University of Virginia Library

I. EXODUS

The St. Louis Invitational Tournament. Ever heard of it
before?

Prestigious? Remember who won it last year?

Still, it's two games on the schedule, so twenty-four of us
assemble at TWA Gate 7 at Washington National for the holiday
sojourned out to the Gateway of the West.

The official traveling party consists of twelve players, Coach
Gibson, his wife and daughter, assistant coach Chip Conner, team
manager Bob "Slick" Wilheim, sports information director
Barney Cooke, director of scheduling Steve Sebo, trainer Joe
Gieck, the "Voice of the Cavaliers" Chris Cramer, Bill Pinella of
The Daily Progress, CD sports editor Doug Doughty, and myself.
Twenty-four of us in all (not including U.Va sports enthusiast
Landon Birckhead and his wife, who'll go their separate way once
in St. Louis, and Tim Ashwell of WINA, who'll fly out the
next day). We'll stay in the same motel, eat at the same
restaurants, see the same sights, ride the same roads, and share the
same goals for the trip–enough to make us a temporary Missouri
community unto ourselves.

On the plane, Gibson and I wind up with aisle seats across
from each other, while just ahead of us Wilheim, holding a stack
of tickets, copes with the confusion of getting each of the players
into his assigned seat.

"We're going to St. Louis for three reasons," Gibson explains,
"to win the tournament, to spread the word of the University of
Virginia, and to have a good time."

The first game isn't until the following night, but Gibson never
lets the team travel on the day of a game. "I've had too many
things go wrong," he says. "It's not worth the money you save.
You have to treat these guys like thoroughbreds. You don't want
anything to throw them off-stride."

While the rest of the traveling party reads, talks quietly, or
listens to TWA's 9-channel stereo, the coach catches a few
minutes of sleep, only to be awakened by a stewardess serving
drinks. His team having played in (and won) the Palmetto Classic
last year and scheduled to play in holiday tournaments in Las
Vegas next year and Milwaukee the year after, I ask him where
he'd most like to spend the Christmas-New Year's interval.

"Home."

"No, seriously?"

"Home," he insists, although I still sense that if his team didn't
want to play during the holidays (he always puts tournament
bids up to a majority vote of the players) he'd be disappointed.

How does he feel about going to the St. Louis tourney?

"I won't know until after I've seen it." I begin to suspect that
the relative appeal of various holiday tournaments is not so much
determined by the size of the host city or by the caliber of
competition as by the way they treat the teams.

A few minutes of silence, then Gibson asks me for a pen and
something to write on. He challenges me to a game played by
drawing lines and crossing them out, and offers to buy me dinner
if I win. I lose. I lose again. I lose the whole damn way to St.
Louis. (He buys me dinner.)

As Mrs. Gibson informs me three days later, "Bill doesn't
challenge you to a game unless he thinks he can win."

The Gibson confidence is omnipresent, even though his
mild-mannered facade often obscures it to the public-at-large. It's
also contagious. With more than a hint of pride, he boasts, "There
isn't a guy on this plane who doesn't believe we can win the
tournament."

Like every man with confidence, his occasionally leads him to
ponder plateaus greater and more unreachable than he can
realistically expect at present. But the determination and the
drive – and even the sense of poetic justice – are there
nonetheless. Somewhere over northern Kentucky, he stands up
and says, "Steve, you know where the semi-finals and finals of
the nationals are being held this year, don't you?"

"No. Where?"

With a subtle but sly grin on his face, he punches me on the
arm and says, "St. Louis," and then walks down the aisle.

***

We touch down at Lambert Airport at 3:13 p.m. CST. Steve
Sebo spots the nearest newsstand and picks up a copy of the
afternoon St. Louis Post-Dispatch and turns quickly to the sports
section. The tournament story highlights Georgetown (our
first-round opponent) but has some nice things to say about
Barry Parkhill and Virginia.

Our baggage claimed, we pile on to a waiting bus which takes
us on a 25 minute ride down the western edge of the city to our
motel. There isn't much talking, as the paper being passed around
and the city outside the windows command our attention.

We arrive at the Quality Inn on Oakland Ave., three blocks
from the St. Louis Arena, where the main event of the trip will be
held. More confusion in the lobby as "Slick" assigns us our rooms
and gives us our keys. Meanwhile, Gibson is greeted by a friendly
female functionary. Pointing her finger at the Hooter in
mock-anger, she says, "You're the one team that didn't send the
pre-registration list. You're fired."

***

Fifteen minutes later, we're back on the bus, for another quiet
ride through the city to St. Louis University and what Jim
Hobgood would later accurately describe as a "dumpy old gym,"
where the Cavs have a practice scheduled for 5 o'clock.

