VCU's Next Men's Basketball Season

If no one else leaves the team, for whatever reasons, VCU has just one scholarship available for next season. That's because Jimmy Clark, a sophomore guard, left the program during the season that just ended.

By the way, because of COVID-19, the NCAA is allowing an extra year of eligibility for 2020-21's basketball players. Which means VCU's two seniors can play another year and it won't count against the ordinary 13 scholarship limit; they are forwards Cory Douglas and Levi Stockard. 

However, at this point neither of them has announced his plans for next season. We have to assume the decision will be up to them and the Rams coaching staff. At some point, perhaps soon, an announcement will be made that will determine how many players will be on the Rams roster for the 2021-22 season, because VCU still has two recruits who have signed to come in next year. They are forward Jalen DeRoach (6-foot-8) and guard/small forward Nick Kern (6-foot-5). 

None of the above means I'm putting any store in the talk that Bones Hyland is maybe going to opt out and declare for the NBA draft. Maybe he's ready, maybe another year would enhance his prospects; we'll see about that. And the same goes for the juicy rumor that Richmonder Armando Bacot is considering transferring out of North Carolina to come to VCU. Right now that seems more like online wishful thinking, but...

Nonetheless, I think Head Coach Mike Rhoades, with his options, probably has an Atlantic 10 contender next season. As far the players who are currently weighing their options go, they should be able to see that with the players already set to return, VCU's 2021-22 season is likely to be a special season. Very special.

Swordfish on Spring Street

L-to-R: Chuck Wrenn, Terry Rea, Larry Rohr.

In the Biograph Theatre's first year of softball we called our team the Swordfish. The nickname came from a joke in a Marx Brothers movie. The amazingly lucky Swordfish won 15 games of the 17 we played in 1976. (We never had another season with such success.) The two losses that summer came in memorable situations. The first was the championship game of the Fan District Softball League's Invitational Tournament. The second was played inside the walls of the old state penitentiary against the home team.

Located at Belvidere and Spring Streets, the fortress prison loomed over the rocky falls of the James River for nearly 200 years. As it happened, the guy in charge of recreation at the pen frequented a favorite watering hole of mine -- J.W. Rayle (located at Pine and Cary from 1974-77). During a conversation there he asked if the Swordfish might like to take on the prison’s softball team on a Saturday afternoon. He went on to say that Chuck Wrenn of the Rayle team had already agreed to do so.

Without much thought, I followed suit. Then, as it turned out, the first date we set up was canceled, due to something about a small riot. Well...

OK.

Nonetheless, a couple of weeks later the Rayle and Biograph teams entered the Big House. To get into the prison yard we all had to go through a process, which included a cursory search. We had been told in advance to bring nothing in our pockets.

As we worked our way through the ancient passageways, sets of bars were unlocked and then locked behind us. Each of us got a stamp on our hands that could only be seen under a special light. Someone asked what would happen if the ink got wiped off, inadvertently, during the game. He was told that was not a good idea.

OK. 

Rayle played the prison team first, then the Biograph. The umpire for the games was Dennis “Dr. Death” Johnson, a rather high-profile character at the time. Johnson played on another Fan District team. Among other things, he did some professional wrestling, so he was quite good at hamming up the umpire's role.

The fence in left field was the same high brick wall that ran along Belvidere Street. It was only about 230 to 240 feet from home plate. Yet, because of its height, maybe 30 feet, a lot of hard-hit balls caromed off of it. What would have been a routine fly ball on most fields was a home run there. It was a short, red brick version of Boston’s Green Monster.

The prison team, known as the Raiders, was quite good at launching softballs over that towering brick wall. They seemed to have an unlimited budget for softballs, too. Under the supervision of watchful guards, about 75 other prisoners seated in stands along the third base line cheered for the home team. Actually, they cheered for any good plays in the field. They cheered the loudest for a sliding collision at third base. 

During a conversation with a couple of my teammates behind the backstop, I referred to the home team as “the prisoners.” Our opponents’ coach, who was within earshot, immediately stepped toward me. Like his teammates, he was wearing a typical polyester softball uniform of that era with “Raiders” emblazoned across their chests in a script and number on their backs.We wore what were the latest cotton Biograph T-shirts.

“Call us the Raiders,” the coach advised, sternly, as he pointed to a rather awkward-looking mural on the prison wall that said, “Home of the Raiders.” It looked sort of like a jailhouse tattoo, blown up large. Anyway, it was obvious, I had made a faux pas.

“While we are on this ballfield, we’re not the Prisoners,” he said with, ah, conviction. “We’re the Raiders.”

“Raiders,” I said. “Right.”

“And, all our games," he deadpanned, "are home games.”

We all laughed, grateful the tension had been broken. The Raiders coach patted me on the back and thanked us for agreeing to play them.

In a tight, high-scoring affair the Raiders prevailed. Johnson knew how to play to the crowd with his calls, too. Afterward, I was glad the Swordfish had met the Raiders. And, I was glad to leave them, too.

