By Bill Koch
You’ll never touch the ball. That’s what UC coach Bob Huggins kept telling me. And there was a good chance he would be right.
When he first agreed to play me one-on-one, Huggins insisted that he set the ground rules. It had to be “make-it, take-it,” and the first one to 10 baskets wins.
“Why does it have to be “make-it, take-it?” I asked.
“Because that’s how you play one-on-one.”
Also, he admitted, he didn’t know how long he could last on the off chance that he had to actually break a sweat.
A disclaimer: This whole thing was not my idea. Mike Bass, my sports editor at the Cincinnati Post suggested that it might make for a fun column. I didn’t see it that way. I take great pains to avoid placing myself in situations where I might come off looking like a fool and this seemed liked one of those situations.
I avoided asking Huggs to do it for as long as I could, but Bass wouldn’t let it go, so finally I figured I’d ask Huggs, have him say no, and get it over with.
I was so dead set against the idea that I phrased the request in the most negative way I could think of. That way I could tell Bass that I tried, but Huggs just didn’t want to do it.
“Look,” I said to Huggs, “Bass wanted me to ask you if you’d play me in a game of one-on-one. I told him you’d probably say no, and if you don’t want to do it, I understand. It seems like a stupid idea to me, too, but I have to ask you.”
Huggs didn’t miss a beat.
“Make-it, take-it, first one to 10 baskets wins,” he said.
“You mean you’ll do it?” I said.
“You won’t touch the ball.”
We scheduled the game for 10 a.m. on Monday, January 26, 1999 at Shoemaker Center. I had been warned by several colleagues not to do this. Not only would I be humiliated, they said, there was a good chance I would get hurt. Huggins, as we all know, plays for keeps. Even in a meaningless, silly contest like this he would make sure he came out on top. There would be no such thing as an uncontested layup.
I arrived at the UC basketball offices at the appointed hour wearing my sweats and basketball shoes. I thought I’d have to wait around for an hour or longer while he tended to some truly important matter. But within minutes, Huggins came bouncing down the hall. He was wearing shorts and had his 70s-style tube socks pulled up just below his knee. He was ready to go.
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get this ass-whuppin’ over with.”
We proceeded to the arena and started by taking a few practice shots. No one else was around except for Post photographer Mel Grier.
When the game started, Huggins scored first. And then second. And then third. I was beginning to believe that he really would shut me out. He had too inches and many pounds on me, so he could simply back me down and score over me.
What had I been thinking? Of course he was going to shut me out. He was one of the top scorers in Ohio high school history. I hadn’t even made my high school team.
But then he missed a shot and I grabbed the rebound. I knew I would have a hard time scoring inside against him, so I decided to take a shot from beyond the 3-point line. Huggs was already huffing and puffing and had no interest in exerting the energy to guard me out there.
To my great surprise, the shot went in. Then I hit another one. And another. Now it was a ballgame. At one point, we were both chasing down the ball after a long shot had caromed off the rim. I beat him to it and snatched the ball away just before it went out of bounds. That’s when I heard him utter a bad word. That made me really happy. Not only had I scored against him three times, I had gotten him at least a little bit frustrated.
Was it possible that I might actually win this game and strike a blow for out-of-shape scribes everywhere?
Well, no. It wasn’t.
He went back to his bread-and-butter. I was helpless to stop him and he knew it, which was why he had predicted a shutout in the first place. The final score was 10-6.
When the game ended we shook hands. Huggins leaned over a table along the side of the court panting heavily. “I can’t do this shit anymore,” he said.
“Ten-five, right?” he said.
“No, Bob,” I said. “It was 10-6.”
“No it wasn’t,” he said. “You only got five.”
“Well,” I said, “you can tell everybody it was 10-5, but it’s going to be 10-6 in the paper.”
That game with Huggs provided me with one of my favorite columns. I broke my share of stories and covered plenty of major events during my career, but there are lots of scribes more talented and much more celebrated than I. I’m pretty sure, though, that I’m the only one who ever got the chance to play Bob Huggins one-on-one and actually score on him six times.
That’s a credit to Huggins, though surely not one he would claim. He might not even remember it. But really, what other coach in a major program in America would agree to play a game of one-on-one against one of the guys who covers his team for the local paper?
