is a journey, filled with surprises and lessons along the way. It's a journey that plays itself out not only on the court but also in the hearts of young men looking for a second chance. For Pivec, spring arrives in mid-October, when the music of leather slapping the gymnasium floor and of basketball shoes shrieking against the surface of the court return to soothe his soul. Pivec, 37, spends the off-season working in basketball camps, planning, recruiting and studying the game he loves. But it isn't until the first day of practice that an instinctive rhythm, measuring time in hundredths of a second, begins ticking in his chest. Pivec depends on this sense of time to know what to do when his team is one point down with two seconds left in a game, and his players sit on the bench leaning forward, staring him straight in the eyes - weary, hopeful, trusting that he will map for them a miracle. Or when there is only one day to prepare for a powerful team that's coming to town to rip his guys apart. Or when a player comes to him fearing that time is running out on his dreams. When the first practice of the new season begins, so does time. In less than a week, Pivec will greet this year's team. On his desk, in a windowless office the size of a popcorn wagon, is a list of about 60 players he has contacted during the past year. They range from high-school stars to members of street gangs. ``We've got one person who's not coming back because his girlfriend's having a baby. We've got another one who isn't coming back because his mother's boyfriend threatened to kill him, so he's trying to take care of things at home. That's what we deal with here. We're not dealing with the kids who come in here with their letter jackets on and say, `Hey Coach, how ya doin'?' These are kids with men's problems. ``For some of them, this will be the closest thing to a family they will ever have,'' he says. ``To a lot of them, I will be the closest thing to a father they will have. I'm not sure if I like that responsibility, but I do it.'' Some of the players come from far away, like Jon Kee, who found himself in Minnesota in an attempt to flee the violence that was closing in on him in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. Once here, he wanted to find a basketball program that fit his needs. Or Chris Clark from Detroit. Clark, son of former University of Minnesota and NBA star Archie Clark, attended the University of Minnesota for two years. After red-shirting as a freshman, he received limited playing time lastseason, when he transferred to MCC, hoping for a chance to play. But most of the players are from the Twin Cities. This is their hometown. They know the streets, the shortcuts. And the dead ends. Pivec's philosophy is this: Basketball is a simple game. The most important thing he does is give players a second chance. His goal is to send them off to four-year schools where they can continue playing and, more importantly, continue their educations. He loves the game and he loves working with young people, but three years ago, he was ready to leave both. After a 6-20 season at Northern Montana College, Pivec stepped down from coaching and considered going into sales. He returned home to Minneapolis without a job to be among friends and family. Then, the MCC post opened up. The Marauders had just suffered through that 0-22 season, andPivec grabbed the job. A fire still burned within him, and even if basketball was not important,passion was. To hell with sales. For him, too, MCC is a second chance. When Pivec arrives on campus on Nov. 7, Election Day, he is greeted by good news and bad news. The bad news: One of his players has been skipping classes. He decides to cut Sean Primus from the team. In his three years at MCC, Pivec has never had to cut a player. ``He's going to be devastated, crushed, but it's the right thing to do. He has to learn that we are not here for basketball. Basketball is here for us. I get tired of kids not understanding that.'' When Primus shows up, coach and player talk in his office then emerge unexpectedly on the court, where Pivec calls the team into a huddle before practice. He explains that for about 30 seconds, Primus was off the team but was reinstated. ``You've got to understand, men, what we're trying to do here. But I'm not going to cast any of you out. We're here to help you within the rules. We're family. We take care of each other.'' As the team breaks huddle and starts to warm up, Pivec delivers the good news. ``The pre-season polls came out,'' he says. ``You're ranked seventh in the nation.'' A whoop goes up, and Pivec, his arms crossed, wanders slowly to the edge of the court. He explains that Primus was missing classes because he couldn't afford bus fare to get to school. A teammate has been giving him rides in the afternoons for basketball practice. ``He told me, `You gotta give me another chance, because it's the only chance I got.' He said he had $59 to live on for the month. A bus card is what, $36? I told him to get one. So that means he's got $23 to live on for the rest of the month.'' Pivec and