Located smack dab in the middle of Richmond that ancient prison was a perpetual nightmare in our midst. I bet most of the guys from the Biograph's first team still remember more details about their meeting with the Raiders than any of the other games we played that season, 45 years ago. 

As for me, I'm sure glad that prison is gone. It was demolished in 1991.

 *

-- Photo by Danny Brisbane in 1977 at a Fan District Softball League event at John Marshall HS. Like Chuck, Danny was on the J.W. Rayle team. Larry and I were Swordfish.

-- 30 --

The Cheaters

When it came to sports, and games in general, my grandfather (on the right in the photo) saw a black and white world. Frank W. Owen had zero tolerance for cheating. Period. He envisioned a clear code of honor for games like baseball or poker. Not only must you never cheat, you had to always give the game your best effort until it's over. Thus, good sportsmanship was essential. 

 

Of course, when it came to the real world, of course he knew the ready supply of cheaters, chiselers and weasels has never been exhausted. The way he saw it, we can choose for ourselves to make the sports realm a better place than everyday life, honor-wise. After all, we make the rules.

  

In 1916 the fit members of the Richmond Light Infantry Blues were dispatched to Brownsville, Texas, to watch over the border and chase Mexican bandit/revolutionary Pancho Villa, who had crossed the border to stage a few raids on American soil ... or, so people said. To do the job the young Richmonders were converted into a cavalry unit. My grandfather, seen at the age of 23 in the 1916 photo, was one of those local boys in that Richmond Blues outfit.

Following that campaign, in 1917 the Blues were sent to Fort McClellan in the Alabama foothills, near the town of Anniston, for additional training. Then it was across the pond to France to finish off the Great War -- the war to end all wars.

The way I remember him, my grandfather depended completely on his own view of life. If he had doubts he hid them well. The stories I remember him telling from his years as a soldier were about his singing gigs, playing football and poker, and various other colorful adventures. He apparently saw no benefit in talking about the actual horrors he'd seen. At least I never heard such stories. 

 

My grandson's middle name is Owen. The story below about my grandfather was published in Style Weekly in 1999. 

 

The Cheaters

by F.T. Rea

Having devoted countless hours to competitive sports and games of all sorts, nothing in that realm is quite as galling to this grizzled scribbler as the cheater’s averted eye of denial, or the practiced tones of his shameless spiel.

In the middle of a pick-up basketball game, or a friendly Frisbee-golf round, too often, my barbed outspokenness over what I have perceived as deliberate cheating has ruffled feathers. The words won't stay in my mouth. I can't resist noticing a cheater in action any more than a watchful blue jay can resist dive-bombing an alley cat.

The reader might wonder about whether I'm overcompensating for dishonest aspects of myself, or if I could be dwelling on memories of feeling cheated out of something dear.

OK, fair enough, I don't deny any of that. Still, truth be told, to this day I believe a lot of it goes back to one particular afternoon's mischievous diversion, gone wrong.

A blue-collar architect with the Chesapeake & Ohio Railway for decades, my maternal grandfather, Frank Wingo Owen was a natural entertainer. Blessed with a resonant baritone/bass voice, he began singing professionally in his teens and continued performing, as a soloist and with barbershop quartets, into his mid-60s. He was comfortable in the role of an emcee. 

Shortly after his retirement, at 65, the lifelong grip on good health he had enjoyed failed; an infection he picked up during a routine hernia surgery at a VA hospital nearly killed him. It left him with no sense of touch in his extremities.

Once he got some of his strength back, he found comfort in returning to his role as umpire of the baseball games played in his yard by the neighborhood's boys. He couldn't stand up behind home plate, anymore, but he did alright sitting in the shade of the plum tree, some 25 feet away.

This was the summer he taught me, along with a few of my friends, the fundamentals of poker. To learn the game we didn’t play for real money. Each player got so many poker chips. If his chips ran out, he became a spectator.

The poker professor said he’d never let us beat him, claiming he owed it to the game to win, if he could, which he always did. Woven throughout his lessons on betting strategy were stories about poker hands and football games from his cavalry days, serving with the Richmond Blues during World War I.

As likely as not, the stories he told would end up underlining points he saw as standards: He challenged us to expose the true coward at the heart of every bully. "Punch him in the nose," he'd chuckle, "and even if you get whipped he'll never bother you again." In team sports, the success of the team trumped all else. Moreover, withholding one’s best effort, no matter the score, was beyond the pale.

Such lazy afternoons came and went so easily that summer there was no way then, at 11, I could have appreciated how precious they would seem looking back on them. 

On the other hand, there were occasions he would make it tough on me. Especially when he spotted a boy breaking the yard's rules or playing dirty. It was more than a little embarrassing when he would wave his cane and bellow his rulings. For flagrant violations, or protesting one of his his umpire calls too much, he barred the guilty boy from the yard for a day or two. 

