A dream come true: Playing at Palestra
B.G. Kelley is a Philadelphia writer Butterflies as big as bats seized my stomach as I sat in the Palestra locker room waiting to lead the Temple Owls onto the court to meet the Villanova Wildcats in a City Series Big Five game. I could hear the nearly 10,000 fans screaming, anxiously anticipating the arrival of both teams to the polished floor of the Palestra.
B.G. Kelley
is a Philadelphia writer
Butterflies as big as bats seized my stomach as I sat in the Palestra locker room waiting to lead the Temple Owls onto the court to meet the Villanova Wildcats in a City Series Big Five game. I could hear the nearly 10,000 fans screaming, anxiously anticipating the arrival of both teams to the polished floor of the Palestra.
It was Jan. 16, 1965, and it was the most important game of the season for my teammates and our coach, Harry Litwack, a seminal figure in Philly basketball who would later be inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame.
Villanova, one of the top teams nationally, was the clear favorite, coming into the game with a sterling 10-2 record; Temple was 8-4. But this was a Big Five game and the watchword was unpredictability, no matter the records, no matter the favorite.
Coach gathered us together just before we were to take the court and said, emphatically, "Let's play with ginger." I didn't exactly know what that meant, but I suspected he wanted us to ramp up our verve and nerve.
I blasted out of the locker room with my teammates behind me. As soon as we hit the court, streamers were hurled and signs unfurled from every outpost of the Palestra. The TV cameras were rolling. Cheerleaders pinwheeled the length of the court. School bands boomed ear-thumping fight songs. Confetti rained. The fan noise was deafening.
This was the Big Five. Raw, unrobed emotion.
This is what most Philly schoolboy players dreamed of in the '50s, '60s, and '70s, when the Big Five was at its zenith: to play in these magical games in this magical building.
I was one of those Philly schoolboys.
My high school coach at Roman Catholic, Fran McMenamin, rewarded me for my play by taking me to the Palestra to see Temple take on St. Joe's. It was the first time I had been to a Big Five game, the first time I had been in the Palestra.
I was mesmerized.
The passionate play, particularly of All-American guards Bill "Pickles" Kennedy from Temple and Bobby McNeill from St. Joe's, coupled with the frenzy and fervor of the fans, had me jumping out of my seat as if hot-wired by battery cables. The experience was almost Pentecostal, as fever-pitched as any tent revival; indeed, the faces of the fans were as flushed and frazzled from cheering as those of the players from playing. My soul was breathing through the excitement.
I knew then: The Big Five at the Palestra was the epitome of the game I loved.
By the end of the game I was willing to sacrifice anything - sweat, time, girls, hanging out with my friends - to make sure nothing - nothing - would get in the way of my dream to play in the Big Five at the Palestra, so sure that basketball plenitudes of this magnitude were unfindable anywhere else.
The dream came true.
And, oh yes, that Villanova game in 1965?
With seven minutes remaining and the score tied at 55, I was fouled. I stepped to the line for two shots, pausing before shooting and visualizing two foul shots I had made in the crucible of an earlier game. Then I blessed myself, and shot.
Swish.
Swish.
We went on an amazing offensive run, smothered the Cats defensively in our matchup zone, and controlled the backboards with Jimmy Williams and Chris Kefalos to gain an upset 73-59 victory over a terrific Villanova team led by its great coach, Jack Kraft, and its two great players, Jim Washington and Billy Melchionni.
I walked off the court that night with a smile brighter than sunshine - and sure of this truth: All of my sacrifice and hard work had been worth it to play in the Big Five at the Palestra.