Ronnie Dee--Watching The Wildcats

Way back, after the end of World War II my family and friends would gather weekly at one another's house for a serious poker game. The host family would provide refreshments, including alcohol. You could B.Y.O.B. if you desired. There would be seven players at a time and the host would get a percentage of each pot to pay for the spread. These games would go far into the night and us kids would go to sleep on a sofa, or two chairs pushed together, or on the bed already piled high with coats and hats. Then we would be roused out of slumber in the middle of the night to go home in a cab.

There were about five or six of us children and my sister, who was five years my elder, would get stuck with trying to entertain us. I often got tired of the kiddy games early and liked to fool around with the big radios most people had in their living rooms. I began reading the sports pages and thus became familiar with the players. Bobby Watson was my favorite, but I was in awe of them all. I listened to the University of Louisville, too, but Kentucky was far and away my favorite.

The late forties and early fifties were a great time for U of K football and basketball. Our coaches were "Bear" Bryant and Adolph Rupp and they produced outstanding, nationally top ranked teams. When listening at home I took to keeping score. I would usually sit at the kitchen table with a scratch pad and pencil, listening with rapt attention, marking down each score as the game progressed.

With the advent of television I would get to see my Wildcats play many times and even watched them in person a number of times, but nothing could match the magic of seeing them for the first time, and I have been a fan for 80 years.

It came to pass that one day, when I was eleven years old, I read with great excitement that the Kentucky Wildcats were to play in Louisville. They were going to play in the Southeastern Conference Tournament. I couldn't believe it. I had to see them play.

If you are not a Kentucky fan, you won't really understand this, but being a U of K basketball fan is a special tier of sports fan. Alabama football, Ohio State, Yankee fans, c'mon, they're pretty crazy, and some soccer fans can become overwrought, but a U of K basketball fan is a special breed. Earlier that same year, I had given an important oral report in English class and gave a great report, but I was penalized for far exceeding my twenty minute time limit. I didn't care. I got to talk about the Cats in front of the whole class.

Years later, in 1966, my grandmother was hospitalized with cancer and I moved into the hospital to be with her. I had them put a cot in her room and I brought my little portable TV and my poetry books and lived there for over a month. The thing that helped me most during that very difficult time was the famed Rupp's Runts basketball team. Riley, Dampier, Conley, Kron, Jarascz, undefeated for twenty-five straight games. They gave me a badly needed respite from the horrors that went on in the hospital that January and February.

Anyway, we were dirt poor, but I managed to cajole a dollar from my grandma to go to the big game. I was beside myself with joy and rarin' to go. Finally, on March 2, 1951, I hopped on the bus going downtown to the Amory to at long last watch my Cats. I exited the bus and headed straight for the Armory. It was crowded and noisy with anticipation as I wormed my way up to the ticket window.

"One ticket, please," I demanded and laid my dollar down.

The man looked at me and said, "I'm afraid it's two dollars tonight, son. It's a tournament; there's two games."

Oh. no, it can't be. It only cost a dollar to see U of L games, so I thought. . . . . .Devastation. I was mortified. I was heartbroken. It was the end of the world. I was not normally a whiny kid, but tears suddenly welled in my eyes and I began trembling and sobbing right there in the crowded lobby of the Armory. I would never get over this disappointment.

All at once a tall, young black man stepped up to me and asked, "Hey Buddy, what's the matter?

"The tickets are two dollars and I've only got a dollar," I choked out.

He says, "I got a ticket right here I'll sell for a dollar."

"No kidding?" I replied..

He says, "No kidding," and hands me a ticket. I eagerly forked over the dollar.

I knew all about scalpers, but I didn't care. If I got gypped, so what. At least I tried. So I charged for the turnstile. I nervously handed the guy my ticket and joyfully strolled into the arena. My seat was on the front row above the entrance tunnel in the end zone. I was thrilled. No big hat or big head to impede my view. I had to sit through the preliminary game, but that was okay. I could relax for a while and savor the whole scene. Before I knew it, the first game ended and the Cats took the floor.

I was simply amazed. After lo, these many years listening to them on the radio and reading about them in the Courier-Journal, here they were: The Kentucky Wildcats in their home whites with blue trim, warming up right in front of me.

"Look, there's Bobby Watson," I wanted to shout, but I didn't.

I watched every second of the game and it didn't matter that they smashed Auburn 84-54 that night, with Bill Spivey and Cliff Hagan, two U of K immortals, leading the way with over twenty points each, and it didn't matter that Bobby Watson was held scoreless, it was the whole spectacle that had me enthralled.

I was upset two days later when the Cats improbably lost in the conference finals to Vanderbilt. However, retribution came a few weeks later when Kentucky won their third NCAA National Championship in the last four years. And I had seen them play in person that very same year.