F. W. Owen’s hard-edged opinions about fair play, and looking directly in the eye at whatever comes along, were not particularly modern. Nor were they always easy for know-it-all adolescent boys to swallow.

Predictably, the day came when a plot was hatched. We decided to see if artful subterfuge could beat him at poker just once. The conspirators practiced in secret for hours, passing cards under the table with bare feet and developing signals to ask for particular cards. Within the group, it was accepted that we wouldn't get away with it for long ... but to pull it off for a few hands would be pure fun.

Following baseball, with the post-game watermelon consumed, while the table was cleaned up I fetched the cards and chips. Then the four card sharks moved in to put the caper in play. To our amazement, the plan went off smoothly.

After hands of what we saw as sly tricks we went blatant, expecting/needing to get caught, so we could gloat over having tricked the great master. Later, as he told the boys' favorite story -- the one about a Spanish women who bit him on the arm at a train station in France -- one-eyed jacks tucked between dirty toes were being passed under the table. Then, gradually, the joy began to drain out of the adventure.

With semi-secret gestures I called the ruse off. A couple of hands were played with no shenanigans. But he ran out of chips, anyway.

Head bowed, he sighed, “Today I can’t win; you boys are just too good for me.”

Utterly dependent on his cane for balance he slowly walked into the shadows toward the back porch. It was agonizing. The game was over; we were no longer pranksters. We were cheaters.

As he carefully negotiated the steps, my last chance to save the day came and went without a syllable out of me to set the record straight. It was hard to believe that he hadn’t seen what we were doing, but my guilt burned so deeply I didn't wonder enough about that, then.

Well, my grandfather didn’t play poker with us again. He went on umpiring, and telling his salty stories afterwards over watermelon feasts. We tried playing poker the same way without him, but it just didn’t work; the value the chips had magically represented was gone. Summer was ending and the boys had outgrown poker without real money on the line.

Although I thought about that afternoon's shame many times before my grandfather died nine years later, I don't think either of us ever mentioned it. For my part, when I tried to bring it up the words always stuck in my throat.

AS the years passed I grew to become as intolerant of petty cheating as F.W. Owen was in his day, maybe even more so. And, as it was for him, the blue jay has always been my favorite bird.

-- 30 --

VCU Removed From NCAA Tournament

Today, via a Zoom presser, VCU 's athletic director, Ed McLaughlin, said he received a phone call from the NCAA's Dan Gavitt at 6:20-to-6:25 p.m. During that difficult conversation McLaughlin learned the VCU Rams' basketball game with the Oregon Ducks, scheduled for 9:57 p.m., had been declared, “no contest." 

Thus, due to some number of positive COVID-19 tests, the Rams participation in the NCAA tournament was kaput less than four hours before its tipoff. 

Earlier in the day VCU had learned it had players (no names, no numbers) who had tested positive for COVID-19. Still, the coaches and the team had hoped to play, since they had enough players who weren't testing positive. 

Apparently the NCAA made the decision based on what the Marion County's health department advised. McLaughlin offered no theories to explain the players' exposures. “This isn't something where the team broke protocol,” he said.

The Rams head coach, Mike Rhoades said upon getting the word from McLaughlin he assembled his players in the hall of the 16th floor of the hotel to break the news. 

“There were no dry eyes,” said Rhoades. Then he continued, “A lot of people have it worse than this. Last year I had to talk to Justin Tillman (a VCU star player 2014-18), when he had just lost both of his parents. That was tougher than this.”

Later, Rhoades chuckled just slightly, or maybe it was a sigh, when he mentioned that after the disappointing loss to St. Bonaventure on Sunday in the Atlantic 10 championship game, his team had enjoyed a good week of practices in Indianapolis. 

"There's no one to blame," said Rhoades stoically. 

-- 30 --

 Update: More on this story from CBS Sports. 

The Stretch

Katey in the summer of 1977

Note: The Atlanta Braves' AAA farm team, the Richmond Braves, played their first game at Parker Field on April 23, 1966. The R-Braves played their last game at The Diamond, which had replaced Parker Field on the same site for the 1985 season, on September 1, 2008. 

The piece that follows, set at a Braves home game at Parker Field, was first published by Style Weekly just after the conclusion of Major League Baseball's 1999 regular season.. 

*

With the turning of the leaves, the Fan District of Richmond, Va., will again be transformed into a living impressionistic cityscape. As they always do, the season’s wistful breezes will facilitate reflection.

All of which leads to the fact that yet another baseball season has come and gone. After 6,783 games, the last game ever has been played at Detroit’s fabled Tiger Stadium. The Giants and the Astros will be playing in new parks next season, as well. 

 

The World Series, first played in 1903, will soon be upon us. Although baseball’s longstanding claim to be the National Pastime may no longer hold up, the colorful lore generated by the magic of events at baseball parks probably outweighs that of all the other sports, put together ... at least in this country.

