Sooner04
Well-known member
- Joined
- May 15, 2009
- Messages
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What do you say about a person who was singularly responsible for a sporting love so near and dear to your heart? I LOVE Oklahoma Basketball, and the reason I love Oklahoma Basketball is because Billy Tubbs came to Norman two years before I was born. Sure, Wayman was the star, but all roads lead to Billy Tubbs. I never want to sell Dave Bliss short because that 1979 team is cherished by those who were lucky enough to see it, but Billy Tubbs took a moribund program in a backwater outpost of a conference and made national waves.
My earliest memories are from inside the Lloyd Noble Center. I learned everything I needed to know about multiplication and pace and averages from my seat on the lower east side. I still do the math in my head at the 10:00 mark of each half, even if the calculations are much easier now than they were when the home team already had 40 points when the horn sounded for the under-8 TV timeout.
Okies are a different lot. I married a Texan and she's lived here now for nearly 20 years and she still doesn't understand us. Even though he was born in St. Louis, Billy Tubbs was an Okie, and that fact helped him thrive at Oklahoma. He spoke his mind and told you what he thought regardless of whether you were inclined to hear it. In a way, he was the worst thing that could've ever happened to Oklahoma Basketball because he curated a rabid fanbase that thought his way was the only the game could be played. Today, you're not going to see anything out of the ordinary when UTSA comes to town on a Tuesday night. But back then? You had to be present because there was a legitimate chance history could be made. Look out Centenary. Heads up, US International. Run for cover, Loyola Marymount.
In Ted Owens' last trip to Norman as the head coach at Kansas, the Jayhawks won the opening round of the Big 8 Tournament inside the LNC. They cut down the nets. Don't forget that. The saintly Jayhawks cut down our nets. We returned the favor in Lawrence a year later and every turtle-necked beaker within a 100 miles of Allen Fieldhouse wanted blood. Forget all that for a moment and ponder this: after that loss to Teddy O in March of 1983, the Sooners won 108 of their next 110 games inside the Lloyd Noble Center. For years there was a quote in OU press guides from Dick Vitale who stated that, without a doubt, the toughest place to play in America was the home floor of the Oklahoma Sooners. From nothing; from 9-18 in 1981 to a juggernaut on the south plains. Players came and players went, but there on the sideline for all of it was a gambler named Billy in a double-breasted suit.
We'll never have it that good again. We'll never have the sport to ourselves now that the NBA is in town. We'll never have a coach that far ahead of the curve. We'll never have access to that kind of talent again. It was a perfect storm, and I think we should all be thankful that we can access it in our memory banks. Back then, you could have Wayman for three years. Back then you could make the Final Four and bring Stacey King and Mookie Blaylock back for another shot at glory. Back then the next JUCO stud might be a ten-year NBA player. Back then is never coming back around, but it's up to us to carry the torch about Billy Tubbs and the wonderful standard he set. The scores may look like make believe, but they actually happened. Dayton did score 99 and lost by 52. Oral Roberts once scored 122 and lost by 30. Loyola Marymount once scored 112 and lost by SIXTY!
The stories are endless, but it's worth noting that Pat Tubbs lost a husband. Taylor and Tommy lost a Dad. My grief is different than theirs, and it's certainly nowhere near as deep, but it's still a profound sadness. I think back on those days with a smile: sitting with people who are no longer here, surrounded by others with whom a relationship is now different. It's just a reminder that America truly is an army of steamrollers and that time is relentless in its march. We should all strive to make something of ourselves like Billy Tubbs did. Essentially orphaned at 14, plugging along through Tulsa Central. Lon Morris JC. Lamar. Score 100, baby. Sweet 16 and then off to Norman. What a guy. What a life.
Here's to Billy. Here's to Wayman. Here's to Choo and T-Mac and DJ. Here's to Ricky, Mookie, Harvey, Stacey and Dave. Here's to the Creator and the Helicopter. Here's to Skeeter and Ski. Here's to looking up at the ten-minute mark, seeing 32 points for the good guys and elbowing my Dad, "Hey! We're on pace to score 128!"