his two assistant coaches, Ron Gates and Gregg Wheeler, are working the team hard, stressing fundamental skills. But not all their lessons have to do with basketball. Three days earlier, the Marauders visited the Stillwater Prison, where they scrimmaged with inmates. They met up with a guy named Isaac Brown, who was wearing a Los Angeles Lakers jersey. Brown said he wasn't much different from the MCC players. Brown grew up in St. Paul and played ball at Central High School. He still plays two to three hours a day - day after day, year after year. The only difference, he said, was that back in 1981, he made a mistake. He killed a cop. It was a tough crowd in the prison. Inmates on the sidelines taunted them fiercely throughout the scrimmage. As they left the prison, they inhaled the cold, fresh air. That was Pivec's lesson for the night. He wanted his players to appreciate the precious fragrance of freedom. These lessons help break up the daily grind of practices, which have become tedious as theMarauders await their Nov. 27 opener. As they begin their season, they have learned that sometimes you get a second chance, but sometimes you don't. If your luck seems to run out, don't give up. Breathe deeply the night air. Make wise decisions. Primus is late as the Marauders prepare to depart for Mason City, Iowa, for their first two games of the season. Pivec delivers a lecture on responsibility to the entire team and tells the players that if they are going to be late to telephone him or one of his assistants. Primus raises his hand and explains he doesn't have a telephone. But Pivec has decided: Those who arrived late will sit the bench this weekend. It is a lesson inaccountability. Primus, who lives in South Minneapolis, grew up in foster homes. ``I was by myself for a long time, like I am now,'' he says. ``But this team has a family atmosphere. This is like my family now.'' He says the gunfire and fear he knew on the streets led him to the gym. Basketball, he says, gives him hope. On any given night, he might be the one with the ball in his hands when the game's on the line and the clock's winding down. ``Everybody has a chance to be a star,'' he says. That is what motivates him, what makes him want to keep his place on the team. It's what brought him to MCC, and it's what will keep him looking down the bench, hoping to hear Pivec call his name this weekend. The Marauders' first opponent is Waldorf College. MCC scores its first bucket of the season with 18:02 left in the first half when Steve Seawright dishes to Clark for an easy two. MCC plays a swarming trap defense causing turnover after turnover. Offensively, however, the Marauders' shots aren't falling, and at the half, the Marauders lead 25-13. The play of both teams is sloppy, which Pivec attributes to taut nerves. Jeff Timonen, who transferred to MCC from Normandale this season, hasn't hit a single bucket, despite being one of the best outside shooters on the team. Timonen's former Normandale teammates are in the stands waiting to play in the second game of the evening. His parents also made the trip. He wants to put on a good show. Timonen left Normandale after receiving limited playing time, then suffering an ankle injury last season. He considered giving up basketball altogether, but decided to give it one last shot at MCC. Timonen was nervous about attending MCC, concerned that a white guy from the suburbs may not fit on a primarily black, inner-city team. But he found color not to be an issue. And the only concern he has right now is getting his shots to fall in the second half. Finally, MCC opens a comfortable lead. Everyone has been in the game except Primus. With 1:36 left, Pivec tells him to check in at the scorer's table. The thin, lanky player bounces up, takes the court and immediately he's calling for the ball, trying to get open. With 48 seconds left, Primus takes a pass and fires up a three-pointer from the right side that falls cleanly through the net. With 17 seconds left, he shoots again. Swish. MCC wins 68-45, and Primus finishes the game with six quick points. Timonen finishes the game with zero. He shot the ball 13 times and missed them all. In the locker room, he pulls the bottom of his jersey up over his head. The Marauders do not dine on the tender steaks of bigger collegiate programs. After the game, Pivec gives them $3 each to spend at the concession stand. Later, they will grab some pizza and turn in just before midnight. Primus goes to sleep content that he was able to contribute to the victory. Six points do not make up for being late, but they don't hurt, either. Had it been a closer game, Pivec might not have put him in. He knows that. But in basketball, one can never tell. Had the game been on the line when Primus fired off those shots, he could have been the hero, the star. But not tonight. Not this season. If you recognize Pivec's name, it might be from an incident in 1983 that still brands him as somewhat of a madman. While coaching at Jamestown College during a game in Bismarck, N.D., fans taunted his players with racial slurs. The next thing