In the mid-1950s I began going to the Richmond V's (short for Virginians) games at Parker Field with my grandfather. Saw my first game when I was about seven. Naturally, I eagerly drank in all I could of the atmosphere, especially the stories told about legendary players and discussions on various strategies of game situations. 

As I got older I began going to games with my friends. Like me, they played baseball. Hoping to catch a foul ball, we usually took our baseball gloves with us to the game. Sometimes, we would go early so we could watch the V’s warm up. As often as possible we talked with the players. If one of them remembered your name it was a source of pride. When we cheered the heroics we witnessed and rose for the seventh inning stretch and stayed until the last out, regardless of the score, it was tantamount to exercising religious rites.

A few seasons before they tore Parker Field down (it was dismantled in 1984 and in its place stands The Diamond), I experienced a thrill at the old ballpark that stands out in a special way. It took place when my daughter, Katey, was seven years old (that's my best guess).

The home team by then — as it is now — was the Braves. Katey, her mother, Valerie, and I were sitting in box seats as guests of neighbors who had gotten comps from a radio station (WGOE-AM). It was probably Katey’s first trip to Parker Field. The spectacle itself was interesting to her ... for a while. 

 

As it was a night game, the bright lights dazzled Katey. The roar of the crowd was exhilarating. Being old enough to go along on such an outing, instead of staying at home with a baby sitter, was a boost to her morale. Nonetheless, by the middle of the game Katey (pictured above at about her age in this story) was getting tired of sitting still and bored with baseball.

During the sixth inning it fell to me to entertain, or at least restrain her, so the others could enjoy the game. I tried telling her more about the object of baseball, which she knew little or nothing about, hoping that would help her understand the game and pay some attention to it.

That didn’t work for very long. She was soon climbing across seats, again. This time she knocked a man’s beer into his lap. With the visiting team at bat, in the top of the seventh, I got an idea and asked Katey if she wanted to see some magic. 

 

Of course she did.

Then I got her to promise to be good if I showed her a magic trick. She promptly agreed to the terms. Making sure she alone could hear me, I pulled her in close and whispered my instructions.

The gist of it was that she and I, using our combined powers of concentration, were going to make everyone in the ballpark stand up at the same time. Katey was thrilled at the mere prospect of such a feat. I told her to face the ongoing game, close her eyes, and begin thinking about making the crowd stand up.

After the visiting team made their third out, I cupped my hand to her ear and reminded her to think, “stand up, stand up…”

As baseball fans know, when the home team comes to bat in the bottom of the seventh inning everyone stands up, ostensibly to stretch their legs. It’s a longtime tradition called “the seventh inning stretch.” There’s a mention of the practice in a report about a Cincinnati Red Stockings (baseball’s first professional team) game that took place in 1869.

Tradition aside — when Katey turned around, opened her big blue eyes and saw thousands of people standing up — it was pure magic in her book.

No one in the group gave me away when Katey explained what we had just done. Of course she wanted to do it again, but I talked her out of it. Maybe next time. Nonetheless, as I remember it, she stayed true to her word and was well-behaved for the rest of the game.

 

About two years later, having learned from schoolmates how the trick worked, Katey suddenly confronted me. Fortunately, she thought it was funny. We still laugh about it.

Some sports fans today complain that baseball games are too slow and meandering; they prefer their spectator sports more action-packed. Sure, baseball has its lulls, as do most well-told stories. Nonetheless, there are textures and layers of information present at baseball parks that are just too subtle, too ephemeral for the lens of a TV camera to capture.

To appreciate them you have to be there. You also have to bother to notice. Sometimes there’s even a hint of magic in the air.

*

Note: Here's a short list of some of the standout players who wore the uniform of the Richmond Braves (1966-2008): Tommy Aaron, Sandy Alomar, Steve Avery, Dusty Baker, Jim Beauchamp, Steve Bedrosian, Wilson Betemit, Jeff Blauser, Curt Blefary, Jim Breazeale, Tony Brizzolara, Brett Butler, Paul Byrd, Francisco Cabrera, Vinny Castilla, Bobby Cox, Mark DeRosa, Joey Devine, Jermaine Dye, Johnny Estrada, Darrell Evans, Ron Gant, Jesse Garcia, Ralph Garr, Marcus Giles, Tom Glavine, Tony Graffanino, Tommy Green, Johnny Grubb (who I played against in Little League), Albert Hall, Wes Helms, Mike Hessman, Glenn Hubbard, Andruw Jones, Chipper Jones, David Justice, Ryan Klesko, Brad Komminsk, Javy Lopez, Adam LaRoche, Mark Lemke, Rick Mahler, Andy Marte, Kent Merker, Dale Murphy, Joe Niekro, Phil Niekro, Larry Owen, Gerald Perry, Chico Ruiz, Paul Runge, Harry Saferight, Jason Schmidt, Randall Simon, John Smoltz, Mark Wohlers, Brad Woodall, Tracy Woodson, Ned Yost and Paul Zuvella.  

