Game Over 
Go You Wildcats, Go!
Something happens to basketball at Wheatley, a school that thinks it could win the Southwest Confrerence. And probably could.
(Page 2 of 2)
Jammer offers perhaps the most interesting angle, since he spent an inordinate amount of time sitting on the Wheatley bench, yet was recruited almost as voraciously as Owens. Tallest of all the Wildcats, he stands (or sits on the bench) 6' 8" and there is an alarming suspicion that he may be only half-grown. "He has an uncle who's seven feet tall," Dowd informs you with a diabolical giggle he developed recently.
A year younger than most of his Wheatley teammates, Jammer still appears to be in a comparatively early stage of development, which has caused Dowd and others to wonder what his true potential will be by the time he's a college senior. Accordingly, he received more recruiting visits than any of Carr's young bandits, including Owens. Dowd, who won the battle, is grateful. "He's got the greatest attitude you could ask for," he notes. "Always wants to learn. He could really develop into something else."
Davis, a playmaker who last year was second only to Owens in the Wheatley scoring parade, has also found a warm place in Dowd's heart. In the season opener this year, the Mavericks journeyed north to face Ohio State's imperious Buckeyes and were predictably shot full of holes. But Davis, inserted as a sub, popped in 10 quick points against the startled hosts. Afterwards, he wandered up to Dowd and remarked, "I didn't think I did too bad for a freshman."
Dowd hastily concurred and wondered if maybe Willie couldn't arrange a similar contribution for his next game. Willie, at last reports, has been most cooperative.
Along with McKelvey, the team captain, these five formed the elite inner core of a treasure hoard which graduated three full teams into the college basketball ranks.
AS GOLD MINES GO, THE Mother Lode which spewed forth these benefits is somewhat deceiving in appearance. Phyllis B. Wheatley High School sits just off the access road to I.H. 10 running east to Beaumont, in the midst of one of Houston's poorest ghettos—the Fifth Ward, a neighborhood dominated by small stores, narrow streets and a project-type apartment complex. You can buy beer at the chicken place across the street from the school and nearby is a park where, according to one local story, future Wildcats play basketball far into the night with the aid of flashlights. The school was named after a gentle woman...a writer of poems...and has contributed to the world, among other things, one of Playboy's more dazzling monthly foldouts.
It has also produced 15 state championship basketball teams in the past 25 years, dating back to the days when Jackie Carr starred on the school's first super squad. Most of these were achieved under the leadership of Collin Briggs in the old Negro Leagues, and therefore carry an asterisk as far as the state's omnipotent high school bureaucracy, the University Interscholastic League, is concerned.
But in the six years since the UIL magnanimously opened its membership to black schools, Wheatley has won 219 games and four state crowns, losing only 11 times. If the Wildcats are not yet loved, at least they are feared.
Last year, Carr came up with the most feared vehicle yet to rollout of Wheatley, one which he unabashedly labeled "the best high school team in the country," adding casually that "we probably coulda won the Southwest Conference."
Not quite the same thing as sending UCLA into overtime, perhaps, but it is a rather novel idea in high school circles. Carr, however, is full of novel ideas.
One of his more interesting inventions is the Five Mile Run, a subtle character-building device strapped on the team every time they fail to hit 100 points in a game. It is of course extremely popular with the players and once prompted Long to note that "being held under 100 is just like losing." Last year, the Wildcats escaped this fate 33 times.
Another notable feature of Carr's approach is that the offense, which on two occasions last year sand-blasted the foe by victory margins in excess of 90 points, runs smoothly in the absence of such hindering devices as set plays.
"Oh, it's all keyed off a fast break," he'll tell you, "but once we get down there, anyone who thinks he can score is welcome to put it up. 'Course, they all better be reasonably successful unless they want to run five miles.
"Our philosophy is somewhat different from what you normally find," he continues. "We don't coach out of those books written by Hank Iba and all those others who believe defense is such a cardinal virtue. We don't care if the other team scores 150 points...as long as we get 200."
This principle was aptly demonstrated a couple of years ago when the 'Cats surrendered 116 points to a team from Louisiana and won the game by 42.
Defense, when required, is accomplished by a full court press in which the Wildcats simply gather around the offending party and harass him until he coughs up the ball in return for his life. In this pursuit they are prepared to chase the chap home and corner him in his garage, if necessary.
But scoring is more fun, and it was in this endeavor that Owens & Co. were most articulate. It was this talent that brought college scouts to Houston's East Side in droves and convinced Carr that it was the greatest team in Wheatley's bloodthirsty history, better even than the ones led by Dwight Jones which pieced together a 72-game winning streak a few years ago.
He attempted to prove this fact by inviting various guests down for a wicket or two, but the phone kept going dead. "We had a couple of teams from LA lined up to play," he recalls, "but something happened. One of 'em somehow got hold of some of our game films, and right after that, they cancelled."