he knew, he had climbed into the stands, ready to rumble. Television cameras rolled. His own players pulled him back. Pivec received a one-game suspension, and says now that he was lucky he didn't throw away his career with that incident. He has changed since then, but he still believes in standing up for his players. Every now and then, when the Marauders hit the road for small towns throughout thearea, they hear racist comments. Pivec still feels rage, but he controls himself. On their second night in Mason City, Iowa, the Marauders take on the hometown NIACC team. The stands are nearly filled. The pace is fast from the opening tip-off, and the Marauders are able to open a small lead. Just over two minutes into the game, Timonen puts up a 3-point attempt, his first shot of the game, and it falls. He smiles. Late in the game, things heat up. Two players get into a shoving match and are ejected. A man with silver hair, glasses and a tweed sports jacket yells down at Pivec: ``Where'd you get these guys, out of jail?'' Pivec glances up and shakes his head. ``Take these guys back to Minneapolis, we don't want 'em here,'' the man continues. MCC comes away with another win. After the game, Pivec steams down the hallway to the locker room, where players are quickly climbing out of their uniforms. ``Hey, guys, I'm very proud of you. You were a class act in difficult circumstances. Any apologies that need to be made need to be made by their fans.'' The Marauders win their next two games and are undefeated as they head west to play the North Dakota School of Science in Wahpeton on Dec. 11. This will be their toughest test so far, and Pivec hopes they are not lethargic after the 3 1/2-hour drive. ``Dear Lord,'' he says in the locker room before they take the court, ``again we gather in your presence to thank you for watching over us so far in ourjourney ... '' Down on one knee alone in the corner of the room, his head down, eyes closed, is Tom Conroy. For Conroy, it has, indeed, been quite a journey, and this is a big night. In 1989, Conroy won the Mr. Basketball award, given annually to the state's top prep player. He was a rare talent at De La Salle High School, a smooth, slashing, lightning-quick point guard who at 5-foot-10 also could soar above the rim. To watch him play, says his former coach, Don Zierden, ``was a thing of beauty.'' He was bound for the University of Tulsa, where Zierden had become an assistant coach, but was stopped cold by Proposition 48, which set minimum academic requirements for college athletes. When the folks at Tulsa saw Conroy's high-school test scores, they pulled the scholarship. Conroy planned to attend the University of Minnesota, work on his grades and try out for the team as a walk-on the following year, but he never followed through. Last year, he attended Normandale Community College for two weeks, then dropped out. Finally, last spring, he enrolled at MCC, where Pivec said he would give him a chance if he first dedicated himself to academics. He finished the quarter with aB average but suffered a knee injury during the summer, postponing his college debut. Just before leaving for Wahpeton, his doctor finally gave him the go-ahead to play. In his excitement, Conroy forgot his game shoes. Since 1989, he has heard it all, the whispers about how Mr. Basketball wound up in the streets, how it was a fluke that he won the award in the first place. He desperately wants this chance to prove himself. ``I'm not going to give up this time,'' he says. ``I was immature before. I thought things were going to be given to me, but I know now that I'm going to have to work hard for things and fight through the hard times.'' Conroy was adopted when he was 6 weeks old and spent much of his childhood alone. His mother suffered through a 23-year bout with depression and often was hospitalized. His parents weredivorced when he was in the sixth grade. ``I was basically on my own,'' he says. ``She had a hard enough time just taking care of herself. She always tried to put food on the table, but ... anyone who has ever gone through life living on food stamps knows that there are times when you don't eat. But you survive.'' Even when there wasn't food, there was basketball. Conroy's childhood home wore the stamp of his hand prints, which he would leave as he jumped as high as he could, first against the walls, then above the doorways and, eventually, on the ceiling. In the eighth grade, he missed 50 days of school but not one basketball game. He used to laugh, because he thought he was getting away with something, but he's not laughing now. Early each morning, Conroy would head out to the playground, where he would practice alone until later in the afternoons, when others showed up after school or work. ``I found a joy in basketball that I couldn't find anywhere else,'' he says. ``Basketball is how I've always expressed myself, by playing and trying to become better. Sometimes, it was like a crying out. I just wanted somebody to care.'' His mother is better now, attending Normandale. He calls her every night, and he called her with