-- Words and photo by F.T. Rea

– 30 –

Dancing to the Tune Being Played

As the VCU Rams test their dancing shoes in practice this week, hopefully they are getting ready for the way games are somewhat different in postseason tournaments. The stepped up intensity and the increased contact allowed can wilt a pretty good team not prepared enough for the change in style in the games of conference tournaments and especially the Big Dance.   

Thus, the hard-nosed strategy St. Bonaventure used to defeat VCU, 74-65, in yesterday's Atlantic 10 championship game was hardly surprising. Right from the start it was obvious the Bonnies were committed to making life as hard for Bones Hyland, the conference's Player of the Year, as the rules would allow. 

The way Bonnies head coach, Mark Schmidt, set it up, if his veteran team was going to lose to the Rams, it would not be because VCU's star player poured in a bunch of 3-pointers in the first half, to set a tone and establish a working margin. So the Bonnies smothered and even roughed up Bones as much as they could get by with. They also managed to lure him into first-half foul trouble. 

Thus, Bones was stifled and held to zero points in the first half. The Rams head coach, Mike Rhoades, surely knows his relatively young team got schooled by, Schmidt, the conference's savvy Coach of the Year. It happens.

From here on the Rams can only expect a lot more of this sort of thing. Rhoades and his staff must get their players mentally ready for their next opponent, Oregon, to try to intimidate VCU with similar tactics They should expect an all-out plan to take Bones out of the game, using any and all means allowed. That will put extra pressure on freshman point guard, Ace Baldwin, to be steady and yet aggressive.

So, against the Ducks on Saturday night (tipoff at 9:57 p.m.; TV broadcast on TNT), the Rams fate may rest on Bones setting a new career-high for assists, because he makes clever passes when he is double-teamed. If his teammates Vince Williams and Jamir Watkins both score career highs for points, I like VCU's chance to advance. 

With the No. 7 seeded Ducks now a 6-point betting favorite, if the No. 10 seeded Rams can bear down to force turnovers aplenty and also block out effectively, to limit the Ducks to one shot per possession, an upset will get even more likely. 

-- 30 -- 

 

The Sound

The Handbill in this story.

 

Note: A longer version of this story about my time as a candidate was first published in SLANT in 1987. Then, in 2000, I trimmed it down to this version, which ran in Style Weekly as a Back Page. Overall, I have received a lot of feedback, mostly positive, on this piece; maybe more than any other I've written. 

 

A few flashbacks of the events described are still vivid memories. Nonetheless, for the sake of accuracy, I'm sure glad I wrote it all down before other parts faded into the mists. 

*

In the spring of 1984, I ran for public office. In case the Rea for City Council campaign doesn’t ring a bell, it was a spontaneous and totally independent undertaking. No doubt, it showed. Predictably, I lost, but I’ve never regretted the snap decision to run, because the education was well worth the price.

In truth, I had been mired in a blue funk for some time prior to my letting a couple of friends, Bill Kitchen and Rocko Yates, talk me into running, as we played a foozball game in Rockitz, Kitchen's nightclub. Although I knew winning such an election was out of my reach, I relished the opportunity to have some fun mocking the system. Besides, at the time, I needed an adventure.

So it began. Walking door to door through Richmond’s 5th District, collecting signatures to qualify to be on the ballot, I talked with hundreds of people. During that process my attitude about the endeavor began to expand. People were patting me on the back and saying they admired my pluck. Of course, what I was not considering was how many people will encourage a fool to do almost anything that breaks the monotony.

By the time I announced my candidacy at a press conference on the steps of the city library, I was thoroughly enjoying my new role. My confidence and enthusiasm were compounding daily.

 

At the Downtown Public Library

On a warm April afternoon I was in Gilpin Court stapling handbills, featuring my smiling face, onto utility poles. Prior to the campaign, I had never been in Gilpin Court. I had known it only as “the projects.”

Several small children took to tagging along. Perhaps it was their first view of a semi-manic white guy — working their turf alone — wearing a loosened tie, rolled-up shirtsleeves, and khaki pants.

After their giggling was done, a few of them offered to help out. So, I gave them fliers and they ran off to dish out my propaganda with a spirit only children have.

Later I stopped to watch some older boys playing basketball at the playground. As I was then an unapologetic hoops junkie, it wasn’t long before I felt the urge to join them. I played for about 10 minutes, and amazingly, I held my own.

After hitting three or four jumpers, I banked in a left-handed runner. It was bliss, I was in the zone. But I knew enough to quit fast, before the odds evened out.

Picking up my staple gun and campaign literature, I felt like a Kennedyesque messiah, out in the mean streets with the poor kids. Running for office was a gas; hit a string of jump shots and the world’s bloody grudges and bad luck will simply melt into the hot asphalt.

