Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: TUESDAY, April 4, 1995                   TAG: 9504040072
SECTION: CURRENT                    PAGE: NRV-2   EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY 
SOURCE: STEPHEN FOSTER
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Long

REPORTER WAS STILL A HOKIE

Later that night - as any Tech fan knows by now - Watlington became a member of the 1995 NIT championship basketball team.

I want to know: What were you listening to, Damon?

If music is all I'd had to listen to when the newspaper sent me to the Big Apple for the tournament, it'd have been easy.

What I had to listen to, however, was a sense of professionalism demanding that I curtail the emotions I was feeling in pulling for my alma mater to go out of 1995 as winners.

I graduated from Tech in 1990. Back then, the basketball team's fortunes were waning. To see Bill Foster build the team back up has made for a great winter, especially considering the adversity it faced with its lack of respect and a shortage of able bodies.

My assignment in New York wasn't to cover the game, but rather the fans, the team taking in the sights, the "color" surrounding the game. Since my job is to try to relate a bit of what Tech followers are feeling, rather than the facts of the game itself, I felt I should let that excitement, nervousness, anticipation and worry go inside of me.

(Not that I could really help it.)

On Monday, I walked around New York with some of the players, searching for their reactions to the Big City for a story. But having only seen these guys on the court, having rooted my heart out for them all year from a faraway seat in Cassell Coliseum, hanging out with them made me a little nervous. (I imagine they felt the same way with a reporter and photographer shadowing them.)

They're regular guys, if first impressions mean anything. Ace Custis will talk to you without a hint of arrogance. Jim Jackson will crack a joke with a wink. Watlington might not be the most engaging, but he'll answer a question, and according to Custis, "he doesn't talk much" anyway.

It was fun.

Then there were the games. And still the job to do, in the midst of plenty of other journalists.

During Monday night's semifinal, Canisius College began clawing its way back into the game with time running down. My story, about fans and all the talk that had gone on about Tech's 1973 NIT victory, was pretty much already written. I sat on press row, suffering with a growing sinking feeling as Canisius drew closer.

Then, with about four minutes to play, point guard Shawn Good threw down a dunk. I said "Yes!" and threw my arms up - then immediately realized where I was.

Even though my assignment was somewhat predicated on my loyalty to the Hokies, I couldn't be seen cheering for the team in the middle of the press section during a nationally televised game. Decorum, that kind of thing, you know.

So I packed up the portable computer, and walked over to the Tech contingent behind the pep band. There I could cheer with everyone else. That I did, slapping fives with the fans after Tech pulled away to win, feeling satisfied, and beginning to ponder the possibility of "destiny."

For the championship game on Wednesday, I again had written most of a story before the game's finish. (Newspaper deadlines sometimes demand such things, at least for feature stories like mine.)

Midway through the second half, I was sitting by press row, and it didn't look good. Marquette was answering every Tech minirun, Custis had two points and the team looked frustrated, couldn't shoot very well and didn't seem to be getting the breaks.

I'm superstitious to a fault when it comes to sports. I decided I wanted to be with the faithful, to be a part of what was to transpire, good or bad. So again I moved over behind the pep band.

I also figured, professionally speaking of course, that it was my duty to be in the midst of the most fanatic of Tech fans.

Now I'm not saying the game changed around my movements .. but it was then that Tech started coming back, and you know the outcome. Believe what you want. (That's a joke, folks.)

When it was over, after several high-fives, jumping around and a grand, almost unending sense of giddiness, I had to remind myself that I could walk onto the court with my press pass, even as Tech fans were being thrown back by security guards. So I did, and got a comment for the story - it obviously had to be updated - from Custis, the pep band director and the Hokie bird, who gatored on the floor when I asked him how he felt and shook my hand when I told him I was a Tech graduate.

I pulled for this team all year as much for the "be true to your school" thing as for the admiration I had for a bunch of guys with heart and determination and guts unequaled in the game.

I've seen David Jackson sprawl on the court umpteen times. I saw Custis shut down the leading scorer in the country as Tech crushed Texas Christian University early in the year at Cassell. I watched Tech play above themselves and hang with North Carolina almost until the end. I ached when I watched with my dad as they lost to Louisville by a point at Cassell, and I fell listless after seeing them lose a heartbreaker on TV to that school up the way.

And I craned my neck Wednesday night to see through the back board as Shawn Smith sank two free throws with less than a second left in overtime to beat Marquette and go out of 1995 as champions.

I did a job in New York. Had they lost, I wouldn't have had a problem reporting the dismay that Hokie fans would've felt. I'd have felt it, too.

But I saw them win. If I had to say how it felt - whether as a reporter or a Hokie - I'd say it as simply as Custis did after the game:

"It feels great, man, it feels great."