Post by 01- PirateDave on Mar 15, 2015 11:46:40 GMT -6
Send him in! Only fitting that beloved Bill Raftery will get Final say at NCAA Tournament ... he usually does
BY KEVIN ARMSTRONG NEW YORK DAILY NEWS Saturday, March 14, 2015, 12:00 PM A A A
ROBERT SABO/NEW YORK DAILY NEWS
Bill Raftery will hit the big time with March Madness just around the corner, broadcasting the Final 4 for the first time in a long career in college hoops that saw him coach at Seton Hall (below) in the 1970s.
School is soon to be in session on the Syracuse University campus, and Bill Raftery, a college basketball broadcaster lovingly referred to as “Uncle One More” among family, can’t help himself. It is late August, the offseason for his audience, and the night’s occasion is the WAER Hall of Fame enshrinement of his long-time play-by-play man, Sean McDonough. Raftery, set to present his friend, steps behind a lectern, slips on a pair of eyeglasses and adjusts the microphone. He opens a folder and looks out on a room filled with 80 or so staffers, alumni and supporters of the school radio station. Raftery, as he is wont to do, turns the appreciation into a roast.
“I’m glad someone loves Sean McDonough because I know I certainly don’t,” Raftery says.
There is no feting with Raftery on stage. He starts off humbly, insisting that McDonough probably preferred to have ESPN’s Jay Bilas introduce him, adding that Bilas, the most vocal critic of the game’s governing body, must be on vacation with NCAA president Mark Emmert. Raftery’s deadpan delights the crowd, and he continues on in an unassuming manner. He asserts that McDonough’s second choice must have been Dick Vitale, an ESPN analyst. Raftery informs the crowd that Duke’s Mike Krzyzewski is traveling with Team USA at the moment, and that likely prevented Vitale, a Duke devotee, from trekking to Central New York for the night.
“Dick is busy in Durham taking care of (Krzyzewski’s) lawn and taking out his garbage,” Raftery says, “so you’re sort of stuck with me.”
Self-deprecation is Raftery’s favorite shtick. He is an equal-opportunity quip artist, fashioning phrases for fans (“Send it in, Jerome!”) and sharpening barbs for broadcast teammates (“You want to land the first punch.”) He is also 71 years old, a grandfather of five and blessed with what former La Salle teammate Frank Corace refers to as “that gray hair and that Irish moxie.” Forever checking Mass times on the road, Raftery will address the largest audience of his career on Holy Saturday, preaching in his evocative vernacular as he analyzes TBS’s Final Four broadcast in Indianapolis, his first national semifinal performance on television after 23 on radio. He will then look into a CBS camera lens for the title game that Monday. A week later, he will be inducted as a contributor into the Big 5 Hall of Fame at The Palestra. On June 8, the National Sportscasters and Sportswriters Association will enshrine him, as well.
“I told him to go buy a lottery ticket,” McDonough says.
Both know illicit behavior, more than luck, led to his final ascension. It was only after colleague Greg Anthony was suspended midseason that CBS elevated Raftery to team up with Jim Nantz and Grant Hill. On Jan. 16, Anthony was arrested in Washington, D.C. after agreeing to pay an undercover officer $80 for sex at a hotel. According to court papers, the officer asked Anthony if he wanted her to “dress up.” Anthony said, “Oh yeah.” He later called his actions a “lapse of judgment.”
Raftery, who is fond of referring to players leaving “a little lingerie on the deck” when talking about the dignity a defender loses after an opponent goes past him, was tabbed to replace Anthony shortly thereafter. CBS Sports chairman Sean McManus announced that the team of Raftery, Hill and Nantz is “not a one-year fix.”
“Bill’s energy is remarkable,” McManus says. “When he gets excited, his excitement is infectious for the viewer.”
Raftery is the familiar presence in the era of conference realignment, calling games for Fox Sports 1, home of the Big East, here, and sitting courtside for Big Ten contests there. He first pledged the coaching fraternity at Fairleigh Dickinson University before uprooting for Seton Hall in 1970. He was a whirl on the sideline, throwing a chair, a la coach Bob Knight, once, whipping his charges into a frenzied defensive force and downing beers with his staff at Victor’s, a bar near campus.
He collected 154 wins while losing 141 times at Seton Hall before departing the profession, but never left the party. He remains a night owl, known to barkeeps from Manhattan to Maui. Former Notre Dame coach Digger Phelps is a favorite foil on such trips. When Raftery visits Parisi’s, an Italian restaurant in South Bend, Ind., he always eyes a photograph featuring Phelps. Raftery then covers it with a napkin.
