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College basketball: March Madness 2005
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So this tale of a title ends in tears of joy and sadness
By JOHN ROMANO
Published April 5, 2005
ST. LOUIS - Sometimes, you get the fairy tale.
A happy ending for a grateful man. A story so perfect, so appealing, that you wish all games and all championships could end this way.
Sometimes, you get a portrait of heartache.
A sad conclusion for a sincere man. A tale that ends abruptly, somewhere short of a prize chased the better part of a lifetime.
Sometimes, you get both in the same night.
Did you see North Carolina coach Roy Williams swallowed in the embrace of Sean May? Did you see Illinois coach Bruce Weber pause for just a moment to see the confetti fall, then walk from the court with his head bowed?
Two sentimental stories, with room for only one happily-ever-after.
You knew it would have to be this way. This was not Williams versus Bob Knight, a coach who long ago used up his share of sympathy. This was not Weber versus Mike Krzyzewski, who has won titles before and will likely win them again.
This was two guys you couldn't help but feel sorry for. Two decent men trying to overcome different types of suffering.
It was Weber whose mother passed away less than a week before the start of the tournament. And it was Williams who had won 469 games, but heard most often of the one victory that, until now, had eluded him.
Your heart wanted one to prevail. Your gut wanted the other. Your brain couldn't decide whether you were being too sentimental or too nostalgic.
"I've always wanted him to win a national championship, I just didn't want it tonight," Weber said. "He's a guy you cheer for."
It had taken him too long to get here. Of that, even Williams might agree. He had won 40 tournament games before Monday, and no one had won more without the pleasure of cutting down a net.
When it was over, when the burden had been lifted, it was as if Williams had a lifetime of celebration to catch up on.
Upon completing TV and radio interviews, he threw a headset to the ground and nearly knocked down a photographer while racing to the midcourt podium where his players were gathered. Once there, he shimmied, shook and laughed as his players sang and danced beside him.
Later, after the championship trophy had been presented, Williams slipped away from the revelry. He cut through rows of courtside tables and stepped into the bleachers. There, with tears in all of their eyes, he embraced his wife, Wanda, and his children, Kimberly and Scott.
"They know how much it means to me, they know how hard I've worked. And I know how much they've sacrificed," he said. "I have a family that I truly love and feel fortunate to have. It was a nice moment to share."
Elsewhere, in another part of the arena, out of sight of cameras and fans, Weber was also in an embrace. He also had tears in his eyes.
Weber sought out senior guard Luther Head. It was Head who threw the pass intercepted by Raymond Felton, which essentially was the Illini's last gasp.
"I hugged him and cried. He cried," Weber said. "He's come so far. I couldn't be more proud of a kid."
Just look at Weber on the sideline.
The orange sport coat comes not from Paris, but Delbert's Clothing in Arthur, Ill. The voice is the rasp of a cartoon villain. The spirit is pure Midwestern, a tough little kid from a tightknit family in Milwaukee.
He was in his 40s by the time Southern Illinois hired him as a head coach, and his hair was sprinkled gray by the time he got his break at Illinois.
This was Weber's time. It just had to be.
No one is suggesting he won't make it back here. That, in his seven years as a head coach, he hasn't already proven himself worthy of bright lights.
It's just that he will never have a better chance. A more perfect confluence of events. He had the players. Special players, but not too special. The type not in a rush to declare for the NBA draft.
He had the break of a lifetime. The improbable comeback against Arizona that left the Illini feeling as if their mission was preordained.
And, in the midst of it all, he had us feeling his sorrow.
Dawn Weber, 81, was on her way to see Bruce and the Illini in the Big Ten Conference tournament when her heart gave out. It wasn't until a postgame news conference that Bruce's wife pulled him aside to break the news. He left and was at his mother's bedside when she died that evening.
"Our family really came closer together over this last three, four weeks, just kind of enjoying everything and celebrating my mom's life," Weber said. "But the basketball part has been tough.
"You know, I'm tired. It's been grueling, a lot of tension.
Just look at Williams kneeling by the edge of the court.
He is famous. He is wealthy. And, before Monday night, he had been trapped in that void between his accomplishments and our perceptions.
Williams, you should know, has the fourth-highest winning percentage (.801) in NCAA history. The guys ahead of him - Clair Bee, Adolph Rupp and John Wooden - are generally considered legends.
But, for Williams, that was all so much filler. Without a championship to his name, he would always have been the best coach who never won it all.
"I don't feel like there's a load off my shoulders," he said. "But it'll be nice not to hear those questions again."
So now it has come to pass. Williams has his title; the critics will have someone new to pester.
And now Weber has time to grieve. Both for his mother and for the season that was 40 minutes shy of a fairy tale.
They met before the game at midcourt. Two men full of hope. Two stories nearing their ends.
When it was over, they went their separate ways.
And you weren't sure whether to laugh or cry.
[Last modified April 5, 2005, 02:06:21]
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