162 Chapters
Medium 9780253008589

Indiana VS. Kentucky, 12-10-11 (73-72)

The Herald-Times Indiana University Press ePub

Indiana Hoosiers forward Christian Watford (2) hits the game winning last second shot over Kentucky Wildcats guard Darius Miller (1) during the Indiana Kentucky men’s basketball game at Assembly Hall in Bloomington, Ind., Saturday, Dec. 10, 2011. Indiana won 73-72.

By Dustin Dopirak

Within seconds of his picture-perfect, buzzer-beating 3-pointer’s contact with the net on Assembly Hall’s north goal, Christian Watford was prone on the floor and swimming in an ocean of human catharsis.

The Indiana student section didn’t so much storm the court after the Hoosiers stunned No. 1 Kentucky, 73-72, as swallow it whole. The mayhem built outward from the spot where Watford fell on the floor near the scorer’s table on the west sideline and kept getting bigger until fans covered every single wood panel on Branch McCracken Court at Assembly Hall from end to end.

Fans were singing along with the pep band and lifting each other on their shoulders and trying to find players and coaches to whom to express their gratitude. Watford and several of his teammates escaped from beneath the crush of humanity only to bathe in its glow, standing atop the scorer’s table and gesturing to the crowd as if directing some joyful orchestra.

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Medium 9780253010285

3 Neither a Drunkard Nor a Bank Robber

Mike Roos Quarry Books ePub

As Betty was putting the second pin in Scott’s diaper and was about to go in search of Eric, she heard a loud, metallic knock at the front screen door and wondered if it was Eric trying to escape the confines of the house.

But Eric was sitting contentedly in his own wet diaper on the hardwood floor of the living room, holding his toy saxophone in one hand while quietly watching the pattern of sunbeams on the oak planks, fascinated by the play of light on the wood grain. When the figure of a man appeared knocking at the screen door, he instinctively stood up to stare at the dark outline of the stranger against the pale blue sky in the background. Then, raising his right hand to point at the man, he lifted the horn to his lips with his left hand to screech out a series of discordant notes.

“Hey there, little buddy,” the strange silhouette responded. Eric paused to gape, then blew on the sax again. “Ha ha! Real good!” the man exclaimed, then crouched and put his face next to the screen. “How about you play me ‘Summertime and the Livin’ Is Easy’?” The man crooned the words Frank Sinatra style, in a surprisingly silky timbre compared to the rasp of his speaking voice, and Eric blurted another sour note in response. “Yeah! That’s it, in the key of E minor!” The man grinned, and Eric grinned back.

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Medium 9781574416527

Chapter 1 - Texas Prisons: A Pattern of Neglect

Mitchel P. Roth University of North Texas Press ePub

Like a horrid nightmare.

—Edward King, 1874

DURING the years of the Texas Prison Rodeo, spectators came not just to watch the rodeo activities but also to observe a prison demimonde that seemed dangerous if not exotic, giving rodeo goers the chance to interact with inmates, though safely separated by a wire mesh fence. But as will be described below, this was just the latest flourish in a legacy of “prison tourism” as old as America's first prisons. The inauguration of the Texas Prison Rodeo in 1931 would introduce a new form of prison tourism that allowed free-world spectators to pay a small fee to vicariously participate in the prison experience, albeit with the expectation of leaving through the gates they had just entered when the tour was over. However, no matter what visitors witnessed at the Texas Prison Rodeos, or for that matter any other prisons, it was mere window dressing, since like all prisons, Huntsville's walls were meant not just to “keep prisoners in,” but to “keep the public out.”1

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22 The Prophet’s Vision

Mike Roos Quarry Books ePub

While the Ireland players recouped what strength they could on the south side of town, young Jim Jones roomed his players northward at a Jasper motel. While many witnesses of the afternoon games had been amazed at the efficiency with which the Blackhawks had dispensed with Jasper and therefore regarded them as clear-cut favorites over the smaller Spuds, Jones was by no means as certain he had the better team. When a Jasper sportswriter asked him before the Sectional about his team’s up-and-down season, he had replied, “Up and down? Heck, it was just down, in my view. We aren’t very good.” Jones was learning the ropes—that is, how to lower expectations for his team and sucker opponents into taking them lightly.

The sportswriter caught up with him between games to see if his thoughts had changed. “My thoughts,” Jones replied, “are that Ireland outmans us at every position.”

“Come now, Jim. They’ve got no one who can stop Ziegler.”

“They know how to play defense, and Small and Lents more than make up for any lack of size they have. I doubt our young guys can stay with them.”

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Medium 9780253346988

7. World Tourney

Abraham Aamidor Indiana University Press ePub

Pete Ankney was dumbstruck when he saw the Chicago Stadium, that holy shrine to political conventions, college commencement exercises, and basketball games for generations of Chicagoans, for the first time. Located just two miles from downtown on West Madison Street, the stadium was a short taxi ride from the dark, imposing Morrison Hotel in the central business district, where Ankney and the new Acme Aviators from Dayton, Ohio stayed that March in 1945. Ankney, just thirteen at the time, had obtained the job as the Aviators’ ballboy through connections—his older sister was married to the team’s player-coach, Bobby Colburn—and he had caught a ride to Chicago with his brother-in-law in his maroon-colored Pontiac. Bruce Hale, Johnny Schick, and several other Tecs, as well as Rex Gardecki of the real Aviators, followed along as part of a motor caravan that traveled west on U.S. 40, then took a right turn at U.S. 41 in Terre Haute and went all the way up to Chicago. It would have been a seven-hour trip in those days, on those roads.

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