Monday, March 20, 2000

Nathan Bierma

On paper Calvin's championship run looks like a breeze. Undefeated against D-3 opponents. Ranked number one in the nation. Stars like Aaron Winkle and Jeremy Veenstra. A bench from here to the corner. 

Fans who saw the Knights play know their championship run was nearly de-railed numerous times over the final weeks. The team sagged at times, lacking a killer instinct, allowing weak opponents to linger and losing touch with their own championship mettle. The final two games in Salem, Virginia would bear that out, as the Knights won both games by an average of fewer than four points. 

But they hand out the trophy based on who won, not how they won, so the Knights stand alone above the nation in Division III, winning their second championship in eight years and first under coach Kevin VandeStreek. What's scary is that, with the notable exception of Winkle, this team will return next year mostly intact, with standouts Veenstra and Bryan Foltice, who hit the buzzer beater in the Final Four, playing as just sophomores. But before our thoughts turn to Calvin's title defense, a look at some of the storylines from a championship season.

THE CALMER COACH

Ed Douma was a fiery coach on the Calvin sidelines, constantly berating, in his unmistakably strident tone, one official or another -- provided he wasn't howling at his players. At times the uneasiness he caused Calvin paralleled that of Indiana fans watching Bob Knight, wondering how to balance success and antics. Unlike Knight, Douma was never vulgar, violent, or just plain dumb, but the fans that flocked to the Fieldhouse -- many of them staid, white-haired alumni about to return their donation envelopes to the school -- would chuckle and shake their heads: there goes Douma again. But they weren't always chuckling. Even the raucous student section, which would thunder support for an IRS agent if he happened to be coaching their beloved Knights, would sometimes roll their eyes at Douma's histrionics.

For a while, no one argued with success, and Douma had it -- a sparkling 254-72 record over 12 years, including a national championship in 1992. Eventually, though, the Calvin administration presumably tired of shifting in their seats every time Douma took to the sidelines.  This wasn't the face the school, which took seriously its pledge to stand out as a Christian institution that did things differently, wanted to wear at its prominent going-out parties -- sellouts at the Fieldhouse, the Calvin-Hope game on TV, the national tournament.

So in 1996, after a couple of double digit loss seasons -- the first in Douma's tenure -- Calvin took the chance to cordially show Douma the door. Under such cloudy conditions, the unenviable task of replacing the successful and still fairly popular Douma would go to unknown Kevin Vande Streek, coming from six years at Sioux Falls, where he bolstered the NAIA doormat to a winning team. The uninviting task was made more daunting by the fact that the Knights figured to struggle some more with the last links to the '92 title team gone, all while rival Hope was collecting Final Four appearances. And things didn't get much more sunny right away. Star guard Brad Dykstra hung up his sneakers after his sophomore year and transferred. Two other regulars would have a season wiped out by behavioral discipline. 

Still, Vande Streek put together a 52-25 record over his first three seasons, and everyone seemed to be breathing more easily under his kinder, gentler reign on the sidelines. So he had more than a few people pulling for him when his team came into full bloom and took an undefeated record into the NCAA Tournament. 

Sure, some still targeted the coach for his team's nagging naptimes at crucial stretches. But it was hard not to pull for Vande Streek. His laid back, warmer presence earned him his share of fans, and his discomfort with the media endeared reporters worn out by cliche-spouting, media-savvy coaches, assuring them of his sincerity. 

Of course, Vande Streek has his Douma moments -- on the sideline, his strident yell sounds eerily like Douma's, and he must get shin splints from stamping his foot on the hardwood after bonehead plays.  But his humble leadership invited fans to feel they were part of the celebration as he reluctantly accepted scissors from the players and climbed the ladder to cut down the nets in Salem. And we believed him when he said that as wonderful as winning a championship was, his greatest reward was getting to coach "such a fine group of Christian young men, who are outstanding on and off the court ... That's what a Christian institution is all about."

THE UNDERRATED STAR

Aaron Winkle didn't have a great Final Four, at least not by his steep standards. 
Ordinarily he's the go-to guy, the MAN, the one to take the big shot when the bottom is falling out. Only this weekend, Winkle wasn't always in the driver's seat; freshmen Veenstra and Foltice were taking the clutch shots. Of course, it didn't help that the defense put practically everybody but the trainer on Winkle each time he touched the ball. And given that, Winkle's total of 33 points over the final two games was indeed remarkable.