You’ll never touch the ball. That’s what UC coach Bob Huggins kept telling me. And there was a good chance he would be right.
When he first agreed to play me one-on-one, Huggins insisted that he set the ground rules. It had to be “make-it, take-it,” and the first one to 10 baskets wins.
“Why does it have to be “make-it, take-it?” I asked.
“Because that’s how you play one-on-one.”
Also, he admitted, he didn’t know how long he could last on the off chance that he had to actually break a sweat.
A disclaimer: This whole thing was not my idea. Mike Bass, my sports editor at the Cincinnati Post suggested that it might make for a fun column. I didn’t see it that way. I take great pains to avoid placing myself in situations where I might come off looking like a fool and this seemed liked one of those situations.
I avoided asking Huggs to do it for as long as I could, but Bass wouldn’t let it go, so finally I figured I’d ask Huggs, have him say no, and get it over with.
I was so dead set against the idea that I phrased the request in the most negative way I could think of. That way I could tell Bass that I tried, but Huggs just didn’t want to do it.
“Look,” I said to Huggs, “Bass wanted me to ask you if you’d play me in a game of one-on-one. I told him you’d probably say no, and if you don’t want to do it, I understand. It seems like a stupid idea to me, too, but I have to ask you.”
Huggs didn’t miss a beat.
“Make-it, take-it, first one to 10 baskets wins,” he said.
“You mean you’ll do it?” I said.
“You won’t touch the ball.”
We scheduled the game for 10 a.m. on Monday, January 26, 1999 at Shoemaker Center. I had been warned by several colleagues not to do this. Not only would I be humiliated, they said, there was a good chance I would get hurt. Huggins, as we all know, plays for keeps. Even in a meaningless, silly contest like this he would make sure he came out on top. There would be no such thing as an uncontested layup.
I arrived at the UC basketball offices at the appointed hour wearing my sweats and basketball shoes. I thought I’d have to wait around for an hour or longer while he tended to some truly important matter. But within minutes, Huggins came bouncing down the hall. He was wearing shorts and had his 70s-style tube socks pulled up just below his knee. He was ready to go.
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get this ass-whuppin’ over with.”
We proceeded to the arena and started by taking a few practice shots. No one else was around except for Post photographer Mel Grier.
When the game started, Huggins scored first. And then second. And then third. I was beginning to believe that he really would shut me out. He had too inches and many pounds on me, so he could simply back me down and score over me.
What had I been thinking? Of course he was going to shut me out. He was one of the top scorers in Ohio high school history. I hadn’t even made my high school team.
But then he missed a shot and I grabbed the rebound. I knew I would have a hard time scoring inside against him, so I decided to take a shot from beyond the 3-point line. Huggs was already huffing and puffing and had no interest in exerting the energy to guard me out there.
To my great surprise, the shot went in. Then I hit another one. And another. Now it was a ballgame. At one point, we were both chasing down the ball after a long shot had caromed off the rim. I beat him to it and snatched the ball away just before it went out of bounds. That’s when I heard him utter a bad word. That made me really happy. Not only had I scored against him three times, I had gotten him at least a little bit frustrated.
Was it possible that I might actually win this game and strike a blow for out-of-shape scribes everywhere?
Well, no. It wasn’t.
He went back to his bread-and-butter. I was helpless to stop him and he knew it, which was why he had predicted a shutout in the first place. The final score was 10-6.
When the game ended we shook hands. Huggins leaned over a table along the side of the court panting heavily. “I can’t do this shit anymore,” he said.
“Ten-five, right?” he said.
“No, Bob,” I said. “It was 10-6.”
“No it wasn’t,” he said. “You only got five.”
“Well,” I said, “you can tell everybody it was 10-5, but it’s going to be 10-6 in the paper.”
That game with Huggs provided me with one of my favorite columns. I broke my share of stories and covered plenty of major events during my career, but there are lots of scribes more talented and much more celebrated than I. I’m pretty sure, though, that I’m the only one who ever got the chance to play Bob Huggins one-on-one and actually score on him six times.
That’s a credit to Huggins, though surely not one he would claim. He might not even remember it. But really, what other coach in a major program in America would agree to play a game of one-on-one against one of the guys who covers his team for the local paper?
Bill, what a great story. You did La Salle proud!
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