A half-hour later the glamour of politics had worn thin for my troop of volunteers. Finally, it was down to one boy of about 12 who told me he carried the newspaper on that street. As he passed the fliers out, I continued attaching them to poles.

The two of us went on like that for a good while. As we worked from block to block he had very little to say. It wasn’t that he was sullen; he was purposeful and stoic. As we finished the last section to cover, I asked him a question that had gone over well with children in other parts of town.

“What’s the best thing and the worst thing about your neighborhood?” I said with faux curiosity.

He stopped. He stared right through me. Although I felt uncomfortable about it, I repeated the question.

When he replied, his tone revealed absolutely no emotion. “Ain’t no best thing … the worst thing is the sound.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, already feeling a chill starting between my shoulder blades.

“The sound at night, outside my window. The fights, the gunshots, the screams. I hate it. I try not to listen,” he said, putting his hands over his ears to show me what he meant.

Stunned, I looked away to gather my ricocheting thoughts. Hoping for a clue that would steady me, I asked, “Why are you helping me today?”

He pointed up at one of my handbills on a pole and replied in his monotone. “I never met anybody important before. Maybe if you win, you could change it.”

Words failed me. Yet I was desperate to say anything that might validate his hope. Instead, we both stared silently into the afternoon’s long shadows. Finally, I thanked him for his help. He took extra handbills and rode off on his bike.

As I drove across the bridge over the highway that sequestered his stark neighborhood from through traffic, my eyes burned and my chin quivered like my grandfather’s used to when he watched a sad movie.

Remembering being 12 years old and trying to hide my fear behind a hard-rock expression, I wanted to go back and tell the kid, “Hey, don’t believe in guys passing out handbills. Don’t fall for anybody’s slogans. Watch your back and get out of the ghetto as fast as you can.”

But then I wanted to say, “You’re right! Work hard, be tough, you can change your neighborhood. You can change the world. Never give up!” During the ride home to the Fan District, I swore to myself to do my absolute best to win the election.

A few weeks later, at what was billed as my victory party, I, too, tried to be stoic as the telling election results tumbled in. The incumbent carried six of the district’s seven precincts. I carried one. The total vote wasn’t even close. Although I felt like I’d been in a car wreck, I did my best to act nonchalant.

This shot, taken at Grace Place, shows my reaction to

the news that with half the votes counted I no longer
had any chance to win. 

 

In the course of my travels these days, I sometimes hear Happy Hour wags laughing off Richmond’s routine murder statistics. They scoff when I suggest that maybe there are just too many guns about; I’m told that as long as “we” stay out of “their” neighborhood, there is little to fear.

But remembering that brave Gilpin Court newspaper boy, I know that to him the sound of a drug dealer dying in the street was just as terrifying as the sound of any other human being giving up the ghost.

If he's still alive, that same boy would be older than I was when I met him. The ordeal he endured in his childhood was not unlike what children growing up in any number of the world’s bloody war zones are going through today. Plenty of them must cover their ears at night, too.

For the reader who can’t figure out how this story could eventually come to bear on their own life, then just wait … keep listening.

 -- 30 --

A-10 Mar. 10 Presser.

This morning at 11 a.m. the Atlantic 10 Conference held a press conference featuring the two head coaches and selected star players from the two teams set to compete in the league's championship game on Sun., Mar. 14. 

In the deciding tilt the tournament's No. 1 seed, St. Bonaventure (15-4, No. 27 NET), will face No. 2 seed, VCU (19-6, No. 35 NET). The A-10's final game of 2020/21 will be played at UD Arena in Dayton. Tip-off will be at 1 p.m. (TV: CBS).    

As one might expect in this situation, the questions were rather generic, designed to elicit easy quotes. Asked what wining the league's championship game would mean to him, VCU's sophomore guard Bones Hyland laughed and said he has played in championship games (before coming to VCU), but hasn't won one of them. "I've never cut down any nets."

Since VCU and St Bonaventure have played twice during the regular season and split those games, junior small forward Vince Williams (No. 10 pictured left) was asked what would be the likely difference this time. Williams said, "The key will be our second half performance."

Bones agreed. "We should never feel comfortable with a lead on a team like St. Bonaventure."

Head Coach Mike Rhoades  was asked what he would say to fire up his team before Sunday's game.

Rhoades said there would be no dramatic locker room speeches right before the game. "They've already heard it all. They will be ready to play." 

Then he added, "We've got to rebound."

Today the bettors' spread has the Bonnies a 2-point favorite over the Rams.  

--30 --

Bones Hyland Named A-10 Player of the Year

VCU sophomore guard Nah’Shon “Bones” Hyland (No. 5 pictured right) has been named Atlantic 10 Conference Player of the Year, the league announced Wednesday as part of its end-of-year awards. Junior forward Vince Williams Jr. (Third Team), sophomore forward Hason Ward (All-Defensive Team) and Adrian “Ace” Baldwin Jr. (All-Rookie Team) also earned postseason honors from the A-10. 

