Indy Boswell

Despite an optimistic attitude, by the time Coach arrived in Jordan, he was an older man on a declining path with failing health. Communities in basketball-crazy Indiana wore the success and failure of their high school basketball teams on their sleeves, and in Jordan the sleeves were well worn. The year before Coach’s arrival, the Jordan Cavaliers had won only two of twenty-one games with a team of five starting seniors. The final loss, 89-21, to the Krampton Tigers in the first game of the statewide tournament was especially humiliating.

The day of the first scheduled practice, while shots clanked off the backboard and rim, Coach walked from his office to the gymnasium wondering what the future held. Once in the gymnasium, however, Coach quickly threw his musings aside and took charge, blowing his whistle, signaling his new team to him. After introducing his approach and philosophy, Coach was disappointed—his boys were doubters. For example, at one point Coach asked one of his aspirants if he thought the team could win more games than last year’s team.

“I don’t know. I doubt it,” David Minor responded. “Everyone graduated.”

“You can never achieve anything with doubt in your mind!” Coach answered instinctively. “It’s not easy, boys, but you can climb mountains if you want to! If you set goals and work hard, you’ll be surprised what you can do!” Coach proceeded to bring up the Krampton Tigers as an example. “Do you know what my goal is, boys? My goal is to give Krampton a game! Not just any game! But a game that people will talk about for years!” Coach implored the boys further, “What do you say? How’s that for a goal!”

With more doubters than believers, however, improvement came slowly. Despite extraordinary efforts in intense practices, the Cavaliers went 3-18 in Coach’s first season while losing the first game of the state tournament to Krampton. Having accomplished little more record-wise than their predecessors, the Jordan boys continued to lack confidence and belief in their efforts. Coach saw the year differently than his boys did however; he knew they were getting better. Two of the three victories came late in the season, and Jordan’s loss to Krampton in the tournament, while still humiliating, was only half as bad, 72-38, as the tournament loss the year before.

Summer came and went, and before long another basketball season commenced. Much to everyone’s surprise, the Jordan boys won their first two games. Undefeated after two, an experience not enjoyed in Jordan for more than twenty years, the town was abuzz. Even so, because of Jordan’s long history of disappointment, the townspeople, as well as their boys, shared only cautious optimism.

Recognizing lingering doubt, Coach knew he had to take action. So during the week before the third game, he called each of his players into his office separately. Coach’s conversation with Paul Black typified his similar message to each.

“Tell me, Paul,” Coach started, “What do you think of our team now that we’ve won our first two games?”

“What do you mean, Coach?”

“Exactly that. Are we any good or not?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Coach. I think we’re getting better, but I’m not sure whether we’re any good or not.”

“Could we give Krampton a game?”

“Oh no,” Paul laughed, “We’re no where near that good!”

Whether talking with Jimmy, Sammy, Rick, or Thad, whether David or Ned, it didn’t matter. Each boy responded essentially the same way.

“Damn it,” Coach barked while adding each boy’s name to his expletive, “if we’re ever going to give Krampton a game, then you’re going to have to start believing we can! Don’t you know that I’m counting on you! You’re the one person that’s holding us back. Look, son, I’m not asking you to score points! I’m asking you to believe! Now, what do you say? Can we give Krampton a game?”

Even though each boy left Coach’s office verbally committed, in truth, doubt remained. And despite a subsequent successful regular season with only three losses, Coach was still disappointed at season end. The reason? One of the three losses came at the hands of Krampton, and Coach knew that his players considered the 63-46 loss almost a victory. “Heck,” Jimmy Caldwell said, “Krampton didn’t even substitute for a starter until the fourth quarter.”

With the finish of regular season the state tournament began, and after an initial bye then two victories, Jordan made it to the finals of the sectional tournament. Jordan’s opponent for the sectional final? The Krampton Tigers, of course!

Despite their team’s regular season success, an engrained fear lingered over the Jordan fans. Many wondered whether an earlier tournament loss might not have been better than another humiliating loss to Krampton, especially now in front of a championship crowd. Regardless, on that cold early March evening, a nervous group of boys went to the Krampton gymnasium to see what they could do.

As his boys warmed up, Coach looked towards the rafters and smiled as he read an engraved plaque with the familiar Grantland Rice oracle: “For when the One Great Scorer comes to mark against your name, He writes not that you won or lost, but how you played the game.”

The championship game started raggedly as many championship games do with neither team scoring in the first two minutes. Although Krampton then scored eight straight, the Tigers found it difficult to expand their lead. Heading to the locker room at halftime, Paul Black looked up at the scoreboard: Tigers 31—Cavaliers 21.

After allowing his team a short rest, Coach addressed his charges in the locker room. “We can do it, boys! Don’t you see it? This is what we’ve worked for! We’ve got Krampton on the run! So now what do you say! Let’s go back out there and give the crowd a game they will never forget!”

The boys jumped up in unison. Yelling encouragement to each other, they rushed back out to play the second half.

Play recommenced, and although Jordan quickly halved Krampton’s lead, the Cavaliers had trouble narrowing the gap further, and with two minutes left in the game the score was still in Krampton’s favor, 53-50. After a subsequent trading of baskets and a Jordan foul shot, Sammy Mowry put in two for Jordan, tying the score at 55 points apiece. While the Jordan crowd screamed in delight, Krampton called time out to set their final strategy. Thirty-five seconds remained on the clock.

Coach knew Krampton would want to get the ball in the hands of their best player for the final shot, so in his huddle he set his own strategy. Coach appealed to his boys, “Get ready! Krampton’s going to set picks to get Krobowksi free! Give Rick the space he needs to fight through them.” Looking at Rick, Coach continued, “Krobowski likes to fake right, then go left. On his first dribble you’ll have an excellent chance to steal the ball. Go for it!”

“I’ll try, coach!” Rick Resson responded. “I’ll try!”

“That’s all I’m asking, son.”

Both teams broke from their huddles. After a pass in, Krampton brought the ball past half court. Both teams prepared themselves for the definitive play as the clock ticked down. Then with fifteen seconds remaining Krabowski moved past two tight picks and took control of the ball at the top of the key. Hustling, Rick Resson stayed with him all the way.

Moving the ball back and forth at arm’s length away, Krabowski taunted Rick. Three, four, five seconds ticked off the clock, then suddenly Krabowski made his move—first faking right then bouncing the ball to his left. Anticipating the move, Rick reached and slapped the ball free towards his own end of the court—an open court. As Rick raced around a stunned Krabowski, a roar exploded from the Jordan crowd.

But then suddenly a lonely whistle—barely loud enough to be heard over the screaming crowd—pierced the air. At first, an eerie, almost ghostly silence fell over the gymnasium, then a collective groan. Both spectator sides seemed in shock. The referee under the basket, now waving his arms back and forth, ran towards Rick and Krabowski. Pointing an accusatory finger towards Rick, the referee yelled, “Number 32! Foul on 32! Number 43 is shooting!”

Again, the crowd roared, but this time while one side raised its collective voice in relief and unrestricted jubilation, the other side screamed with unbounded outrage.

It did not matter how either side felt, however. The outcome would remain forever the same. Krabowski made two foul shots, Jordan missed a final desperation shot, and the record books would record Krampton the winner, 57-55.

And two months after that game Coach passed away.

Indy Boswell, 2004