How Could Anyone Root For UCLA?

Authors Note: With college basketball season right around the corner, I hearken back to a simpler time when UCLA ruled the college hoops landscape, and I was fortunate to be a local, a fan, and to have witnessed a remarkable, historical run that may never be repeated.

I’m a fish out of water. A stranger in a strange land. The land that I refer to is the San Francisco Bay Area, which is a place where one needs to suppress one's love for Los Angeles sports teams. I’ve lived in the area for nearly 40 years, but was born and raised in Los Angeles. I’ve been defending the Dodgers and Lakers to mostly hostile folks for decades. I’m used to it. Only recently did the question of my college sports allegiance spawn the typical Northern California rivalry reaction: UCLA! How could anyone root for UCLA? For me, the question brought back warm and vivid memories of my youth. Although I love Bruins football, I take more grief about the hoops program, so that'll be my focus.

In 1966 at the age of 10, I discovered pro and college basketball at roughly the same time. The pre-Staples Center, pre-Forum Lakers wore dull white and blue uniforms and played a pleasing brand of hoops at the bland LA Sports Arena. They had two future (and obvious) Hall of Famers, Jerry West and Elgin Baylor. Crowds at the arena were sparse unless the Celtics or 76ers were in town. I became a Lakers fan during that simpler time before anyone would’ve connected the word Showtime with basketball.

Across town another team wearing blue and white grabbed hold of me as a child. The UCLA Bruins, whom from my point of discovery through my senior year of high school had a combined record of 205-5, captivated me, a campus of 30,000 and a city of two and a half million. Playing home games in the magnificent (and quite new at the time) Pauley Pavilion, UCLA basketball was the undisputed toughest ticket in town. Two reasons: a capacity of less than 13,000 seats and a quiet giant the professorial coach would refer to as “Lewis.” Lewis was Lew Alcindor, who held court on the court, and the coach was the legendary John Wooden, coaching in a manner that was throwback even by 1960s standards. Alcindor was the biggest thing, literally and figuratively, in Los Angeles at the time.

Coach Wooden with the former Lewis Alcindor

The Alcindor teams won three straight NCAA championships, followed by two more from my personal favorite squad, the heralded Sidney Wicks-Curtis Rowe-Steve Patterson-Henry Bibby-John Vallely lineup. Bill Walton-Keith Wilkes-Larry Farmer handed Coach Wooden two more in succession. Then a one season let down (the Bruins finished 3^rd in the tournament), followed by another national title team led by the Marques Johnson-Richard Washington-Dave Meyers triumvirate. If that wasn’t enough, the Bruins had also won back-to-back titles in the ’64 –‘65 and ’65 -‘66 seasons. All in all, UCLA won 10 NCAA championships over a 12-season span, seven years in a row. All under the tutelage of Coach Wooden. How could anyone root for UCLA?

1970-1971 NCAA Champs!

During the 1967 season my father had a dilemma. A businessman who had little interest in sports, he was given two choice coveted seats to a Bruins home game. The invitation was considered “business” since the seats were owned by the accounting firm that did his company’s books, and dinner in Westwood would precede the game. My father was expected to take my mother since the associate was taking his wife with the two adjacent seats. My Dad would’ve preferred to take me, but it was a Saturday night of entertainment for business colleagues, not appropriate to include an 11-year-old rabid fan. Knowing the scope of my love for UCLA basketball, my parents utilized the old adage of what one doesn’t know won’t hurt one, saying they were merely going out for dinner with business associates.

Weekend nights during basketball season I maintained a routine to insure I wouldn’t know the score of the UCLA game. Local television station KTLA-5 ran a tape delay of the game at 11 pm with Dick Enberg providing play-by-play, and staying up for the entire game was the highlight of my weekend. It was also the closest I’d get to an actual game for some time. Even the sports segment of the preceding news hour would warn viewers to turn away from the TV as not to see or hear the score or the highlights. When the warning would come I’d immediately jump off the sofa and turn the set completely off. Nothing was going to interrupt my enjoyment of watching my Bruins obliterate another school brave enough to enter Pauley. Nothing, that is, except my parents coming home with a souvenir program in hand, tossing it to me as I watch the game they’ve just attended!

Legendary LA Sportscaster Dick Enberg. 

To say it was the most upset I’d been in my relatively short 11 years on this earth is an understatement. My parents said all the right things: If it were up to them I would’ve gone; it was really a business obligation; they’d try to get tickets and take me to a game. Unfortunately, what they didn’t tell me was this drama would repeat itself annually until I was old enough to procure tickets for myself. My parents, who couldn’t have cared less for college basketball and had no association with UCLA, were lucky enough to attend a Bruins game each season, including the fabled LSU visit with Pete Maravich that UCLA won by 49 points.  Through six seasons I had programs and ticket stubs, but I still had not actually seen a game in Pauley Pavilion. One learns these lessons early - life isn’t fair!

In 1972, with the new-found freedom a driver’s license provides, I’d venture into Westwood to hang out, soak up some college atmosphere, and attempt to purchase tickets to any Bruin game available. The box office at Pauley was staffed by students who seemed to know only two words: sold out. Most of the time the box office wasn’t even open.  I’d walk around the outer concourse of the arena, trying each door to see if I’d be lucky enough to set foot into the Mecca the arena had become for me. Much to my surprise, one door actually opened.  I courageously ventured through it, which lead me right to the arena floor. I had apparently just missed a practice, as temporary baskets were set up perpendicular to the main court. I stood there in absolute awe. The arena was fully lit, and the colors at center court with the “UCLA” emblazoned in white, blue and gold completely mesmerized me; I had only seen it on television. I suppose it was akin to Dorthy entering Oz.