the good news before leaving for Wahpeton. ``This is the happiest time in my life,'' he says. ``I know now that I can make it in the classroom. I never believed that before.'' As Conroy sits on the bench, the two teams battle evenly during the opening minutes. North Dakota School of Science climbs on top, 24-23, with 8:52 left in the first half. ``Conroy.'' Pivec's voice sends him tearing off his warm-ups. At 8:15 p.m. in a small town in North Dakota, Mr. Basketball finally takes the court in his practice shoes. With 4:58 remaining in the first half, he scores his first bucket, a free-throw shot. The Marauders lose in the final seconds of the game. Jon Kee misses a free-throw shot that could have secured the win. They are 4-1. One would think Conroy, even in defeat, would be soothed by finally playing in his first game. But he sits silently in the locker room, his head in his hands. Losing now, it turns out, hurts more than ever. The Marauders return from Christmas break with a 6-1 record, but final grades from the first quarter claim three players. One of them is Primus. Pivec calls him into his office, explains whatPrimus already knows. Maybe next season, Pivec says. Yeah, says Primus, who is in tears. They hug. Only 10 players are left, but they keep winning and improve their record to 9-1 before losing three straight in the middle of the season. As they head into the final week of division play, the Marauders are in a dog fight. Only the top two teams from the division advance to the state tournament. Anoka-Ramsey wraps up first place early. The second spot is left for MCC and Normandale to fight over. On the final day of the season, MCC must beat Willmar, and Normandale must lose to Austin for the Marauders to have a chance to go to the state tournament. Willmar has won only one game all season, and the Marauders win easily, 101-84. ``Now, we wait,'' Pivec says, pacing outside the locker room.He's waiting for a score from Austin. Willmar coach Mike Johnson places a call for him, but there's no answer in the Austin coach's office. The game isn't over. The Marauders climb back on the bus to head to Burger King for their post-game meal. Pivec has the Austin telephone number written on a small piece of yellow paper and says he will call from the restaurant. As they arrive at Burger King, players quickly get in line to place their orders. ``Is there a Jay Pivec here?'' a man behind the counter asks. It's Mike Johnson, the Willmar coach. He has gotten through to Austin. ``92 to 90,'' Johnson says. ``Who won?'' Pivec asks. Pivec listens, pauses, lowers the phone. All the players look at him in anticipation. ``We're in.'' Whoops of joy break out. Anelderly couple in line cowers beneath a series of high fives as players reach over them. A young family of four entering the restaurant sees the chaos, turns around and walks away. Two days later, the charged-up Marauders go on to defeat Normandale, 86-80, and are on their way to the state tournament. The game ends at around 9:30 p.m. At 9:50 p.m., Pivec's father dies. The coach was sitting in his office when his wife called with the bad news. The next day at practice, Pivec tells his players to remember to tell people know how much they love them. He reminds them of how unimportant basketball is compared to the significant things in life. Of his dad he says: ``He was my first coach, and he taught me many of the things I try to instill in you: honesty, humility. I'm going to miss him.'' In three days, the same dayPivec buries his father, the team leaves for Fergus Falls and plays Mesabi Community College in the first round of the state tournament. The two assistant coaches, Ron Gates and Gregg Wheeler, take the reins in Pivec's absence. They leave Pivec's chair open and dedicate the game to him. And they win, 90-76. Since the beginning of the season, coaches have been stressing that winning the state tournament is not enough, not for this team. They have set their sights high - on the National Junior College Athletic Association national championships in Delhi, New York. The following night, they beat Mankato Bethany Lutheran, a team that had beaten them twice during the regular season. Pivec arrives in Fergus Falls in time for the game, leaving behind a house full of relatives. And the next night, Eric Thompson tips in the winning basket with three seconds left in the game. The Marauders defeat Anoka-Ramsey by one point to win MCC's first basketball title in schoolhistory. As the buzzer sounds, Anoka players collapse to the floor in tears, stunned as they watch MCC fans - all 12 of them - rush onto the court. The Marauders celebrate briefly, then fall to their knees in the center of the court. The spectators become quiet as they watch the Marauders say a silent, post-game prayer. It has been an amazing stretch. In the past 11 days, they have won seven straight games. Now, they must win one more, a do-or-die regional playoff game against the champs from Wisconsin for a berth in the National Junior College Athletic Association Division III national championships in Delhi, N.Y. The University