THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, March 17, 1996 TAG: 9603170095
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: NORTH CAROLINA
SOURCE: PAUL SOUTH
LENGTH: Long : 147 lines
Thursday night, 11:30, when most of the civilized world is drifting off to peaceful sleep, I am camped in front of the TV, remote in hand, a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips in easy reach.
That's about as close as we get to wild life here on this end of Sir Walter Raleigh Street in Manteo.
During the night, I was anguished as the Western Carolina University Catamounts fell just short of knocking off highly regarded Purdue. I hurt as Duke's gritty guard Chris Collins wept in the reality that his college basketball career was over. And I rejoiced as Princeton bounced defending champion UCLA from the tournament, proving that the ability to spell and shoot the jumper are not mutually exclusive.
As the last game of the night - Georgia's win over Clemson - drew to a close, I tried to figure out why I decided to take a ride on this emotional roller coaster. After all, I had no ties to any of the schools involved. No feeling of ``Win one for dear old alma mater.''
What is this insanity called March Madness? And why do I care when teams I know nothing about win or lose?
Then I remembered Bruce Bell.
In 1978, Bruce Bell was the lone senior on a Duke University team that stunned the college basketball world by advancing to the NCAA finals against Kentucky.
On a Monday night in March 1978 at the Checkerdome in St. Louis, Bell, a native of Lexington, Ky., and a guard for the Blue Devils, watched as the final seconds ticked down to a 94-88 Kentucky win.
And he had only one thought. Not about what coulda, shoulda or mighta been. But about the team.
``That game was like a blur,'' Bell, now a Lexington attorney, told me in 1991. ``And as the game wound down, all that I could think about was that I would never play basketball or be together with these guys again. It was my last game. It was all going to be over. It all went by so fast.''
In his four years, Bell had seen Duke transformed from an also-ran to a contender. Kids from places like upscale suburbs of Atlanta and inner-city Philadelphia came together under Coach Bill Foster and won, and won, and won. Bruce Bell can tell little about each game, who scored when and how much, but he can tell you about the young men he came to know as brothers in four years.
``The thing about it was, we were all so close,'' he recalled. ``Winning helped that, I'm sure. But we had guys from the North, the South, the East, the West, black and white. We had guys who were Christians, and guys who weren't religious at all. It was an odd mix, but we all got
along so well. We had a closeness that unless you played sports on a team, you can never understand.''
That closeness has remained through the years, though much has changed for Bell. Since that night in St. Louis, he has married and has three children. Bruce was there every day for three years as his father, former NFL referee Tommy Bell, battled cancer and eventually lost. Ironically, the elder Bell was a member of the University of Kentucky Athletic Board when his son's Duke team met the Wildcats in the '78 finals.
``Once, I took my son to the Kentucky State High School Tournament, and there was a team there that was like our Duke team, and I thought, `I wish my dad could see this,' '' Bell said.
``I'm so glad he and my mom got to see us that night in St. Louis.''
Life has gone on since the 1978 Checkerdome showdown, when Bell's high school teammate, James Lee, ignited Kentucky's second-half charge to a title. But it is not the game Bruce Bell remembers most.
``I remember watching Bo Jackson say goodbye to his teammates after his football injury,'' Bell said. ``It really tore at my heart. I fought back tears. Unless you've been on a team, you can't know. You can't know.''
Maybe that explains why many of us crowd around our TVs come tournament time. And it's something more than the office pool.
In a time when many of us try to hide our hurting hearts away, March Madness gives us an excuse to open up. We can cry with Western Carolina and celebrate with Princeton.
And it gives us a sense, albeit from a distance, of the feeling that Bruce Bell had on a March night in St. Louis.
Unfortunately, for most of us, that will be as close as it gets. As Bruce Bell said, unless you've been there, you can't know.
Thursday night, 11:30, when most of the civilized world is drifting off to peaceful sleep, I am camped in front of the TV, remote in hand, a bag of sour cream and onion potato chips in easy reach.
That's about as close as we get to wild life here on this end of Sir Walter Raleigh Street in Manteo.
During the night, I was anguished as the Western Carolina University Catamounts fell just short of knocking off highly regarded Purdue. I hurt as Duke's gritty guard Chris Collins wept in the reality that his college basketball career was over. And I rejoiced as Princeton bounced defending champion UCLA from the tournament, proving that the ability to spell and shoot the jumper are not mutually exclusive.
As the last game of the night - Georgia's win over Clemson - drew to a close, I tried to figure out why I decided to take a ride on this emotional roller coaster. After all, I had no ties to any of the schools involved. No feeling of ``Win one for dear old alma mater.''
What is this insanity called March Madness? And why do I care when teams I know nothing about win or lose?
Then I remembered Bruce Bell.
In 1978, Bruce Bell was the lone senior on a Duke University team that stunned the college basketball world by advancing to the NCAA finals against Kentucky.
On a Monday night in March 1978 at the Checkerdome in St. Louis, Bell, a native of Lexington, Ky., and a guard for the Blue Devils, watched as the final seconds ticked down to a 94-88 Kentucky win.
And he had only one thought. Not about what coulda, shoulda or mighta been. But about the team.
``That game was like a blur,'' Bell, now a Lexington attorney, told me in 1991. ``And as the game wound down, all that I could think about was that I would never play basketball or be together with these guys again. It was my last game. It was all going to be over. It all went by so fast.''
In his four years, Bell had seen Duke transformed from an also-ran to a contender. Kids from places like upscale suburbs of Atlanta and inner-city Philadelphia came together under Coach Bill Foster and won, and won, and won. Bruce Bell can tell little about each game, who scored when and how much, but he can tell you about the young men he came to know as brothers in four years.
``The thing about it was, we were all so close,'' he recalled. ``Winning helped that, I'm sure. But we had guys from the North, the South, the East, the West, black and white. We had guys who were Christians, and guys who weren't religious at all. It was an odd mix, but we all got along so well. We had a closeness that unless you played sports on a team, you can never understand.''
That closeness has remained through the years, though much has changed for Bell. Since that night in St. Louis, he has married and has three children. Bruce was there every day for three years as his father, former NFL referee Tommy Bell, battled cancer and eventually lost. Ironically, the elder Bell was a member of the University of Kentucky Athletic Board when his son's Duke team met the Wildcats in the '78 finals.
``Once, I took my son to the Kentucky State High School Tournament, and there was a team there that was like our Duke team, and I thought, `I wish my dad could see this,' '' Bell said. ``I'm so glad he and my mom got to see us that night in St. Louis.''
Life has gone on since the 1978 Checkerdome showdown, when Bell's high school teammate, James Lee, ignited Kentucky's second-half charge to a title. But it is not the game Bruce Bell remembers most.
``I remember watching Bo Jackson say goodbye to his teammates after his football injury,'' Bell said. ``It really tore at my heart. I fought back tears. Unless you've been on a team, you can't know. You can't know.''
Maybe that explains why many of us crowd around our TVs come tournament time. And it's something more than the office pool.
In a time when many of us try to hide our hurting hearts away, March Madness gives us an excuse to open up. We can cry with Western Carolina and celebrate with Princeton.
And it gives us a sense, albeit from a distance, of the feeling that Bruce Bell had on a March night in St. Louis.
Unfortunately, for most of us, that will be as close as it gets. As Bruce Bell said, unless you've been there, you can't know. by CNB