Thus Carr's conviction that this was the best team in the nation went unchallenged. He admits to having seen few teams from other parts of the country, but deems it a minor fault.
"How many times do I have to see a team averaging 65-70 points a game?" he asks, scornfully.
His own team dipped into that disgraceful latitude only once, despite the fact that more than half of Wheatley's opponents try to simply hang onto the ball and escape with a "moral victory," at least.
Against this group, which owned the option of thrusting as many as five gentlemen in the 6' 7" to 6' 8" range onto the court at one time, hanging onto anything often became a severe problem.
With the back court mischief of Davis and McKelvey complementing the talents of the big men underneath and a senior-laden bench able to keep the starters rested and out of foul trouble, it was a team Carr admits may never be duplicated, even at Wheatley.
Somehow, the Wildcats managed to lose the fifth game of the season (by one point) and Carr is properly apologetic. "It was my fault," he admits. "We had six games that week and I was afraid they'd get worn out so I substituted a little too freely. Suddenly I looked up at the scoreboard and we'd lost. I couldn't believe it."
It never happened again. In the other 43 games, no one came close enough to cause any real alarm and the average margin of victory was 30 points.
As the season progressed, the Wildcats' disdain for the silly mortals scrambling around at their feet became evident. While opposing coaches grew hoarse pleading for a miracle from their troops, Carr often seemed half-asleep on the Wheatley bench. Once, having detected some displeasing trend on the court, he whistled to McKelvey, who was bringing the ball upcourt. Obediently, his war leader dribbled over to the sideline and stood there, bouncing the ball up and down while Carr expressed his wishes and the two men guarding McKelvey stood and gaped. Instructions received, young Wendell casually resumed his journey upcourt. The thought that it is usually prudent to call time-out in such situations apparently occurred neither to Carr nor McKelvey.
Afterwards, the vanquished coach wondered ruefully if the day would ever come when Wheatley was just another basketball team.
The collective frustrations of the alsorans reached a climax in the closing moments of the state championship game when a desperate Midland Bulldog, caught in a two-on-one squeeze with Owens and Jones, was left dangling from the rim like some gangly monument to futility as Jones sank an easy layup and Owens suffered a sudden attack of giggles. Minutes later, the season ended, mercifully.
Such easy success, of course, fosters a certain public resentment, which Carr accepts philosophically. "Nobody likes to see the same team win all the time," he observes, "unless it's their team."
But critics are persistent by nature, and the Wildcats continue to suffer small indignities off the court, where they are at least partially vulnerable. Carr is frequently castigated for his loose, free-scoring style, the inference being that the fellow really can't coach, no matter what the record says.
Then there is the saga of the Wildcats' trip to the state playoffs, during which they were virtually inundated with civic pride. The bus scheduled to take them to Austin failed to show up, and the funds provided for the trip ushered them into the state capital in something less than the style of conquering princes.
Carr, conditioned by 20 years' experience to expect nothing, admits he complains only sporadically to the city athletic department.
"I wasn't born yesterday," he reminds you.
And, in a bizarre postscript to the season, the Texas High School Coaches Association managed to hold two of the Wildcats to a draw, at least. First Owens and then Long were invited to participate in the annual all-star game, but were informed they would have to shear their luxuriant Afros in accordance with the THSCA's grooming code. Both refused, and the game was played without a representative from the team that had flattened the field.
There were, to be sure, certain improvements in the Wildcats' public image. Texas sportswriters voted Carr Coach of the Year for the first time, and "name" schools were beginning to peer into the Wheatley talent pool, where Prairie View and Texas Southern were the principal takers in the past.
But as the current season approached, Carr felt compelled to warn the Wildcat faithful that hard times were practically seated on the front porch. Owens, Jones, Long and all those other wonderful warriors of yesteryear were now scattered to the winds, and in their absence the sharks were circling for the kill. Only one player, Gary Reese, returned from last year's squad, and he had a bad back. And those pitifully small recruits up from the junior varsity would certainly be no help. No matter that they had gone 28-4 last year. There was joyful anticipation among the masses that this would finally be the year when Wheatley became just another basketball team. Early in the season, Carr announced that his worst fears had borne fruit. "Oh, we're scoring 110-115 points a game," he said, morosely, "but this isn't our year. In fact, we'll probably be down for two or three years. We'll be lucky to finish third in the district."
Nevertheless, his emaciated children struggled on, making do as best they could, stumbling to 15 victories in the first 17 games. They joyful masses were becoming a trifle edgy.
It all brings to mind something Jackie Carr said while trying to explain how Eddie Owens wound up in Las Vegas instead of Houston. "We never do what folks expect," he warned. "We always surprise people."
Pages: 1 2
My Library
