At 6:45 p.m. on Thursday, everyone in Westwood and millions
across the country will be watching the Bruins.
But at 6:30 p.m., none of those people will be able to see
them.
In today’s sports world, the media covers a team’s
every last minutiae ““ including how overcoming that nasty
splinter gave a player the courage to take the big shot or what
color Gatorade players prefer and why.
But one sanctuary that the media has yet to invade is the
pre-game locker room.
On the court, every last move is lamented and analyzed by way
too many self-proclaimed experts.
Just minutes before, though, the team closes its doors and does
whatever it needs to do to prepare.
What is said and done remains within the four walls.
So while Bruin fans would love nothing more than to be there
while their team prepares to play a game we have been anxiously
awaiting for close to three years, all they can do is sit nervously
in front of the TV.
On the other hand, this momentary privacy leaves the proceedings
open to the imagination.
Picture the room.
Inside is pure silence. A group of guys who have spent nearly
everyday of the last six months together suddenly have nothing to
say.
Outside, the crowd’s muffled roars periodically penetrate
the quiet.
The players go about their pre-game business like they have done
countless times, but there is the distinct feeling that this time
is different.
The faces are young and flush with a nervous energy.
There is a clock high above the door. The players peek at it
five times a minute as the hands creep towards 6:45 ““ an odd
number to represent the culmination of a season’s worth of
hard work and dedication.
Coach Ben Howland is the only one in the room, seemingly
oblivious that this game is any different than the 28 the Bruins
just completed.
He sits at a desk idly watching the current games and leafing
through a Texas Tech stat sheet.
He looks at his watch and gets up.
Just a few minutes before UCLA takes the floor for the first of
what will be many NCAA Tournament appearances in the Ben Howland
era, the coach stands up and addresses his team.
Howland: We are UCLA.
Those four letters have won more NCAA titles than any other
school in history. (Moment of pause to let that sink in).
We have every right to come out proud and confident.
Plain and simple, this is the better team.
Forget about the low seeding and that famous jerk on the other
sideline.
Forget that they possess that overhyped intangible ““
“experience.” You guys have shown repeatedly this year
that that doesn’t matter.
Forget about what “experts” are saying about how
good we are or aren’t. They don’t recognize that this
team has gone further since day one than any other team in the NCAA
Tournament.
Remember that first practice in October. You guys barely knew
each other let alone how to play together.
Now look what we’ve done.
We’ve made it this far, and nothing that happens today can
deny that.
Play our game, and we WILL win.
All right, huddle up.
Picture the players jumping to the middle of the room, yelling
and bouncing off each other. They chant a determined “Go
Bruins” and charge through the doors which blast noise back
at them.
Howland tugs the arm of one player who stays back.
“Dijon,” the coach says. “This is your
game.”
Dijon nods confidently. He has been dreaming about this game for
years.
And now, at long last, it’s game time.
Peters is a basketball columnist for 2004-2005. E-mail him
at bpeters@media.ucla.edu.