The Cavalier daily :: Friday, January 5, 1973 :: University of Virginia Library

They respond by moving the chairs flush against the wall,
funeral home style. A few of them pass beer around, the rest sit
around the room making the party seem more like a wake.

Parkhill appears to be taking the loss harder than anybody,
sitting with his head down, politely responding in low tones to
the friendly words of a well-wisher. A man comes over, Barry
half-rises to shake his hand. The man introduces himself and asks
Barry how he is.

"Pretty good," says Parkhill. Then, after thinking about it, he
adds, "That's a lie."

Most of the players are trying to figure out what went wrong.
One of them comments, "They were psyched. We weren't."

Conner enters with one of the 48-inch sandwiches which had
so impressed Gibson the night before, and Mrs. Gibson starts
cutting it and passing it around.

Barney Cooke And Joe Gieck Relaxing At Motel

I bump into Gibson, even now the congenial host, and he
explains that had this been any other time of the year he
wouldn't have arranged a party (if what we're standing in the
middle of can qualify as such). But, as we have been almost
forced by circumstances to forget, this is, after all, the holiday
season.

"They'll bounce back," Gibson says confidently of his team,
as Parkhill comes over. Hooter throws his arm around the guy
who, as a Post-Dispatch story said, "brought Virginia basketball
out of the dark ages."

"I was just telling Steve, we'll be all right, won't we?"

Parkhill agrees, but his thoughts are still about tonight. "I just
can't get used to losing," he says.

Gibson shakes him gently, as if Barry were his son, and
answers, "I wouldn't want you to."

After Barry has moved on, the Hoot looks around the room at
his team and says, "They're a great bunch of guys. I wouldn't
trade them for anything."

And you know he means it.

***

About 12:30, as the guests are beginning to leave, Prins enters
and is offered a beer. "You're giving him a beer?!" somebody
says playfully, as Jane Gibson picks up the knife which was used
to cut the sandwich, and taps it in, her hand in mock-anger.

Prins and Gibson exchange a couple of good-natured
wisecracks, and then Prins talks about some of tonight's calls,
admitting that he made one bad one (which happened to go in
Virginia's favor). He chats with the players, calling them by their
first names, and soon he has you realizing that refs are good guys,
too.

***

By now, the gloom has lifted somewhat. The players are talking
about things other than the game, and even an occasional smile
can be detected.

A little before one, a few students from U.Va. who live in St.
Louis come to inform us that the party they had planned for
tonight has not been called off because of the outcome of the
game (not having heard from them, we assumed it had been). So,
with a reminder from Gibson that everyone has to be up at 7:30
in the morning for the flight back, we head out to the suburbs.

While some of us help ourselves to the rather elaborate buffet
that has been prepared, others start up a poker game in the next
room.

The spell has been broken–at least temporarily. Even Parkhill
comes around. There is a soothing effect in the sense of
camaraderie that comes out of the jokes and non-sequiturs the
players hurl at one another.

Stahurski walks through on his way to get a drink, and
someone says, "Have you ever noticed that Lanny's bigger than
the tallest Clydesdale?" He comes back through, silently, and
Hobbo says, "Bye, Dino."

"Rookie" Walker is teased about his youth, and laps it up.

Al Drummond is teased about being the only black on the
team ("Hey, Al, come shine my shoes.")

"Butch" McKeag boasts about his 1.000 tournament shooting
average. "Yeah, but you only tried two shots," he is
reminded.

For the moment, things are back to normal.

Before we left Charlottesville, Bill Gibson told me he had three
goals. "The first is to win at Virginia, the second is to win big at
Virginia, and the third is my financial security."

He has already accomplished the first of those goals, "and if
you don't believe that was tough..." his voice trailed off, then he
finished his thought, "I can show you budgets."

The third you get the feeling will take care of itself in due
course.

The second–the one that would culminate in his dream of
winning an NCAA championship–will be the most difficult to
attain.

Right now he is coaching a team that, young as it is, has the
commitment to excel. From St. Louis they return to
Charlottesville, where they have regular practices (for the Duke
game) scheduled for New Year's Eve and New Year's Day.

It is a measure of Gibson's feeling for his players that he turns
over his entire house to them on the night of the 31st so they can
have a party.

And as long as this close friendship and respect between
players and coach exists mutually as long as the Hoot's family
remains dedicated to the same goals he is, and as long as the
athletic department doesn't tighten the purse-strings again, Bill
Gibson has a lot of happy years to look forward to.