ST. PETERSBURG, Fla. -- Almost a decade later, the people still stop Tate George and tell him where they were for The Shot. He can still see the thrill in the eyes of the Connecticut Huskies fans, especially this time of the year, when it's replayed over and over on television. This magical ride through the Nineties for the Huskies started March 24, 1990, when a ball dropped into the basket at the Meadowlands, beating Clemson, changing forever the face of UConn basketball.
"I really don't think about The Shot, unless someone brings it up," George said Monday from his Tampa hotel room. "I relive dropping the pass a thousand times more."
This is the story of UConn basketball. Always, it seems, Duke's waiting to crush a dream. The Blue Devils take the most delicious memories for UConn and taint them with regret. Before the Huskies and Blue Devils met for the NCAA championship Monday night at Tropicana Field, Duke had left a long trail of broken hearts scattered across Connecticut.
George, out of Newark and the old Union Catholic, calls the state home now. He does television analyst work for ESPN and ESPN International. He was here to do analyst work for Hartford's CBS affiliate, where indications were 70 percent of the state's audience would be watching the station's coverage.
"This game isn't about redemption," George said. "All that's left the same are the two coaches."
This was someone else's game Monday night, someone's chance. If this was a chance for restitution to UConn fans everywhere for losing by 47 to Duke in the 1964 Elite Eight, losing by on in the '90 Elite Eight, losing by 14 in the '91 Sweet 16, it was nothing of the sort for George.
He had his shot to get to bring down Duke, and those don't come along but once in a lifetime.
Scott Burrell made the three-quarters court throw in the 1990 East regional semifinal at the Meadowlands, George caught the pass, made the shot, and it lives forever in NCAA tournament lore. Everyone else remembers the glory of the Clemson victory, but it was the loss to Duke, two days later, that forever haunts George.
George can still see the end unfolding: The Huskies were winning, 78-77, and Bobby Hurley dribbled furiously down court. Time was running out. The Devils were going to be lucky to get a shot, any shot, to the basket.
"I grew up with Hurley," said George, the No. 1 pick of the Nets in 1990. "He was never a great shooter, and I knew we really didn't have to guard him. I believe it was [Thomas Hill] over on the left side. He threw a chest pass. I anticipated it."
George stepped perfectly into the passing lane. The ball met his hands. Jim Calhoun had worked his way to the scorer's table, near midcourt, and for a second had a fleeting vision of George holding on to the pass and dribbling straight for the coach as the final seconds ticked away.
"But in trying to stay inbounds," George said, "I took my eyes off the ball and it hit off my hands."
George lost the ball into the Duke bench with two seconds left, and the Huskies lost the game on a Christian Laettner leaner.
"I thought," Calhoun said later, "Tate was going to dribble the ball right to Denver."
Duke was destined for Denver and the Final Four, forcing UConn to wait nine years to get there. The irony was too thick for George. The shot of his life wasn't even the shot of the weekend.
Once again, Connecticut is turned upside down over its basketball team. Offices and schools had "Husky Day," on Friday, where thousands of white- and blue-collar workers, where teachers and students, were dressed down in Husky wear. Connecticut basketball is a sacred entity for this small state nestled between Boston and New York.
There's a split of Yankees and Red Sox fans, Giants and Patriots, but in the end, those teams belong to someone else. UConn is different. The Huskies are the home team. Even so, the near-misses of this decade delivered a measure of fatalism to the UConn fans. Calhoun, a Boston man, compares it to that of Red Sox fans. "The sky's always falling," he loves to say.
Once the Huskies made it to the Final Four for the first time, beating Ohio State to get to the championship game, it was almost like the pressure was off. It's a natural feeling. UConn fans are conditioned to expect Duke is destined to bring the most magical of Connecticut basketball seasons to crushing ends.
"They're never going to forgive him [George] for Christian shooting that shot," Calhoun said. "So they've broken our hearts. Maybe, just maybe we'll have the opportunity to put a little bit of heartbreak in them too."
All these years later, they still think about the Sweet 16, The Shot, the game to change everything for the Huskies. In Connecticut, they can still see it: The official, David Hall, handed Scott Burrell the ball on the far baseline with two seconds on the clock. The Huskies were down, 70-69, to Clemson. Burrell, a minor league pitcher, threw a pass three-quarters court to George. He caught it, turned, and shot over a couple of Clemson defenders.
As the ball dropped into the basket, the clock bled to 0: 00, and nobody will ever forget Tate George in Connecticut. The morning headline in the Hartford Courant read, "It's late, it's great, it's Tate."
Nine years later, Tate George smiles and tells the people, "Thanks," and then goes back to wondering why he couldn't have just wrapped his hands around that Bobby Hurley pass and dribbled the ball all the way to Denver. All the way to his Final Four.
Pub Date: 3/30/99