A Long Time Gone

Even 39 years after the Russians beat the American basketball team in the gold medal game at the 1972 Munich Olympics, the event inspires "we wuz robbed" anger from those old enough to remember the longest three seconds in sport's history.

Hardly rivaling in magnitude the massacre of Israeli athletes and coaches mere days before, the game was emblematic of an era when ideological conflict between the free and communist worlds masqueraded as kumbaya moments and athletic competition.

If as anthropologists insist sports is warfare by alternate means, the first defeat of the American basketball team was far more than "whatever can go wrong will go wrong" happenstance. As window to history, it was a signature Cold War moment less about its final outcome than about a long time gone when Russia was the evil empire, the World Trade Center was newly opened, and terrorism was something others worried about.

Coming into the championship game, the Americans had a 63-game winning streak in Olympic competition and dating back to 1936 had won seven successive gold medals. But even before the game started, it should have been apparent that U.S. dominance was about to end.

At the least, the game pitted 19- and 20-year-old-college sophomore and juniors against bigger more battle-tested Russian professionals. Devoid of college seniors attending NBA rookie camps, what the team lacked in age was nothing compared to what it relatively lacked in experience. According to U.S. assistant coach John Bach, "The Soviets had played almost 400 games together. We had played 12 exhibition games and the trials."

Beyond deficiencies in age and experience, the U.S. was also lacking the best player in the nation. Bill Walton, the College Player of the Year, refused to try out for the team. And because Swen Nater, Walton's backup center at UCLA, left the team unhappy with his playing time, the red, white, and blue lacked a top quality low-post presence. However, even absent size and experience, the Americans still might have won had they also not suffered from a self-inflicted wound.

Instead of a pass and run up-tempo style, Hank Iba, the legendary but retired coach of Oklahoma State, employed a slowdown European style the Russians were familiar with. Far more harmful to the more explosive American squad than the offensively-challenged Soviets, a pace limiting possessions was a recipe for close games and potential disaster. And if further proof was needed that Iba shot his team in its sneakers, the U.S. changed to a fast-break game after Munich and would not lose for another 16 years.

The game started badly for the Americans and would only get worse. The Soviets scored the first 7 points and by halftime, their lead stood at five. With just over 12 minutes to play and down by 4, an unknown Russian sub flagrantly fouled Dwight Jones, America's top scorer and second leading rebounder. Jones raised his fist, a scuffle ensued, and both were ejected. Whether the fight was orchestrated may never be known, but what is undeniable is that with less than 10 minutes left, the Soviet advantage ballooned to 10.

With just over six minutes to go and up by 8, the Russian lead began to melt in the heat of a full-court American press. At the 46-second mark and ahead 49-48, the Soviets inbounded the ball and worked the clock down to ten seconds. After a blocked shot, Illinois State guard Doug Collins swiped a pass, drove to the rack, was undercut, and slid into the basket support. Later claiming he was knocked out, the soon-to-be first pick of the NBA draft went to the foul line for two shots. In what has been called "the most pressure-packed free throws in basketball history," Collins did not miss.

With three seconds to play, America up by one and protecting its first lead of the game, the Soviets inbounded the ball. As the ball reached mid-court, the Brazilian referee, seeing a "disturbance," halted the game with one second to play.

The "disturbance" was Soviet players and coaches running up and down the sideline frantically waving for a stoppage of play. Claiming they had called a timeout before Collins' free throws, a horn sounding just before his second foul shot signaled that request had come between his attempts, but was waived off by the referees. The distinction of when the Russians called a timeout was crucial.

Under international rules, once the ball is handed to the foul-shooter, a timeout request is invalid until the ball is inbounded. Yet conferring with the head of the International Basketball Federation having no authority during the game, the clock was reset to three seconds and the Soviets were granted an illegal timeout. It was not the only time the Russians would be spared that day.

As in a bad dream, the Russians again inbounded the ball, missed a desperation shot, and almost immediately a buzzer sounded, signaling an apparent American victory. But again it was not to be. In prematurely beginning play after the first clock stoppage, the game-clock had not been reset to the time standing still three-second standard. The Russian coach protested, the American celebration was stopped, the teams were ordered back on the floor, and the clock was again set to three seconds. For the Americans trapped in a twilight zone time warp, it was a deja vu horror show. For the Russians, it was proof of reincarnation.

Since twice being saved from defeat was apparently not enough, the Russians were given still a third chance for victory. With so little time remaining and inbounding the ball from under their own basket, that chance rested on a full court "Hail Mary" pass followed by a quick shot. Of course, with the Americans also realizing this, that scenario should have been nearly impossible. However, as was the case with so much that day, what should have been was a far cry from what turned out to be.

Guarding the inbounds pass, Tom McMillan was ordered to back off by the referee giving Ivan Edeshko a clear lane to throw the ball down the court. Once McMillan retreated almost out of the gym, the passer had an unobstructed view of 6'8" Alexsander Belov waiting under the American basket. With 7'2" Tom Burleson inexplicably sitting on the bench, and guarded by the far shorter Jim Forbes, BeLov caught the 90-foot pass, pivoted, bumped Forbes, and banked in a layup for the win. An eternity separating heaven and hell, the last three seconds of the game had taken 22 minutes to play.

To finalize what Bud Greenspan the well-known chronicler of the Olympic Games called "the biggest robbery in the history of the Olympics," the U.S. filed a formal complaint protesting the officiating of the game. With the five-member panel voting along political lines, the outcome was never in doubt. Although the Italian and Puerto Rican officials thought the American appeal had merit, communist bloc functionaries from Cuba, Poland, and Hungary sided with the Soviets. Little noticed and less it mattered, after the protest failed the official scorekeeper of the game stood up in front of his colleagues and proclaimed that the wrong team had won.

In the end, whatever the larger Cold War implications of what many believe ranks among the greatest injustices in the history of sports, its impact comes down to the most personal of levels. Whether the game's outcome resulted from officiating incompetence, an innocent but unfortunate confluence of events, or a cloak-and-dagger conspiracy, matters little for those denied their chance for athletic immortality.

For the 12 Americans on the team, the anniversary of the game last month once again prompted reflection on a long time gone that will haunt them forever. But for those believing that nothing happens by chance, perhaps they should have known they were destined to lose. For moments before he took the court in listening to "What Becomes of the Broken-Hearted," Doug Collins had no way to know its "happiness is just an illusion" lyric could not have been more appropriate for the trials he and his team were about to face.