November 21, 2006
Evanston, Illinois
Northwestern 64 Brown 40
My pregame meal was two triangles of Lou Malnati’s deep dish vegetarian. The cheese was epic, the crust a buttery xanadu. I renewed my palate with mom’s homemade vinaigrette over organic greens then chased it all with a crisp Bell’s Brewery Oberon microbrew.
Pop and I saddled up the Volvo and pointed it north up Green Bay Road. The Evanston night was just the right kind of chilly. Leaves skittered and danced in our headlights, someone was burning fragrant wood in their hearth, the stars winked in the clear black ink above. Way too cheap to pay for parking, we checked the Volvo on a quiet side street, grabbed two Wildcat butt cushions from the wayback and hiked the two blocks to Welsh-Ryan.
As we settled into our seats four rows off center court, however, a dark storm started to rage in my lower digestive tract. Maybe my belly has gone soft from years of third rate New York City pizza. Whatever the case, it soon became clear my dinner was not going to go quietly into the good night. Not wanting to miss a minute of my beloved collegiate hoops, I avoided the john by releasing well-timed (Star Spangled Banner, PA announcements) micro-farts. Longtime Wildcat sufferers in the near vicinity took the brunt of several emissions with midwestern stolidity and forbearance. It takes a helluva lot more to ruffle true sons of the heartland. NU superfan Bill Stafford was too busy heckling the card carrying AARP/Big Ten officiating crew to notice my pizza squeezes. Fortunately, by the time Barack Obama and family took their seats in the row behind us, the crisis had passed. Cutting gruyere on the future president and first lady would’ve caused me sleepless nights. Not that Barack hasn’t released colon whispers in a crowd, no one’s that perfect. But, still, you try to be a hospitable host.
Tonight’s game was a homecoming for the new coach at Brown, Craig Robinson. After six seasons beside Carmody at NU he was returning to Evanston for the first time as an opposing head coach. Not only that, his squad was fresh off an upset of cross-town bully Providence. Would Craig and the Bears be able to follow the momentum of that big win and embarass his former boss on their homecourt? Would the Cats be jet lagged from their weekend trip to Palo Alto? Would Barack Obama’s support of his brother-in-law Robinson doom NU? Or like Harold Ford Jr. perhaps the Barack bump wouldn’t be enough for the Bears. (Shame on Tennessee, by the way.) Is Vince Scott point shaving? Would my agita relapse? Would one of the refs blow an artifical hip? It was time to find out.
Given all the nice subplots it was amazing that the story of the night was the play of Ben Gay All-American Tim Doyle. In his third and final year after transferring from St. John’s, Tim’s hitched, rusty robot act has been a constant presence in Carmody’s rotation. His game, fueled more by smarts and guts than athleticism, is as retro as the butchwax his uses to solidify his ‘do. His passing sometimes achieves the sublimity of Cousy. His dribble drives, though not fleet, take supreme advantage of defenders who are snoozing or off balance. Despite an especially antagonistic relationship to gravity, he gets his shot off with clever ball and head fakes and by using his body to screen defenders. Sure, sometimes one of his no-look passes hits Willie The Wildcat in the first row or he turns an uncontested layup into something out of the 3 Stooges or one of his two-handed set shots finds nothing but Welsh-Ryan air. When his game falters, though, a familiar refrain rises up from middle-aged Wildcat faithful: “Gotta love Doyle. He plays like us.”
And therein lies his appeal. He plays like a fifty year old rec leaguer. When one of his self-described “flippers or dinkers” finds the bottom of the net it is a victory for the vertically challenged oaf in all of us. While he eschews an old skool headband, he makes up for it by wearing two kneebands. Further appealing to the middle-aged demographic, he (and teammate Vince Scott) are on personal missions to save the set shot from the endangered list. And when all else fails, he politics the refs like a Tammany Hall fixer. See Tim schmooze.
The fact is Doyle has extraordinary eye-hand and a high basketball IQ. And when he puts together consistent minutes his unorthodox game has charm and potency. Tonight was such a night. His passes were uncanny lasers. His dinkers were finding nothing but net. He was having fun out there. And we had fun watching.
Doyle’s line:
35 minutes
17 points on 8-12 FG, 1-2 FT
4 rebounds
8 assists
2 blocks
1 steal
The Cats were rough on their prodigal son tonight. To be fair the Bears were missing several starters due to injury and it showed. Robinson will have Brown competing for Ivy League crowns sooner than later. He’s already used his Chicago connections to land a nice shooter from the class of 2007: St. Joseph’s wingman Garrett Leffelman.
