Freddogg Off The Chain

A High School Coach named Custer with a drinking problem from a School named Holy Ghost “lost his mind” and called me in late March of 1964 to be on his basketball team that was to play in the “one and done” Gold Medal” basketball tournament held each Spring at the West Philadelphia Armory. This Coach Custer was a fan of mine and just raved about watching me play but as soon as we met in person he looked at me and said, ”I thought you were bigger?” and I should have said, ”Hang around 40 years and I’ll show you bigger.”

The court itself was larger than regulation and the players in the tournament were larger than any encountered in my storied high school basketball life that led me to the named M.V. P. in the Philadelphia Catholic League which goes nicely with my modern day M.V.P. card from the Food Lion.

The locker room at the Armory was two levels below the court and had a certain dungeon quality about it. I was handed a sleeveless white shirt with a number to go along with my satin shorts from my white high school uniform. I was dressing next to some 6’10” bald guy out of Wake Forest and there were other huge people on my team and I remember processing it all and thinking, ”what the fuck am I doing here?”

We go up to warm up and out comes the other team all black, dressed in black shirts with gold letters that said, ”Spikes Trophies. They looked so cool and I mentioned to my Greek friend Chris Cosmos who accompanied me to the game that we had to steal a Spikes Trophies jersey before we left.

I didn’t pay much attention to the obvious reality that I was the only high school person on either roster because I just expected to sit and watch. I was totally shocked when Coach Custer picked three big guys along with Bobby Hannah a college guard and me to start the game.

“We’ll play man-fuck-em-“Custer said, and I could tell he’d been drinking. "Go ahead and just match up."

Hannah turned to me and said, ”Do you want Jones or Hazzard?”

I looked out at the tip off circle. There was all American out of Villanova Wally Jones the most electric guard in the city maybe ever? And his running mate Walt Hazzard who had just led UCLA to a 30-0 record and NCAA championship the first of Coach John Wooden’s 10 for 12 streak of titles. Lucious Jackson 6’9” with shaved head who later would be the fourth played chosen by Philly in April’s NBA draft was jumping center.

I choose to guard Hazzard whom I viewed as more conservative and mellow and less likely to make an albino monkey out of me than Jones.

The first time down stranded in the wide open badlands of that spacious court Hazzard gave me a little shake fake and disappeared like a coyote trickster in an Navajo fable. I turned around to see him laying the ball in the basket and the 6’8” bald guy teammate called me a mother fucker.

The next trip down on offense Hannah hit me with a no look backdoor bounce pass and I could jump wrist over rim but Luke Jackson pinned and palmed my ball off the glass and I believe also called me a mother fucker.

The game ended I had actually made a couple of inconsequential jump shots while Hazzard finished with 41 points and Jones had 35.

But all was well because Cosmos and I had each of their jerseys in our gym bags.

We were going to leave until we noticed in the next game Nick Werkman, a 6’3” Trenton white guy who played for Seton Hall and was second in the nation in scoring. Werkman would be drafted by Boston the next month but didn’t stick around long.

“Nick the Quick” he was called and Chris and I were friends with his younger brothers, “Mark The Spark” and Phil The Ill.” Nick always wore a “you’re a fucking idiot” expression, was double jointed, and had the most incredible array of moves and fakes around the basket I had ever seen.

Nick’s team was playing Grocer’s Trophies a bunch of fat older black guys who swore they could play but they weren’t very good. Nick abused them scoring 45 points and after each basket flashed his punk ass smirk and once I even heard him say, ”In your face spade.” We stayed around figuring Nick was going to get killed in the locker room so we may as well hoist his jersey.

Down in the dungeon both teams began to change back to street clothes but there was tension—not racial- just “let’s kill the punk ass 45 point scoring double jointed white boy tension.”

A fat power forward questioned "Nick the Quick" about his spade reference which I guessed didn’t have many good cop out escape routes. But Nick just gave him that characteristic smirk like “it’s not my fault you’re a fat spade has been” then out came the mother fucker and it may have gotten ugly except the two closed metal door flew open and Tarzan was in the doorway dressed in shinny suit. His Tarzan yell bounced, ricocheted and reverberated around the room and rattled the pipes.

Don ‘Tarzan” Bragg stood in the doorway. Bragg had won the Olympic Gold Medal in 1960 setting a world record that still stands for an aluminum non bending pole of 15’9”. Director Steve Speilberg would “shoot” that scene with Don “Trazan” Bragg low to high showing a broad shouldered majestic form filling up the doorway.

Everyone just froze as Bragg announced himself along with his resume. Bragg would later do some sparring work with Muhammad Ali who said he enjoyed “beating up Tarzan” then go on to become the Athletic Director of Stockton State in New Jersey. Bragg had a full paged color photo in Sports Illustrated sitting at his Athletic Director’s desk with a stogie sticking out of his nostril.

Cosmos used the tension to lift "Nick The Quick’s" jersey but we had to give it back when we “bragged” to Mark the Spark that we had it. Nick told us to give him the Grocer’s Trophies jerseys we snatched-one for him and the other for Tarzan- or he would have Tarzan swing from our vines and we would be the ones yelling.

Hazzard,Jones and Jackson went on to make the All Rookie Team in the NBA. Jones and Jackson would later help the 76'rs win an NBA title in 1966 along with Wilt Chamberlain,Chet Walker and Hal "High Gear" Greer.

A brush with success and a brush with death. I'm no star and I'm no thief. My M.V.P.Food Lion card still rocks!