of Wisconsin Center-Richland Roadrunners have only seven players. They started out with nine, but one became academically ineligible, and another quit school to farm. The gym is small by even high-school standards. The scoreboard and clock don't work. MCC will start the same players who started the first game of the season in Mason City. Chris Clark is the point guard. He's the pit bull who runs the show. On the wings are Jeff Timonen, the long-distance sharp-shooter, and Eric Thompson, who has been a spark plug, the team's leading scorer, throughout the season. Underneath are Jon Kee, the lean, silky smooth transfer from Florida, and Steve Seawright, the horse. Tom Conroy started a few games in the middle of the season, but he has been used only sparingly of late. His mother came to a couple of games. Once, she brought a camera, and as Conroy was dribbling down the court, she shouted at him to stop and smile. ``Look, with everything we've been through this year, it's probably appropriate that this is the championship game,'' Pivec tells the team before the game. ``There's no clock, no scoreboard, no fans. All we have have is each other. That's all we've needed every game. That's all we need today.'' Midway through the second half, Chris Clark goes down with a sprained ankle and doesn't play the rest of the game. The Marauders are able to pull away and win 68-55. The celebration is low-key. The Marauders know they did not play well, but they also know they are going to New York. The day before they depart,Pivec scrambles to make airline reservations. The president of the school has given the team permission to fly, saying she will come up with the money somehow. Pivec orders the players to wear jackets and ties. Two say they don't have any. Clark, still suffering from a sprained ankle, will not play the first game of the tournament and may miss all three games. In his place, Tom Conroy will start. The Marauders land in Albany before driving 90 miles to Oneonta, where they are booked into the Holiday Inn. The tournament is being played at the State University of New York in Delhi, a quiet village in the Catskills - not exactly what the Marauders had in mind when the words ``New York'' were mentioned. The Marauders' first opponent is Sullivan County Community College, the defending champs. They bring a two-season, 68-game winning streak, one of the longest in collegiate history, to Delhi. They lead the nation in team offense and defense. At last year's tournament, they won all three games by an average of 31 points and are heavily favored to repeat as champions. The day before the game, MCC is practicing in the Delhi gym. The players are flat, perhaps from the trip, perhaps from the drain of having their backs against the wall over the past several weeks. ``They're going to play defense like you've never seen it played,'' Pivec tells the team in the locker room after practice. ``I can tell you right now, they think they're going to kick your ass. They think they're going to beat you by 45 points, and you know what? They are capable of doing it.'' Sullivan draws its players from Brooklyn, the Bronx and New York City. The entire team is made up of Proposition 48 players, players with the skills to play at four-year schools but who lack the academic requirements. Pivec can't name the other teams in the tournament. When he was told the Marauders would face Sullivan in the first round, he needed to hear no more. ``We didn't come here for a plane ride. We didn't come here to stay at a Holiday Inn. We came here to be the No. 1 team in the nation.'' The players listen quietly. Conroy, starting for the injured Clark, is nervous. It has been years since he has felt this way. He senses that finally he has his chance to shine. Pivec does his best to inspire his players, who seem to think they actually can beat Sullivan. He ends his talk with his heart. ``Don't ever, for the rest of your lives, underestimate how proud this coaching staff is of you. One, two, three ...'' ``TOGETHER.'' Eric Thompson hits a lay-up off the opening tip-off. Jeff Timonen cans a three-pointer, then a lay-up. Jon Kee scores. Less than two minutes into the game, the Marauders take a 9-0 lead, stunning themselves, the crowd and the Sullivan County Generals. The pace is racehorse fast. Sullivan quickly catches up and takes the lead, but the Marauders sense that this is a game they can win. At halftime, they trail only 40-37. About 1,200 people fill the gym's seats. With the exception of those who have driven the hour from Sullivan County, they back the Marauders, the underdogs, hoping for an upset. The lead changes hands for the 14th time when Timonen hits a three-pointer. With 3:41 left, the Marauders hold a one-point advantage. You can see the worry in the Generals' eyes. Their hopes of repeating as national champions are in jeopardy. But a team does not win 68 games without knowing how to overcome adversity. There is still time. They rally. With 1:31 left, Seawright, who has battled hard the entire game, fouls out of the biggest game of his life. On his way off the court, he