But when the buzzer sounded after the title game Winkle's thoughts didn't seem to be on how he finished his career, but on the totality of it. He collapsed to the floor with his face in his hands as the team swarmed next to him. A career of superlatives had ended with a national championship.

Aaron Winkle played under constant expectations to light up the scoreboard. Everyone was always looking for him to rack up the big numbers, and he tended to, but they misunderstood when he didn't lead the team in scoring. What was unbelievably underrated was how complete a player he was. He wasn't a scorer, he was an all-around leader, when the ball was and wasn't in play.  He was the one to pick and choose moments to get vocal to his teammates. He was the one to come up with the crucial rebound, the big block, the crippling steal. Actually, his stats from the championship game bear this out, as he finished with not just 19 points, but also 8 rebounds, 2 assists, and 2 blocks. And this was an average game for him.

What set apart Winkle, who is mulling over a pro ball stint in Europe, was his class, which remained constant even as the stat sheets fluctuated.  He was warm and articulate with the media as they tried to simplify him, and played as responsibly as he did aggresively on the court, the first to help an opponent up. His eye-popping plays came without any attention-grabbing celebration. In an era of unchecked narcissism among the most visible athletes, Winkle wore the mantle of star better than most.

FAB FROSH

The plan was for Bryan Foltice to dribble the length of the floor and look for one of the two shooters on the wings. Aaron Winkle, the expected star, was bottled up, but to Foltice, that wasn't the issue. "Fortunately, I never saw him," he said afterwards, grinning. Instead, with the clock ticking down and Calvin's national semifinal game tied, Foltice resorted to one of his trademark shots, breaking free at the top of the key, driving to the elbow, and floating a pull-up jumper toward the hoop. As the buzzer sounded the ball plunged through the net, and Calvin was on its way to the championship game.

Foltice's heroics surprised Franklin & Marshall coach Glenn Robinson, who said afterwards, "I learned that that was a freshman who took that shot ... and we want a freshman taking that shot in that situation."  But Calvin fans knew better. Foltice and fellow freshman starter Jeremy Veenstra had long established themselves as leaders on the team, boldly taking matters into their own hands when nothing else was working. 

Veenstra had onerous expectations on him before he ever put on a Knights jersey. A relative of Mark Veenstra, possibly the greatest player in the illustrious history of Calvin basketball who overhauled the record books in the 70s, he seemed oblivious to all the eyes that quickly fell on the energetic red-haired kid from Kalamazoo with the polished post moves and soft long distance touch. If they weren't comparing him to his legendary relative, fans whispered the name of another big man who could shoot the three, one who dominated the Fieldhouse not even a decade ago -- the inimitable Steve Honderd. Veenstra modestly insisted his name didn't yet belong in the same sentence.

Veenstra was the fiery, aggressive player -- the one so hungry to play in the big game he had to be straitjacketed by a calmer Winkle after the officials fouled him out of the semifinals on three of the tackiest calls he had seen all year.  Foltice was the nonchalant floor commander -- the one whose mannerisms and shots suggested he was out on the driveway in just another pickup game. Neither showed a hint of fear; each wanted to take command, and both pulled Calvin through tenuous times to win the title.

FANATICS

The postgame, on-court championship celebration included the familiar features -- the posing with the trophy and the cutting down of the nets. But then it was time for a special salute for a special group of fans -- the Fieldhouse Fanatics, a few hundred of the loudest, craziest basketball fans in Division III. Transplanted from the Calvin Fieldhouse, where the bright lighting glares off their gold "Knight Club" T-shirts to paint one of the most colorful basketball scenes in the country, the fans made the trip down to Virginia, altering their spring break itineraries, having waited in the ticket line earlier in the week for over six hours, and shook the Salem Civic Center at a volume that hearkened back to the Fieldhouse. They painted their faces, waved signs such as "Your Worst Knightmare" and "We're Predestined to Win." 
Through the tournament they had earned their reputation from opposing fans and coaches as Division III's answer to Duke's Cameron Crazies. 

Now it was their turn to share in the celebration. The players got in line, hoisting the trophy, and proceeded to run a gauntlet through the student section in Salem, absorbing head-pats, handshakes, and hip checks from the swarming fans. 

By now players and fans alike were drained, emotionally and physically exhausted, still encased in a film of sweat, their cheeks sore from smiling. And yet the celebration had just begun.

Nathan Bierma is part time announcer and producer at WBBL and editor of WBBL.com.

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