One Shining Moment in the Twilight Zone

Last night, I watched the 1982 NCAA Basketball Championship between North Carolina and Georgetown on ESPN Classic. This game is widely considered one of the most exciting and memorable championship games in that sport. It is the last one that I don't personally rememember watching. I probably was watching it - we were a college basketball household - but I don't remember that night. I remember the next year's NC State/Houston classic and I remember Lorenzo Charles' last-second tip-in that shocked the world. The UNC/Georgetown one, I only know from what I've heard.

I knew Michael Jordan, as a freshman, hit the game-winning shot. I knew that Freddie Brown of Georgetown threw the ball right to James Worthy of UNC in the closing seconds, sealing the loss. It is the only reason I know Freddie Brown's name. That is sad. I have often wondered whether he's glad he got to play in that game. Making it to the championship game, even if you lose, is a life-changing memory, but who wants to be remembered for the bad play at the end of the game? I'd be interested in his take on it after all these years. I'm sure interviews and articles have been done. I'll have to check it out. Anyway...

Watching the game was really weird. First of all, because these two teams played last week for a trip to the Final Four, there has been a lot of talk about the storied championship game. It was pretty well hyped in my mind. Watching it, though, made me realize how dramatically the game has changed. There was no shot clock. There were no 3-pointers. There was a lot more standing around. It was intense and competitive, but slow and rudimentary compared to the effort and sophistication of today's game. If it were played today, it would appear to be at about 65% of normal speed and energy. I have seen this transformation happen gradually, but watching that game, thought to be one of the greats, illustrated it sharply.

The strangest part, though, was watching Michael Jordan. He was a promising freshman, at the time, but no one in the world knew the phenomenon he would become. He was, or at least led, the aforementioned transformation of the sport. He was like nothing anyone had ever seen or imagined. But in this game, he wasn't any of that yet. He was kind of slow. A little timid. He was the team's 3rd or 4th offensive option. He missed lay-ups early in the game, but came on strong late, finishing with 16 points, including the game winner. He would fake toward the basket, but not drive by a defender. The announcers, discovering that he might be really good as they watched, would say things like, "Boy, this kid can really jump high!" It was unbelievable to watch him, knowing what he could do - what he would one day do - and not see him do it. I'll stop babbling about it now, but if you ever want to feel like you're in the Twilight Zone, watch that game where no one except you knows you are watching the greatest player ever.