By Bob Markus

I haven't watched much college basketball this year, a fact I hope you won't remember in a week or so when I give you my "expert" opinion on who's going to win the NCAA tournament. But this morning I noticed in the radio-TV listings that DePaul's Big East tournament game against South Florida was going to be televised. I knew that this would be my last chance to see the Blue Demons this year inasmuch as they had about as much a chance to beat South Florida or any other Big East team as Alf Langdon had to beat FDR in the '36 Presidential race. Over the last two seasons DePaul had a 1-35 record in regular season conference play. But, given that a year ago the Blue Demons had upset Cincinnati in the tournament opener after going 0-18 in the regular season, there was reason to hope. When I turned the game on it was halftime and DePaul had scored 15 points. That was half as many as South Florida had put on the board. Things got a little better for the Blue Demons in the second half. They got within five points with plenty of time left in the game, but never could get closer than that. Another season over and deeper in the dumper for a team that used to be the toast of Chicago. Now, they're simply toast.

You may wonder why I care, but the answer to that is pretty simple. I covered DePaul basketball for The Chicago Tribune for three years back in the day and in a way they were among the most satisfying years of my 36-year writing career. I came to the beat reluctantly, to say the least. Actually, I came to it angry, ticked off. Not at DePaul and certainly not against Ray Meyer, the iconic coach who was approaching the 700 win mark in what had been announced as his last hurrah. The object of my roiling rage was my sports editor, George Langford, who at one time I had considered a friend. For the first half of that year, 1983, I had covered the Cubs and, at the All-Star break, was scheduled to switch back to the White Sox in keeping with The Tribune's tradition of rotating the baseball beat writers at midseason each year. I was at the All-Star game when I received a message to call the office. When I did, Langford told me that he was taking me off the beat and told me to see him in the office the next day. When I did he told me that the move was instigated by the editor of the paper, Jim Squires, who said he was tired of the baseball writers getting beaten by the rival Sun-Times. I can honestly say that I had not been beaten on a single story that year. On the other hand, Jerome Holtzman, who was covering the White Sox, had been skinned alive quite regularly by Phil Hersh, who, I admit, was, and probably still is, one of the greatest pure writers of sports I have ever read. Further incensing me was the fact that Holtzman was being rewarded by being named the baseball "bigfoot", the national baseball writer, who would cover the World Series and other big events. Taking over my beat was Fred Mitchell, who was moving over from the Bulls beat. Fred is a good guy and a good writer, but the irony here is that he HAD been beaten earlier that year by his Sun-Times counterpart on the story of a Bulls coaching change. Langford then told me that I would be covering Ray Meyer's final year, which I would have appreciated as being the plum assignment it was had the circumstances been different.

It could have been a deadly tedious job had it been any other coach. But Meyer made it easy for me and the Sun-Times beat man, Joel Bierig. In his 42 years as head coach at DePaul, the grandfatherly Meyer had accumulated a wealth of stories and each day after practice he would share some of them with us. Add to that the fact that Meyer's last team was one of his best. That is saying something when you consider that over a three year stretch in the early '80s, his teams went 26-1, 27-1, 26-1--only to be upset in the first round of the NCAA tournament each year. A few years before that he had taken the Blue Demons to the Final Four, where they lost to Larry Bird's Indiana State team. It was Meyer's second Final Four and although he never won The NCAA tournament, he did win the NIT, which at the time, 1945, was considered at least the equal of the NCAA tournament. That squad was led by George Mikan, the 6-10 giant whom Meyer transformed from an uncoordinated hulk into the most dominant player of the first half of the 20th Century.

Meyer's last team took a 26-2 record into the NCAA tournament and, in light of the previous first round fiascos, everyone held their breath until DePaul had dispatched its first round opponent, Illinois State. Next up, in the semi-finals of the Midwest regional in St. Louis, was Wake Forest. Leading the whole way, DePaul had an eight-point lead with three minutes to play, still led by two and had the ball with 26 seconds to play. That's when the dream season turned into a nightmare. Point guard Kenny Patterson had the ball and the game in the palm of his hands. All he had to do was dribble out the final seconds, or go to the foul line and make his free throws. Instead he saw teammate Ty Corbin streaking for the basket and he threw what was meant to be an alley-oop pass for a Corbin dunk. Instead the ball sailed far over Corbin's head. When Wake Forest's Delaney Rudd let go of a 20-footer with the clock ticking down to all zeroes, everyone in the house had the same feeling that Meyer gave voice to the next day. "When he shot it," said Meyer, "I said, 'It looks good.' And it was." That was not the end of it. DePaul led 71-69 in the overtime and, after Wake's Danny Young had tied it again, Patterson went to the free throw line with 19 seconds to play. He missed the front end of a one-and-one and Young finally plunged the dagger deep into Meyer's heart with 2 seconds to play.

After 42 years a man shouldn't have to lay his broken heart out on a table and let the vultures feed on it. But the next day Meyer held an impromptu breakfast press conference and, literally, poured his heart out. "I knew for me it was all over," he said. "I walked down the gauntlet of newspapermen and I saw the lights flashing and I knew it was the last time I would ever make that walk. I lost a good friend. It's sinking in rapidly now. I've lost a real close friend that's been with me for so long. Three quarters of my life I've been in basketball. It will be a sad day for me next Oct. 15 when the boys go out on the gym floor and I do not. I'll sit in the office and I'll hear the ball bounce and wish I were down there to help them."

DePaul's defeat had a trickle down affect on me. During our meeting at the All-Star break Langford had promised me that I would be covering the Final Four and if DePaul had made it to Seattle there would have been no question about it. But Langford was no longer the sports editor and Gene Quinn, who was, called me into his office and said, "I'm sending (Mike) Conklin to Seattle. I still haven't made my mind up about you." A few days later he told me I was going, that Conklin would do the main story and I would do sidebars. Mike and I arrived in Seattle and immediately started looking for something to write about. No press conferences were scheduled, but I knew the Virginia sports information director and I suggested to him that he bring his coach over to the media center. Meanwhile, having nothing better to do, I wandered over to the hotel where all the coaches were staying and took a look around the lobby. I was astonished to see John Thompson, coach of the eventual champion Georgetown Hoyas, giving a long TV interview. I sidled over to a spot where I could hear what was being said. One of the TV crew gestured to Thompson, obviously asking whether he should get rid of me. Thompson indicated it would be all right for me to stay. Just as the television interview ws wrapping up, another writer, who knew Thompson pretty well, came by and the two of us approached the infamously media-disdaining coach and asked if we could talk to him. He nodded his assent and gave us nearly a half hour, touching a lot of bases, including why he kept his players away from the media. The story of the day had been that Thompson was keeping his players--and himself--in some secret hideaway. And here he was right out in plain sight and talking to the media and only the two of us had the story. I don't know about the other guy but my story won the Illinois UPI first place award and Gene Quinn finally made his mind up about me.

I covered Joey Meyer's first two years as DePaul's head coach and then went on to become The Tribune's national college sports "bigfoot. Joey did not have quite the success his father had, but he had his moments, including winning the National Coach of the Year award--an honor his father had won four times--in 1987. Joey lasted 13 years at DePaul and won 231 games. Between them father and son won 955 games for the little school by the el tracks. Then Joey had two bad years and was fired in 1997. DePaul hasn't been to the NCAA tournament since. From the little I saw watching the Blue Demons this afternoon, it doesn't appear they'll get back there very soon.