pauses and shakes the hand of the referee who made the call. The Generals close to within one point. The Marauders call time out with just over a minute left in the game. In the huddle, Conroy tellsPivec, ``Let me have the ball. I can take him.'' ``Him'' is Donald Taylor, one of the best players in the country at this level of basketball, who is guarding Conroy. Pivec maps out a play. Conroy gets the ball on the in-bounds pass. The Marauders spread themselves out, leaving the middle open. Conroy squares around to face Taylor near center court to go one-on-one. He tried going to his right against Taylor in a couple of other one-on-one situations earlier in the game. This time, he drives left and bursts for the basket as hard as he can. Taylor stays with him. Conroy soars, puts the ball up with his left hand. It goes in. Timonen steals the ball on the in-bounds pass, is fouled and makes it 78-74 with less than a minute left. But in basketball, a minute can be eternity. As the game winds down, both teams turn the ball over. With two seconds left, Thompson passes the ball to Kee, who is fouled immediately to stop the clock. Kee, as he was in North Dakota, as he was against Normandale, is at the line at a crucial moment. If he makes the first shot, he gets a second. If he makes them both, the Marauders will have a three-point lead. If he misses and Sullivan rebounds, they'll have two seconds to score and win. Kee misses. Sullivan rebounds and calls time out. The Generals must go the full distance of the court within two seconds. Their best outside shooter tosses the ball up wildly as the buzzer sounds. He misses. The Marauders storm the court, hugging each other and slapping high fives. The Generals shake their hands, and as the Marauders run off the court, assistant coach Gregg Wheeler is at the entrance to the gym screaming above the crowd at each player. ``We got two more games, we got two more games.'' In the locker room, the Marauders immediately drop to one knee in a circle. They bow their heads. In a soft voice, Pivec says, ``Sometimes, things just happen. One, two, three.'' ``TOGETHER.'' He walks out into the hallway, turns and leans back against the wall facing the locker-room door. He can hear the players celebrating inside. Tears form in his eyes. ``My father would have been so proud,'' he says. The next night, the Marauders take on Howard County Community College from Columbia, Md., 24-6 in the season. The Marauders are tired. Their shots are falling short of the rim, and midway through the second half, they trail by 11 points. Once again, they rally. Conroy hits a foul shot to give MCC the lead with two seconds left in the game. His second shot bounces off the back of the rim. They are ahead by one point. Howard puts up a desperation shot at the buzzer, but it doesn't go in. That's it. The Marauders will play in the championship game. They are calling it the Blizzard of '93. The day of the championship finals, snow has postponed play. The Marauders spend the day wandering halls, playing video games, watching television. Justin Staples tries studying for finals, which are a week away, but it's too hard to think about anything other than the national championship. Just down the hall, the opponents from Onondaga Community College in New York are doing the same thing: playing cards, watching TV. The streets are closed to all but emergency traffic. Hotel officials are encouraging people to fill their tubs with water in case of an emergency. Tournament officials reschedule the game for 2 p.m. the next day, Sunday, but the snow keeps falling and falling. The wind howls all night. The next morning, the snow has stopped, but the wind blows fiercely. Tournament officials decide to cancel all but the championship game, which they schedule for 12:30 p.m. in Oneonta, where the teams are staying. The 20 miles to Delhi are too treacherous. Coaches rustle players out of bed and tell them to get downstairs and eat. At 10:30 a.m., the players are back in their rooms relaxing. Thompson and Seawright have climbed back in bed and are watching cartoons. The hotel is starting to smell like a locker room and sound like a college dorm, but the Marauders have stayed focused throughout the tournament, spending most the time quietly in their rooms. As Jon Kee puts on his uniform in his room, he talks about his son, Martavis, 4, in Florida. He has brought a picture with him and placed it on his nightstand. ``I want him to be proud of me,'' Kee says. ``I want to be able to tell him about what it was like to be national champions.'' The team leaves for the State University of New York in Oneonta at 11:15 a.m. The streets are plowed but deserted. They arrive at the gym, which is dark and empty. The bleachers aren't folded out. Nothing is set up. Assistant coach Ron Gates roams around, ``Hello, hello ... '' but no one answers, and his voice echoes off the cinder-block walls. Finally, a frosty janitor enters the building. He has been clearing sidewalks with a snow blower. The Onondaga team arrives, and players spread themselves on the court to stretch. There