 

Hyland is the first Ram to win a conference Player of the Year honor since Eric Maynor captured back-to-back awards in the CAA in 2008 and 2009. Hyland, a Wilmington, Del. native, is the first VCU sophomore to win league Player of the Year since Calvin Duncan claimed the Sun Belt Conference’s top honor in 1982-83. Hyland was also named First Team All-Atlantic 10. The Rams have placed a player on the A-10’s First Team in eight of nine seasons since they joined the league in 2012-13.

 

The 6-foot-4 combo guard is averaging a league-best 19.4 points per game, as well as 4.7 rebounds, 2.1 assists and 2.0 steals per game. His 2.9 three-point field goals per game also leads the conference. He scored 30 more points on three occasions this season, and his three double-doubles lead the team. Hyland has scored in double figures in 22 of 23 contests this year.

 

Hyland’s breakout campaign helped VCU defy preseason expectations on the way to a 19-6 record and the No. 2 seed in the Atlantic 10 Conference Tournament. He poured in 30 points and grabbed 10 rebounds in the Rams’ A-10 quarterfinal win over Dayton. Hyland’s play has helped propel VCU into the A-10 Championship Game for the first time since 2017.

 

In addition, Williams claimed a spot on the Atlantic 10 Third Team. It’s the first All-Conference honor for Williams, who increased his scoring to 10.6 points (from 4.2) and 5.1 rebounds (from 2.8) in 2020-21. The 6-6 forward from Toledo, Ohio is also second on the team in assists with 48 and 3-pointers 41. Williams is shooting .418 (41-of-98) from long range this season.

 

Ward’s shot-blocking ability earned him a place on the league’s All-Defensive Team. The St. Thomas, Barbados native is averaging 2.4 blocks per game, second in the conference. He ranks ninth nationally in block percentage (12.4). The 6-9 forward has also provided 16 steals, and is averaging 6.5 points and 5.2 rebounds, while shooting .580 from the floor.

 

Baldwin has been named to the A-10’s All-Rookie Team. The Baltimore, Md. point guard started all 25 games for the Rams and averaged 6.8 points, 4.4 assists, 3.2 rebounds and 2.1 steals per game. His 111 assists are the second-most by a freshman in school history. In addition, Baldwin typically draws the opposing team’s best offensive player, and has provided outstanding on-ball defense to the nation’s 11^th-ranked defense, according to KenPom.com.

 

VCU (19-6) will return to the floor on Sunday, March 14 when it meets St. Bonaventure (15-4) in the A-10 Championship Game at Dayton’s UD Arena. Tip-off is scheduled for 1 p.m. on CBS. 

-- This report's information was supplied by Chris Kowalczyk, VCU Assistant A.D.

Rams Defense Tames Wildcats: VCU Advances to A-10 Final

Atlantic 10 Conference Semifinals

 

Final score: #2 VCU 64, #3 Davidson 52

Location: Richmond, Va. (Siegel Center)

Up-to-date Records: VCU 19-6, Davidson 13-8

 

The Short Story: In a hard-fought Atlantic 10 Conference Semifinal game VCU conjured up a balanced scoring attack and a smothering defense; it was too much for Davidson, the Wildcats couldn't match it. Second-seeded VCU's win sets up a clash with top-seeded St. Bonaventure in the A-10 Championship Game on Sun., Mar. 14 at 1 p.m. The game will be played in Dayton. (TV: CBS).

 

OPENING TIP

• Defense ruled, as VCU sophomore forward Hason Ward led the Rams with four blocks, as the Rams held the Wildcats to just 30 percent (17-for-57) shooting in the game. 
• For the second game in a row, Bones Hyland led the Rams in scoring, this time with 12 points. The sophomore guard also dished for four assists, and grabbed five rebounds. 
• VCU freshman guard Ace Baldwin had seven assists to go with his seven points and four boards. 
• Davidson’s Hyunjung Lee and Kellan Grady each put up 13 points to lead all scorers. 

THE DIFFERENCE

• Both teams struggled to score in the first half. VCU shot 31 percent (9-of-29) while the Wildcats shot just 17 percent (5-of-30) from the field. 
•  Freshman guard Jamir Watkins provided a spark for the Rams off the bench, pouring in 10 points, two assists and five rebounds. VCU benefited from 25 bench points compared to Davidson’s 10. Senior forward Corey Douglas connected on all five of his field-goal attempts on the way to 10 points and five rebounds for VCU. The Rams bench scored 25 points compared to their opponent's 10.
• With seven seconds left in the opening period Hyland swiped the ball from Davidson’s Grant Huffman and Baldwin converted on a fast break layup that sent the Rams into the break with a 24-17 advantage.
•  In the second half, Watkins and Douglas provided the lift that VCU needed following their early struggles from the field. They combined for 18 points off the bench in a second half that featured VCU shooting 64 percent (17-of-36) from the field. 
• Box score.
  

