Wilt's 100: Yes, I was really there

March 2, 1962 (Hershey, Pa.)

"Wilt owes me one." That's what I was thinking as I entered Hershey Arena that Friday night with my father and my little brother. Hershey is 25 miles from my home in Lancaster, and I was very blessed to have a father who would take me to games and do everything else for me. So, yes, I really was there.

In March, 1962, Duke of Earl was No. 1 on the Billboard charts, I was 11 years old, and Wilt was my sporting hero. I practiced his unique fall-away jumper on a daily basis, and I dreamed of the day when I'd grow to 7 feet and score as many points as Wilt was pouring in that season. Yes, Wilt was my sporting hero, but that night he owed me one.

On many occasions that season, Wilt had scored 60 or more in a game on his way to a record-setting average of 50.4 points per game. He had even topped 70 twice, but he owed me one because my father had taken me to Hershey to see the Warriors earlier that season, and Wilt had dropped in "only" 55 against the Saint Louis Hawks. In his two games prior to March 2, however, he had scored 67 and 65, so he was hot, and I didn't want to settle for another mediocre 55-point effort.

The Big Dipper owed me one, and I'm sure that he was aware of it. And, because he was a man of honor, he fulfilled his obligation. That night, he didn't give me just the one that he owed me. He gave me 100 as the Warriors beat the New York Knicks, 169-147.

Since that night, Wilt's record has remained unchallenged. Kobe Bryant came closest with 81, which means that the NBA's two highest-scoring totals belong to players who went to high schools less than four miles apart. But 81 is a long way from 100, and with the current style of NBA games, 100 is a challenge for most teams.

As an example, I offer January 16, when the Lakers defeated the Mavericks in a rousing 73-70 contest. Of the 22 teams that played that day and night, only six managed to reach the 100 mark.

Despite the fabulous athletic ability of today's players, the game moves at a distressingly slow pace, and I rarely watch it. My suggestion is to reduce the 24-second clock to 18 seconds to speed up the game. What I find curious about the slow pace of the game is that it's not the result of teams trying to pound the ball into their centers, because centers are practically extinct.

The NBA's only real center is Dwight Howard, and superbly talented big men such as Dirk Nowitzki and Kevin Durant would be the same players if they were only 6-3.

As an 11-year old, however, I followed the NBA closely, at least until baseball season started and my attention turned to the Phillies. At that age, I was largely oblivious to the world around me. I knew that the USA wasn't exactly best friends with Cuba and the USSR, but in my sheltered little world, good meant No. 13 for the Warriors, and Evil was not a bearded bad man from Havana or a bald Bolshevik from Moscow. In my 11-year old world, evil was a goateed No. 6 who played in Boston.

Of course, my vision of good and evil had everything to do with geography and nothing to do with any actual knowledge of two men whom I had never met. I'm sure that if I had grown up in Gorham, Maine, I'd have seen Mr. Russell as the defender of all things honest and chaste, but I lived 65 miles west of Philadelphia, and my geography made Wilt good and Bill Russell evil.

The NBA was a vastly different business back then, which is why the Knicks and the Warriors were playing in Hershey. The league would do many things to sell tickets, and the NBA game that night was actually the second game of a doubleheader. In the opener, players from the Philadelphia Eagles played an exhibition basketball game against players from the Baltimore Colts. I forget who won that epic contest, but I did get autographs from Tim Brown, Clarence Peaks and Irv Cross. All three had been important members of the Eagles' championship team in 1960, so I would have had a fulfilling night even if Wilt had let me down again.

He didn't, of course, and that's why the date of March 2, 1962 has a storied place in sports history. Wilt started scoring immediately, and so did just about everybody else on the floor. Wilt slammed in 23 in the first quarter, although I didn't see all of them because I had to spend some time playing pinball and buying chocolate bars. I had some catching up to do in the eating department because when we saw that game against the Hawks, I had just gotten braces on my teeth, and eating was very painful.

By the half, Wilt had 41 points, I had a bellyache and a sore flipper finger, and the halftime score was 79-68. As the second half began, I did a little math in my head, and I realized that Wilt might do something really special if he could hold the same scoring pace for the second half.

I wasn't in the Warriors' locker room to see what happened, but something must have inspired Wilt because he came out and picked up his pace. He scored 28 in the third quarter and even found time to dish out an assist. So, with 12 minutes left, he had 69 points, just 9 short of the record that he had set in triple OT earlier that season. That record seemed almost certain to fall, but no one could have been thinking of 100.

The Knicks played hard on defense, but they were almost powerless to stop Wilt. He continued to score profusely, and I grew more excited as I watched my hero dunk and finger-roll his way toward a new record. With just under eight minutes left, he scored his 79th point. That meant I was present for the NBA scoring record, and I officially canceled the debt he owed me.

Then he actually picked up his scoring pace. His 79 points in 40 minutes was a rate that would have given him 95 for the game, while his 21 in the last eight minutes would have brought him 126 for the game.

The Knicks were aware of what might happen, and they did their best to stop it. They would foul any Warrior so that Wilt couldn't get the ball, and eventually they quintuple-teamed him. Didn't matter, though. On this night, only divine intervention could have stopped Wilt, and God must have been enjoying the show.

After Wilt scored No. 98, he actually stole the in-bounds pass, but he missed a shot. Then, with 46 seconds left, he soared above all five Knicks and scored his final field goal of the night on a Dipper Dunk, giving him 100 points and thrilling an 11-year old worshiper. Hundreds of spectators poured onto the court and delayed the game while the rest of us 4,124 paying customers looked at each other and asked, "Can you believe it?"

Wilt's line for the game was: 100 points, 25 rebounds, 2 assists, 48 minutes. He was a notoriously poor foul shooter, but that night he went 28-for-32, and he was 21-for-22 after three quarters.

Fifty years later, it still seems hard to believe that one player could score 100 points in a game. Since that night, I've seen thousands of sporting events and some memorable performances. As a freshman at Saint Joe's, I happened to be in the Spectrum when Red Berenson scored six goals against the Flyers, which is an NHL record for a visiting player. I saw Richie Allen write, "Mom" in the dirt around first base at Connie Mack Stadium. I even saw myself hit the finish line in less than three hours in the Penn Relays Marathon, but nothing that these eyes have seen has matched Wilt's 100-point game.

It's a great memory. Ultimately, though, my best memory of that night is that I spent it with my little brother and with my late father. Wilt was my sporting hero, but my father was my real hero, and when I think of that night, I think of him as much as I think of Wilt. So thanks, Dad, for taking me to Hershey and for being at all of my games for so many years. I just wish that you and Wilt could have been around for this 50th anniversary.