aren't any balls to warm up with. The janitor opens a storage room. The assistant coach from Onondoga starts sweeping the floor. Minneapolis assistant coach Gregg Wheeler finishes the job. At 12:25 p.m., the tournament director arrives with the game ball and trophies. The game for the NJCAA Division III national championship begins with 37 people in the stands. Throughout the season, the Marauders have been a second-half team. That's when they shine, when they seem to wear the other team down and force mistakes. During the past few weeks, the past dozen games, they have rarely led at halftime. They enter their locker room down 37-34 in the title game, but they remain confident, and they take the lead early in the second half. But each time the Marauders get close, the scrappy opponents break away and open a five- or six-point margin. With just over five minutes left in the game, MCC surges again, desperately playing a pressure defense and causing the team from Syracuse to turn the ball over. ``You're giving up,'' Coach Mike Rizzi barks at his team during a timeout. ``Every time you get the ball, you're going to be double-teamed ... Look for the open man.'' But the MCC rally continues. Seawright scores, then Kee hits with 4:52 left to bring the Marauders within one point at 66-65. With 42 seconds left on the the clock, Kee once again finds himself at the foul line at a crucial moment. The Marauders trail 78-75. The first shot falls cleanly through the net. The second shot rattles the rim and goes in. Kee brings the Marauders to within one point. They are 42 seconds and one point away from winning the national championship. Throughout the tournament, they have seemed to be a team of destiny. There have been moments when the ball seemed to bounce their way ad infinitum, when their passes cut a clean path through tangles of arms and legs and when their shots fell true like raindrops down a well. At times like that, they felt invincible. And there is still the feeling, they will find a way to win the game. But Onondaga refuses to give up the lead. With 31 seconds left, Thompson fouls out of the game. He walks to the sidelines, grabs a towel and thrashes a folding chair with it. Eight of the last 10 Onondaga points are scored from the foul line. With 10 seconds left, trailing 83-78, MCC calls a timeout. ``We have to steal the in-bounds pass or foul right away,'' Pivec says. ``One, two, three.'' In a soft, hopeless voice, the team chants, ``Together'' and returns to the court one final time. In their hearts, they know they are about to lose the championship game. The final score is 84-78. Onondaga players, most of whom never started on their high-school teams, run wildly onto the court and fall into a heap of celebration. The Marauders can only sit and watch. They finish their season of hope and glory with defeat and bitter disappointment - the kind that grabs you by the throat. Later in the locker room, they spread themselves out to be alone, to lament. Some of them cry. Pivec stands alone in the hallway. ``It wasn't meant to be,'' he says. ``I feel bad for the kids. I hurt for the kids, but I don't feel sorrow. Sorrow is what I felt when I put my father in his grave. I grieved then, I'm still grieving, but I'm not not going to grieve over losing this game.'' There will be other big games for some of the players, and Pivec will be busy from now until the end of the school year helping them get scholarships to four-year colleges. He will not measure the success of his program based on this moment, this loss or this 22-8 season. The real test, he says, will come on graduation day. Each player who walks away with a diploma is a mark in the win column. And each defeat, each player who doesn't make it to graduation day, will create a deeper sorrow than Pivec now feels. He already has been contacting new players for next season, because when October rolls around, the clock begins ticking again. And spring returns. |
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Illustration:4 Photos by Joe Rossi/Pioneer Press 1)&2)Above: In Minneapolis Community College's game against Worthington Community College, Coach Jay Pivec gives Aaron Smith final instructions before sending Smith onto the floor. Left: Chris Clark embraces teammates Jon Kee, left, and Eric Thompson during the final moments of the playoff game when MCC beat Normandale Community College. 3)In the locker room, Coach Jay Pivec leads his team in post-game prayer. Players from left, Mike Miller, Tom Conroy, Lorenzo Bronson, Jeff Timonen, Aaron Smith and Justin Staples. 4)Lorenzo Bronson listens to music and sleeps during a bus ride to play in Willmar. He's flanked by Marauders teammates, from left, Eric Thompson, Tom Conroy, Justin Staples and Steve Seawright. Photo by Evan Eile While the Onondaga Community College team celebrates after winning its national title, the defeated Marauders - from left, Tom Conroy, Justin Staples, Aaron Smith and Jon Kee - can only watch from the sidelines. |
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Copyright (c) 1993 St. Paul Pioneer Press |