Inside waiting is KTVI sportscaster Ed Macauley, with camera,
mike, and two-man crew, ready to grab Gibson as soon as he
enters. After prepping him on the questions he's going to ask him,
the interview begins. Gibson is, as always, calm and sincere as he
explains (as he would often during the next three days), "We
haven't quite put it together yet, but we're workin' on it."

"Bill, how do you build a program like you have at Virginia?"
Macauley asks.

"First, you get a player like Barry Parkhill," Gibson shoots
back. And the questions and answers continue routinely...blah,
blah, blah...

Finally, Macauley asks, "Can you win the tournament?"

"If the Pope is Catholic we can," Gibson quips off-the-cuff, to
Macauley's delight. Only this last gem will never reach the air
because the camera has run out of film, so the question has to be
asked again, and this time the Hooter gives a more conventional
reply.

Next, it's Parkhill's turn.

"Barry, how do you cope with the pressure?"

"I try not to think about it."

Blah, blah, blah.

Then it's Wally Walker's turn.

Blah, blah, blah.

In all, about thirteen minutes of footage, of which less than
two ends up on the air.

Today it's part of the game.

***

The workout lasts almost an hour and differs from regular
U-Hall practices in its shorter duration and minimized emphasis
on drills in favor of more shooting time. The team does, however,
split up into orange-and-blue sides to run through brief half-court
and full-court drills.

The practice over, Gibson calls the team together in the middle
of the court for a brief summation of the Georgetown game
strategy and a discussion of the evening's activities.

Hobgood has heard there's a pro hockey game at the Arena,
and "Slick" is dispatched to see if tickets are available. It is also
determined that dinner will be at Stan Musial's restaurant, next
door to the motel.

The team departs for the showers, and returns a few minutes
later to learn that the hockey game is completely sold out.
("Didn't you use your pull, Slick?")

Little do we know that it is an omen of things to come.

***

7:15, and we all congregate at "Stan Musial and Biggie's,"
most of us wondering who the hell Biggie is (it turns out he's an
old friend of Musial's, now deceased). Doughty and I join
Hobgood and Dan "Pins" Bonner at a table for four in the plush,
richly red dining room.

The food is delicious, the conversation light-hearted.

Hobbo, lamenting breakdown of class hierarchy: "When I was a
sophomore, they were dirt."

Bonner: "That's right, when you were a sophomore, you
probably were dirt."

The two, both extremely personable, continue to kid each
other about religion, fast driving, Bonner's breakneck pace of
eating, and Hobbo's missed last shot at the NIT last March.

Hobbo proffers, self-effacingly, "My senioritis was all packed
into one game (Princeton, against whom he didn't score)."

More seriously on the subject he believes North Carolina will
still provide the strongest ACC competition, "because they play

All photos CD/Steve Wells

Hobgood, Doughty, And Gerard Listening To Tour Guide During Visit To Anheuser-Busch

you 7-on-5."

Does he have trouble finding time for academics? "I had four
exams the week after the Lafayette game, and that was kinda
tough, but most of the time it isn't too bad.

Did he mind having to come back to Charlottesville to practice
on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day? "I just got into the
Christmas spirit and I had to rush back. That part was bad. Once
we got back it wasn't so bad, what with practice and all."

Behind us, the hostess points Stan Musial to the seat where
Gibson is sitting, and "The Man" goes to greet "The Hoot."

As they talk, Bonner says matter-of-factly, "He doesn't took
like a great baseball player."

Hobbo flashes a boyish grin and retorts, "Neither do I But I
am."

Meanwhile, at the next table, Slick, Parkhill, and Gus Gerard,
anticipating a forthcoming introduction to the great Cardinal
first baseman mull over possible compliments to pay him, such as

"I've always considered you one of the three or four great
rightfielders of all time," or "Didn't you pitch a perfect game?"

In a subsequent conversation later in the meal, Chip Conner
asks Musial a hypothetical question. "Could Roberto Clemente
hit Dizzy Dean's pitching?"

The Man's reply: "A good hitter can hit anything that's
thrown at him."

By now, it's sign-the-check-so-it-can-be-forwarded-to-the
-athletic-department-time, and a hassled Slick Wilheim does just
that.

Dinner for 24: $264.25.

***

Most everybody retreats to his room, what with curfew being
11:30 for the players (this doesn't mean they're in bed by that
time, just in their respective rooms). There is color television in
each room and candy and drink machines at various spots along
the labyrinth of outside corridors, so things could be worse in a
Missouri motel room the night after Christmas and before
Georgetown.