IT WAS SPECIAL
The final five seconds make this NCAA Final timeless.
HOUSTON — Years before Ryan Arcidiacono became the most outstanding player of this NCAA Final Four Monday night, he practised taking last-second shots that would win his team a national championship. On basketball courts in parks and backyards. On the court of his high school gym.
And, less expected, on a plastic Fisher-Price hoop set up in his family room.
At the Arcidiacono home in Langhorne, Pennsylvania, about 50 km from where Arcidiacono would eventually lead the Villanova Wildcats basketball team, there was a hoop in the house that would spur him to envision incredible feats and stardom.
With a TV announcer commentating in his head, he would take a ball and swish a buzzer-beating shot through the hoop, and an imaginary crowd would erupt in cheers. Other times, he’d miss the hoop, or ricochet the ball off its rim, and the ball would break a window, or smack a hole in the wall. The damage, at least, was evidence of his efforts.
But on Monday night came the moment when Arcidiacono could finally live his dream of being the hero of a big game. With a real championship on the line against North Carolina, with 4.7 seconds left on the clock and the game tied at 74, he had the ball and headed toward the basket. He dribbled up the court thinking, “I’m going to shoot this!” Then, he took the ball — and passed it? “Nope, you don’t ever dream about making the pass,” he said.
When Arcidiacono heard teammate Kris Jenkins shouting, “Arch! Arch!” because he was open, Arcidiacono turned and tossed the ball to him.
That single flick of the ball set up one of the most stunning moments in NCAA tournament history.
Jenkins let the ball fly and it seemed that the nearly 75,000 spectators dropped their jaws and hushed their breath in unison. As the horn blared, the ball slid through the hoop to score three points, and the entire stadium roared.
Jenkins, a junior, just stood there, hands raised to the sky, preening.
In a split-second, Wildcats were piling on top of him on the court, near the Villanova bench. In another second, they were back up, then piling on each other on the other end of the court, in front of the section where Wildcats families were sitting. Jenkins ran toward the crowd.
“Legendary!” Jenkins shouted toward them as he pulled on his No. 2 jersey. “What can they say now?” He leaped from the court to hug his mother, Felicia Jenkins, lifting her off the ground and twirling her around as they buried their heads into one another’s shoulders. Who would have known that the player Villanova coach Jay Wright once considered too overweight to play for the Wildcats would be the reason they would win their first national championship in 31 years?
Jenkins calls himself just “a chubby kid from Washington, D.C.,” but can now also call himself a Wildcats’ cult hero. The fans in the stands were chanting, “Jenk-ins! Jenkins!” as the white stars and blue rectangle confetti fell from the sky.
“He was born to make that shot,” Felicia Jenkins said. “It’s all about the follow through. When I saw that follow through, I knew it was going in.”
Jenkins’ shot made the game an instant classic, but the game was special for other reasons, too. For nearly the whole game, it was close, with North Carolina’s Marcus Paige almost taking it to overtime in the final seconds. His double-clutch, off-balance three-pointer tied the game with 4.7 seconds left.
The game also was classic, and wondrous, because the Wildcats didn’t win it with superstars or one-and-done players with their eyes on the NBA. They had two senior starters — Daniel Ochefu and Arcidiacono, a four-year captain. Their leading scorer, sophomore Phil Booth, came off the bench to score 20 points, his best college game ever.
“I just did what I was supposed to do, but we won it as a team,” Booth said.
Modest, but true. Those players were selfless, and trusted that their teamwork would give them the edge. And it did.
Even Rollie Massimino, the coach of the last Villanova team to win a championship, in 1985, said, “These kids did a great job of playing together and that’s all people need to know.”
After the game, Jenkins sat in the lockerroom, with the championship trophy on his lap, ruminating about what had just happened. He rested his chin on the trophy and sighed.
In a few hours, once the crowd was gone and the hubbub was over, he said he would have to see the video of his clutch threepointer again and again and again before it could sink in. He would review it, too, so he could comprehend just how very selfless Arcidiacono was in those waning minutes.
No, he said, it wasn’t supposed to happen this way, but he is glad it did.