A Dream That Couldn't Miss

By Tom Callahan

Once again, the first mention of a dynasty signaled its end. Figuring to become only the sixth university to repeat a national basketball championship, Patrick Ewing's Georgetown was about to be fitted beside Bill Russell's San Francisco and measured against Kareem Abdul-Jabbar's UCLA when destiny's Villanova happened along, singing a song, shooting 78.6% in the title game, missing one shot the second half. As the Nebraska football team seems to remember, being the best can be a lonely distinction next to beating the best, though last week's 66-64 final was more than just the most amazing basketball game anyone could recall. It was the most equitable upset of all.

How proficient a team may be at rebounding loses some moment if there are no rebounds. Reasoning that they played passably well under the circumstances --shooting almost 55% themselves--the Georgetown Hoyas had no difficulty afterward standing and applauding the Wildcats, whom they defeated twice during the season. From the little, mussed coach, Rollie Massimino, to the small, smiling guard, Gary McLain, Villanova is a most appealing winner. Massimino said, "I've screamed at this group more than any other, not because they are such good players, but because they are such good kids. They could take it." On the eve of the championship, Massimino's expressive eyes filled with water as he heard McLain describe him as "a brother, a friend, a father, your boss, your coach."

That is a fine definition of a teacher, and suits Georgetown's John Thompson no less. "We know how to win basketball games," he said, "and we know how to lose them." Before the game, Thompson had observed, "There are 50,000 ways of educating people," though this one could hardly have occurred to him. Since two of the other three teams in the Final Four were twice-beaten Big East rivals, Georgetown's dominance was a matter of record as well as opinion. Declaring Memphis State the secular national champion, country Coach Dana Kirk quickly left the tournament to these city Catholics. The untidiness of Kirk's 52-45 semifinal loss to Villanova obscured his prophecy: "If they're a Cinderella team, Cinderella wears boots."

Meanwhile, Georgetown was terrorizing St. John's, for the third straight time, 77-59. As wisps of point-shaving memories blow north from Louisiana, this has been a nostalgic season for college basketball in New York City. The local papers have clutched elfin Coach Lou Carnesecca adoringly to their breast, and more than one national organization has concluded that freckle- faced Guard Chris Mullin is the finest player in the country. He won the John Wooden player-of-the-year award, but it would probably be best if nobody asks UCLA's old coach his opinion. Of 148 sportswriters and broadcasters consulted by U.P.I., only 39 selected the 7-ft. center Ewing, who has now lifted his team to three final games and is beyond question the most significant college player since Bill Walton.

Ewing won the Adolph Rupp player-of-the-year award, though it is possibly just as well that Kentucky's bigoted baron is not around anymore to vote on who can play basketball. As Ewing was introduced for his final college game, a banana peel hit the floor of Lexington's Rupp Arena with a sickening whap. It seemed barely to miss slapping him, though he appeared not to notice. The Washington Post stopped recording this ritual when it ceased being news. "Bananas have been thrown at Ewing in at least ten games this year," Reporter Michael Wilbon says. Illiteracy signs were back also: EWING KANT READ DIS. If he is not the most glib performer in the interview room, Ewing apparently has had no trouble conversing with and charming teammates or classmates.

Even at a glance, his four-year development shows. There is no doubt either that Ewing made Georgetown rich or that Georgetown made Ewing meet some educational standard, enriching him as well. It was a square deal. "I've had a great career at Georgetown," he said. "I've learned a great deal." Fetching his award in the postgame commencement, Ewing poked a No. 1 finger at the roof, but in the next instant he seemed to lead the clapping for Villanova, especially for Ed Pinckney.

As a child of the Bronx, Pinckney visited the other New York boroughs, * sampling different styles like a linguist studying accents. In Manhattan, he learned power, in Queens finesse. Brooklyn showed Pinckney the attraction of flamboyance, but it is unlike him to display any. Massimino's preaching of "the perfect game" impressed the 6-ft. 9 1/2-in. senior center and fascinated him. "On a one-shot deal, we can beat anyone in the United States," the coach urged, and had Pinckney not believed him, would what the others thought have mattered? Though only by two points and a rebound statistically, he outplayed Ewing profoundly. Three Ewing dunks in a rattling row amounted to an invitation to shudder, but Pinckney was inspired.

"If we played them ten games, I don't know how many we'd win," he admitted. "Really and truly, I don't know if we thought this would ever come true. But we did dream it. We dared to." So suddenly the basketball season yielded not one, but two teams of lasting memory.