The Original Center Court Circle

As I was standing there oblivious to everything not Bruins basketball, a maintenance worker walked up and told me that I shouldn’t be in the arena. He confirmed that practice had just ended, and, suspecting I was an overwhelmed fan, said if I’d like I could take a seat in the first section of permanent seats above the playing floor. I reacted as if he had handed me prime seats to the SC game. I took a corner court seat, and tried to imagine the feel of a real game. I was absolutely awstruck by the place. Then the lights went out. Realizing he allowed me to sit there for what must’ve been a good half hour, I didn’t wait for him to ask me to leave, but rather took the appreciative hint and left the building. The next day at school my friends were marveled by my adventure in Pauley.

The campus became a regular haunt for me. A cousin who attended UCLA would loan me his parking permit (lot 8 - “gold” then as it surely is now) and I would spend time in Powell Library, the Ackerman Student Union -  where the NCAA championship trophies were encased at the time - and of course, I’d take my usual spin around Pauley. The unlocked door where I previously gained admittance proved to be most reliable, so I’d duck into the arena for a minute to lay eyes on the court. I felt as if I had my own private key to the arena!

Pauley Pavilion 

One afternoon while approaching Pauley I noticed that the box office window was open. I inquired if any seats for any games were available. The student working the window said no, which I half-heartedly expected. Then, as if the voice of God Himself rumbled from the background, I heard an unseen ticket manager tell the student to “offer him that last pair for the Oregon State game.” Yes, indeed, the Oregon State game! It didn’t matter that I wasn’t 100% sure of the date. I immediately said, “I’ll take em.” The tickets were in the upper level, behind the west basket, absolute last row. Furthest seats from the court. I didn’t care. Poor seats notwithstanding, I was going to Pauley for a UCLA game!

Coach Wooden with Bruce Walton's little brother

When I returned home I gleefully paraded the tickets in front of my parents. I phoned a friend with the improbable news; on Saturday night January 6^th we were going to a Bruins game! My friend and I arrived at Pauley well before the doors opened. This was the first UCLA game for both of us and we didn’t want to miss a thing. We had both been fans since 1966 and now, in 1973, we had arrived at the Promised Land. The atmosphere was everything we dreamed of, the noise level was deafening, and the Bruins scampered to an easy 87-61 victory. A Walton breakaway slam dunk midway in the second half brought the house down. The band played loud, and every “U-C-L-A fight, fight, fight!” brought memories of the late-night tape-delayed telecasts I’d watched as a young kid. This wasn’t TV, it was the real thing. But no matter the thrills I received attending that game, it paled in comparison to what happened in a Bob’s Big Boy restaurant in Tarzana three years later.

A United States Institution. The Tarzana location is now a Black Bear Diner

Stopping in alone after work I approached the counter to eat a quick dinner. To my right was an older couple that I paid no attention to. I did notice, however, that the waitress was overly friendly to the couple, treating them in a manner that would suggest they were regulars. I was tired and hungry and just wanted to eat and run. At one point during my meal I gazed to my right and it suddenly hit me: I was sitting at the counter of a suburban coffee shop with none other than John and Nell Wooden seated directly next to me! My heart started racing and I was caught between two completely different possible reactions. Should I kneel on the floor, bow down to the holy man and proclaim my unworthiness, or, out of respect for their privacy simply not acknowledge them. Neither option appealed to me.

Nervous, I politely said “Mr. Wooden, Mrs. Wooden, forgive me for disturbing you but I’m a huge UCLA fan and I just want to thank you for touching my life with all the wonderful memories and excitement the Bruins have provided.” Coach Wooden thanked me for the kind words and Mrs. Wooden smiled. I shook their hands, turned back towards my plate and didn’t utter another word to them. When they got up to leave, I grinned and began to wonder if anyone would believe what just occurred. Finished with my dinner, I requested the check from the waitress. She said that the “kind gentleman” that sat to my right had already taken care of it.

Kind gentleman! The “kind gentleman” she so accurately described is arguably the most important figure in college basketball history. I should be paying his tab! When I got home I told my father what had just occurred, although I didn’t expect him to believe me. He did, but only because he knew the Wooden’s resided in Encino, and he was aware that they were known regulars at several casual restaurants on Ventura Boulevard in Encino and Tarzana.

Coach and Mrs. Wooden

I have never lost my zeal for Bruins hoops, even though I didn’t attend UCLA and I moved away from the area. Although UCLA lost in the finals in 1980, won the 1995 championship, and lost again in 2006, the teams, since 1975, have bore little resemblance to those of the Wooden era. Wooden maintained a standard for teaching and coaching that stands the test of time, but sadly it may be too radically retro for today’s slick college coaches.

Another old adage is that there are trade offs in life. If my personal UCLA trade off was to attend only one single game in the rafters at Pauley, but have the opportunity to meet Coach Wooden and shake his hand, then not being able to attend the countless games my parents did was definitely worth it. I’ll never forget my lone Pauley Pavilion experience, my “dinner” with the Wooden’s, or the Bruins of my youth.

How could anyone root for UCLA?