Today was the day the roof was supposed to fall in. You know, all these close losses over past 11 games. Only one blowout to a team that should have beaten us on their home court (Butler). Close losses to nova, Xavier, Creighton? Fooey. Even closer losses to Georgetown? Lolol.
Today would be the truth, and the truth would set us (sju) free (of Mullin). It wasn't if we'd lose. That was a given. It was by how much. 20? 30? 40? Geez maybe 50, and then Mullin and his neophyte staff would be out of town by sundown.
Fittingly this dual was at high noon. The matchup looked pitiful. Their starters and bench cast a long shadow. Their coach easily notched his 1000th win in his belt on the very same floor. Our coach would be proven once and for all that his worst 3 year stretch in SJU history was no fluke. He was in over his head and today would show it. Such a Greek tragedy that his slayer would be the very same coach k who badly wanted Chris as a player. K even showed up with a hated white bread villain as his point guard to drive in the nails to Mullins coffin.
It was David vs. Goliath. David never heard the news that he had to lose, and our David, a slinger named Ponds, didn't either. Something strange was unfolding.
Unfolding - what a oerfect word. There would be no folding today. Late in the game, Mullin looked confident. His lips wete tightly pursed as if he was about to smile, as if he knew the outcome but couldn't share it. As if Mullin himself,the kid who couldn't run or jump but who damned well could play, would run to a phone booth and emerge with a uniform and his deadly jumper. Fantasy.
No need for fantasy. This time very late it was David, our ponds , who was the slayer. Today the late bomb from deep in the right corner, Looie would say 10th avenue, came from Ponds. Today, a brilliant, beautiful drive from the right softly banked with his left hand was ponds. For good measure he drew the foul, driving one stake into the heart of the two headed giant beast. Late in the game as a lid came down over the hoop on his 1st free throw, ponds smiled. Any new York kid who rode the subway at night was not born to be afraid of what happens on a court. Ponds dropped in the second, all net.
So once again, ponds said to his guys, get on my back, but this time he got them to the promised land. Like Mullin of 34 years ago, in the world famous arena on 34th, ponds made his teammates better. Bashir Ahmed who was Bash-ed on here all season was a hero today. Owens , whose play had gotten worse and worse as he shot more and more was another. Simon played like a blue chipper every bit as good as the Dukie recruits today. In fact, all our guys left it all on the court. Trimble didnt look like a frosh. Even a Clark foul out couldnt deter our guys. Yakwe put in a solid cameo. No cheap suits today. We werent folding.
A better script could not have been written. For decades, good st. John's teams disappointed in big moments. We all feel that. Today, with the program looking about to collapse, only our coaches and players knew different.
And they delivered.
Delivered what may go down as one of the sweetest wins ever for our program. The one that ended the drought. The one that slammed on the breaks, just as the train was to go over a cliff where a bridge once stood.
It's too early to say this team is turned around. Mullin would give you that thin lipped smile. The one that says he knew, that there is no turn around here. That we've been headed in the right direction all along.
Yea mikey, F duke. F duke and anyone else who comes into our house to embarrass us. F Duke and their academic smugness , their one and done recruits headed to the NBA lottery, their rat faced coach who coolly put his jacket on with 2.5 seconds to go. Waving the white flag. And F duke fans, the ones who live in New York, Brooklyn, and Scarsdale, who dare call themselves new Yorkers now and who bought up every seat in the house at steep markups. F them all, but thank them. Because today, they were just all part of the script that made it all so sweet.
