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St. Pete Scenes
I'm just a citizen of Hoop City
Posted: Monday March 29, 1999 05:11 PM
By Dan Shanoff,
CNN/SI
TAMPA, Fla. -- The clock read ":01," then the horn sounded as a pull-up
jumper from 16 feet fell way short of the
rim.
There would be no 1982 national title for freshman Michael Jordan and North
Carolina. I had ensured that. And Hoop City, the NCAA's interactive,
fan-friendly basketball Mecca, had claimed another
victim.
Fans making the pilgrimage to the Final Four -- and this year,
"no-sleep-'til-St. Pete" road trips started in distant points like
East Lansing, Mich., and Storrs, Conn. -- came to town looking for more than
just a game. In Hoop City, the NCAA and its coaches provided an easygoing
atmosphere of accessibility and
accommodation.
Throughout the Final Four, from events as formal as the NABC All-Star Game to
chance meetings on a sidewalk, players and coaches went out of their way to
please eager fans, especially kids, signing autographs and posing for photos.
Call it the
anti-NBA.
Constructed at the Tampa Convention Center with the driveway-hoops dreamer in
mind, Hoop City was a lot of fun, if one could get past the blinding corporate
sponsorship signage -- and had the patience of a coach in a rebuilding year to
wait in long lines. A half-dozen or so interactive tests of skill (or lack of
same) and various other information booths wrapped around a full-length court
where coaches like Mike Jarvis and Gene Keady put on free clinics for
kids.
Let's take a quick -- and humiliating -- tour:
- Starting on "John Wooden Way," take 30 seconds to re-live
the playground adventure that is "Around the World." (One shot made
out of seven tries from seven spots. No sweat. A 10-year-old just beat my
score.)
- Head right, to a free-throw shooting setup -- three shots to find your
groove, then you can stay as long as you keep making your shots. The Wizard
would approve. (But he would gag on my four-shots-and-out performance.
Continuing a trend, some high school kid next to me drained 18 in a
row.)
- Other coaches deemed street-worthy include Henry Iba, Phog Allen and
Clarence "Bighouse" Gaines. (What, no "Krzyzewski Shtreet?")
Hang a right on "Adolph Rupp Road," then turn right again on
"Dean Smith Street." Symbolically, that's the intersection where you
can torture MJ's sweet 1982 jumper, or Indiana hero Keith Smart's 1987 baseline
winner, or Charlotte Smith's 1994 buzzer-beater for UNC (extra points for mixing
in a women's hoops moment), or Christian Laettner's 1992 turnaround miracle for
Duke. (A realistic touch would have been to add a dummy in a Kentucky uniform on
the floor that you could step on before shooting.) With 20 seconds to make as
many of these last-second shots as you can, many armchair fans come to the
realization that -- despite their "I-can-do-that" yelps at the TV --
the reality is they can not. (I was oh-for my 20
seconds.)
- Farther down Smith Street are two related, equally revealing, skill
tests -- the hang-time clock and the slam-dunk area. The hang-time test uses a
computer sensor to gauge how long you stay in the air on the way to the basket.
Not very long, apparently, for most people. A few minutes of observation yields
the conclusion that people just can't fly. The longest recorded jump at the time
was 1.1 seconds, forever compared to my .44. (I never said the back of my jersey
read "Vince
Carter.")
- The slam-dunk area was more to a fan's liking, especially the seven-foot-high
rims. Volunteers working the floor couldn't explain why they bothered putting up
a 10-foot rim, because they said no one ever tried to dunk on it. Most adults
tried the seven- and eight-foot heights, while kids ate up the five- and
six-footers. Finally, an activity I could actually complete. Carla, an attendant
from Tampa, asked me if I wanted a regulation men's ball. I tried it and was
rejected by the rim. ("Women's ball, please.") The smaller ball
helped, but as enjoyable as it is for a ground-bound player (see hang-time,
above) to throw one down, the volunteers were the only ones who were
laughing.
- Naismith Boulevard is defined by two activities the doctor probably
didn't think of -- a longest-shot area and a three-point contest. Earlier in the
weekend, some guy hit a shot from 70 feet. Most people try from 30, the
measurement marked nearest to the basket, and have a tough time hitting
rim.
- Three-point shooting contests could be the most underappreciated competitions
in the sport, probably because every YMCA chucker thinks he's Steve Alford. Hoop
City set up three racks of four balls at three points around the arc. Given 30
seconds, most people don't get off all 12 possible shots, let alone hit many.
For comparison, Arizona's Jason Terry, who won an all-star three-point shooting
contest at the Ice Palace on Thursday night, had a minute to shoot five racks of
five balls each. Accuracy aside, the hardest thing is merely getting to all the
shots and not becoming fatigued near the
end.
All of these tests of "skill" are completed under the harsh spotlight
and unrelenting analysis of fellow fans waiting in line -- sometimes up to a
half-hour or more. Any attempts at showmanship or witty banter with volunteers
is met with glares and muttering by
fans.
The NCAA pushed all the right buttons in selecting the different contests. The
hall was spacious, and quickly filled with fans at the start of each day.
Coaches running clinics or participating in autograph sessions were engaging.
But after working up a sweat during the various games, fans would have been
better served with a few more free water
stations.
Check back for more St. Pete Scenes as CNN/SI covers the Final Four from St. Petersburg, Fla.
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