NOTEABLE

• VCU now advances to its sixth A-10 Championship Game (of eight possible) since it joined the league in 2012. 
• For the second time this season VCU held an opponent to shooting 30 percent from the field or lower (North Carolina A&T, 12/09/20). 
• Davidson scored 99 points and shot 59 percent from the field Friday night in its quarterfinal game against George Mason, but the Wildcats had no such luck Saturday.
• St. Bonaventure and VCU split their two games during the regular season; both won their home games.
  

-- Game notes supplied by Chris Kowalczyk, Assistant A.D.

Don't be evil. Smartly mask.

If the last year has taught us anything, when it comes to public policy, we the people ought to more easily recognize obvious foolishness, as well as evil, when we see them. For instance, a year ago, when Flat-Earth politicians first advocated ignoring what bona fide experts were advising, to do with the COVID-19 pandemic, it was foolish.

But what can you expect from people who don't believe in evolution? People who just don't want to believe that the radical changes in weather we're seeing are being exacerbated by mankind's persistent bad habits, especially to do with energy use? People who refuse to believe anything that puts what they like to do in a bad light?  

Eventually, to create distrust  and confusion, what some conniving politicians told us about what scientists/medial experts were advising was worse than foolish. It was designed to create more suffering. More death. 

Most notably, the war on masks has been and remains pure evil. 

Which means I'm saying we must stop thinking of the wearing of masks as a political matter, a free speech matter. And, we must no longer hesitate to condemn the politicians who are still waging a war on masks, while they claim citizens have a "right" to spread disease. 

A right to deliberately harm our neighbors? That's a load of warmed-over bullshit!

What Trump has done to discourage the wearing of masks has sickened and killed thousands of people. He knows that. So does the governor of Texas. Now, what scheming politicians are doing to mimic Trump's anti-mask policies is not just stupid. It's tantamount to poisoning a water supply. It's pretty much equal to setting off a poisonous gas bomb. 

Sixty-five days into 2021, with vaccine-driven hope on the horizon, the war on masks is pure evil. 

Don't be a chump. Don't be evil. Smartly mask. 

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VCU Stiff-Arms Dayton Rally

Atlantic 10 Conference Quarterfinals
Score: VCU 73, Dayton 68
Location: Richmond, Va. (Siegel Center)
Records: VCU 18-6, Dayton 14-9
 
The short story: After missing the last two games, due to injury, VCU sophomore guard Bones Hyland returned to the lineup with 30 points and 10 rebounds. In the doing, Bones led VCU past Dayton and into the Atlantic 10 Conference Tournament Semifinals.

OPENING TIP

• Hyland scored 22 of his 30 points in the first half as VCU built an 11-point lead. The sophomore also recorded 10 rebounds, three steals and three assists. It was Hyland's third double-double of the season.
• The Rams' steadily improving sophomore forward Hason Ward scored 10 points, grabbed five rebounds and had three blocks.
• VCU freshman guard Ace Baldwin chipped in 10 points and two assists for the black and gold
• Rams' senior forward Corey Douglas converted 3-of-5 from the field and finished with eight points, three blocks and a pair of steals off the bench.
• Jalen Crutcher led Dayton with 21 points.

THE DIFFERENCE

• VCU opened the game on an 11-1 run that as capped off by a steal and layup by Hyland.
• The Flyers chipped away at the Rams' lead late in the first half and cut the deficit to seven with 1:44 remaining before the break. VCU responded with a 6-2 burst, punctuated by a Hyland fall-away jumper from the corner as the halftime buzzer sounded.
• Leading 40-30 with 16:44 left in the game, the Rams went on a 15-6 run that stretched the VCU advantage to 19, the largest of the game.
• Dayton responded with a 20-7 run of its own to climb back into the contest. The Flyers trailed by six with just under four minutes remaining.
• Hyland and Douglas each sunk a pair of free throws to push the Rams' lead back to double digits as VCU held off the Flyers in the final minutes.
• The Rams scored 38 points in the paint to Dayton's 22.
• VCU forced 21 Dayton turnovers and converted those into 22 points.

NOTABLE

• VCU returns to the A-10 semifinals for the sixth time since joining the league prior to the 2012-13 season. The Rams have won the previous five.
  
• Hyland has contributed three double-doubles this season. 
• VCU recorded double-digit steals for the fourth time this season.
• Dayton's 21 turnovers mark a season-high for the Flyers.
• The Rams are 14-6 all-time in A-10 Tournament games.
• Box score   
  

SEMI-FINAL GAME

On Sat., Mar. 6, second-seeded VCU (18-6, No. 35 NET) will meet third-seeded Davidson (13-7, No. 72 NET), at 9 p.m. with a championship game berth on the line. The game will be carried live on TV by CBS Sports. Radio on 910 AM.

-- Game notes from Chris Kowalczyk, VCU Assistant A.D.