Thank you, Billy. Thank you for everything. Thank you for the most cherished memories of my youth sporting fandom.
And screw you, Danny Manning.
Thank you for your time.
My earliest memories are from inside the Lloyd Noble Center. I learned everything I needed to know about multiplication and pace and averages from my seat on the lower east side. I still do the math in my head at the 10:00 mark of each half, even if the calculations are much easier now than they were when the home team already had 40 points when the horn sounded for the under-8 TV timeout.
Okies are a different lot. I married a Texan and she's lived here now for nearly 20 years and she still doesn't understand us. Even though he was born in St. Louis, Billy Tubbs was an Okie, and that fact helped him thrive at Oklahoma. He spoke his mind and told you what he thought regardless of whether you were inclined to hear it. In a way, he was the worst thing that could've ever happened to Oklahoma Basketball because he curated a rabid fanbase that thought his way was the only the game could be played. Today, you're not going to see anything out of the ordinary when UTSA comes to town on a Tuesday night. But back then? You had to be present because there was a legitimate chance history could be made. Look out Centenary. Heads up, US International. Run for cover, Loyola Marymount.
In Ted Owens' last trip to Norman as the head coach at Kansas, the Jayhawks won the opening round of the Big 8 Tournament inside the LNC. They cut down the nets. Don't forget that. The saintly Jayhawks cut down our nets. We returned the favor in Lawrence a year later and every turtle-necked beaker within a 100 miles of Allen Fieldhouse wanted blood. Forget all that for a moment and ponder this: after that loss to Teddy O in March of 1983, the Sooners won 108 of their next 110 games inside the Lloyd Noble Center. For years there was a quote in OU press guides from Dick Vitale who stated that, without a doubt, the toughest place to play in America was the home floor of the Oklahoma Sooners. From nothing; from 9-18 in 1981 to a juggernaut on the south plains. Players came and players went, but there on the sideline for all of it was a gambler named Billy in a double-breasted suit.
We'll never have it that good again. We'll never have the sport to ourselves now that the NBA is in town. We'll never have a coach that far ahead of the curve. We'll never have access to that kind of talent again. It was a perfect storm, and I think we should all be thankful that we can access it in our memory banks. Back then, you could have Wayman for three years. Back then you could make the Final Four and bring Stacey King and Mookie Blaylock back for another shot at glory. Back then the next JUCO stud might be a ten-year NBA player. Back then is never coming back around, but it's up to us to carry the torch about Billy Tubbs and the wonderful standard he set. The scores may look like make believe, but they actually happened. Dayton did score 99 and lost by 52. Oral Roberts once scored 122 and lost by 30. Loyola Marymount once scored 112 and lost by SIXTY!
The stories are endless, but it's worth noting that Pat Tubbs lost a husband. Taylor and Tommy lost a Dad. My grief is different than theirs, and it's certainly nowhere near as deep, but it's still a profound sadness. I think back on those days with a smile: sitting with people who are no longer here, surrounded by others with whom a relationship is now different. It's just a reminder that America truly is an army of steamrollers and that time is relentless in its march. We should all strive to make something of ourselves like Billy Tubbs did. Essentially orphaned at 14, plugging along through Tulsa Central. Lon Morris JC. Lamar. Score 100, baby. Sweet 16 and then off to Norman. What a guy. What a life.
Here's to Billy. Here's to Wayman. Here's to Choo and T-Mac and DJ. Here's to Ricky, Mookie, Harvey, Stacey and Dave. Here's to the Creator and the Helicopter. Here's to Skeeter and Ski. Here's to looking up at the ten-minute mark, seeing 32 points for the good guys and elbowing my Dad, "Hey! We're on pace to score 128!"
Thank you, Billy. Thank you for everything. Thank you for the most cherished memories of my youth sporting fandom.
And screw you, Danny Manning.
Thank you for your time.