VINCENT RIEHL/NEW YORK DAILY NEWS Bill Raftery wins 154 games as a college basketball coach, including stint at Seton Hall.
“(He’s) going to bring something back that hasn’t been at the Final Four since Al McGuire,” Nantz says, referencing the street-wise coach from Rockaway. “There’s a love, an exuberance, something so endearing.”
Those are kind words, but the ripostes never end around Raftery. Back at Syracuse, McDonough stands behind the microphone. He thanks Raftery for the introduction before noting that the small gathering may have overwhelmed him.
“You know, Bill left ESPN a year ago and went to Fox Sports 1,” McDonough says, “so he’s not used to speaking with this many people watching.”
The Raftery few remember is featured on the cover of a pamphlet that was printed in 1962. He is 19 years old, a 6-foot-4, 190-pound senior guard at La Salle wearing No. 25 on his uniform top. In the image, he is down on one knee at center court inside the school’s gymnasium, one hand on the ball opposite co-captain Tony Abbott and adjacent to coach Dudey Moore. All three touch the ball, and Moore references Raftery’s “steadying influence” in later passages. Raftery is billed as the “possessor of the coolest head and calmest hand on any court when he’s physically fit.” It also notes, “At the moment, Bill is probably the biggest ‘If’ in La Salle history.”
He was previously considered the surest thing since Tom Gola to suit up for the Explorers at The Palestra, the team’s home court at the time. Former UConn assistant coach George Blaney referred to the schoolboy Raftery at St. Cecilia’s in Kearny, N.J. as “Bill Bradley before Bill Bradley,” noting an uncommon coupling of grace and grit. Raftery, the son of Irish immigrants, appeared on the “Today” show stage as an All-American alongside host Dave Garroway, and transitioned smoothly to the freshman team at La Salle. He went on to average 17.8 points per game as a sophomore, but his career slowed thereon due to back injuries, one from crashing into the stands, another from being kneed in the back. He managed to play only four games and score 18 points as a junior. Corace remembers visiting Raftery’s room.
“He couldn’t even sleep on his bed,” Corace says. “He was lying on the floor.”
Raftery’s pain grew to the point that in order to stay loose during games, he ran inside the Garden tunnels before entering action. Stuck in traffic back in Philadelphia, he once got out of the car to crawl along an expressway for relief. He eventually woke up on a hospital bed after undergoing a laminectomy, the surgical procedure that creates space by removing the lamina — the back part of the vertebra that covers your spinal canal. The spinal canal is enlarged to relieve pressure on the spinal cord.
Raftery was visited by a priest ready to administer last rites.
“I was wondering what the hell the doctor did to me,” Raftery says.
Bill Raftery has called 23 national semfinals on the radio.
As it turned out, the priest had the wrong room. Raftery lived, and eventually met Bob Wolff, the broadcaster who called Don Larsen’s perfect game in 1956, when Wolff came down to La Salle to prepare for a game. Raftery caught Wolff up on the Explorers over a meal, and Wolff encouraged Raftery to consider entering television someday. In the interim, Raftery finished his senior season and earned a tryout with the Knicks before being cut. He transitioned into coaching, heading the basketball and golf teams at Fairleigh Dickinson while selling Chuck Taylors out of the trunk of his car. He then moved to Seton Hall and spent 11 years leading the Pirates. When he decided to leave for television two weeks before the 1981-82 season, his star guard, Dan Callandrillo, offered to transfer to whatever school Raftery was going to next.
“No, no, no,” Raftery said. “I’m going to television. It’s a 24-hour sports station called ESPN.”
Raftery never practiced vocal yoga or took voice lessons. He was a natural, dedicating himself to disciplined note-taking prior to tipoffs and adjusting only his wardrobe, to be more “sporty.” To prepare, he filled pads with information gleaned from viewing videotapes and, later, DVDs. The combination of his work ethic, authenticity and excitability drew a following. Once, at a charity event on Long Island, a police officer thanked Raftery for not being a “stuffed-shirt coach,” and gifted him a bulletproof vest in appreciation for his work the next year. After a few beers, the cop asked Raftery if he wanted to “take a charge,” offering to shoot Raftery in the vest. When the officer left the bar to retrieve his gun, Raftery turned to a coaching friend.
“Hey kid, maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” Raftery said. “If he misses north, he’ll hit the pipes, and the pipes have been golden.”
No shots were fired, and Raftery’s silver tongue offered viewers a new translation of the game. There were no centers or forwards, only big fellas. Players hit in the mouth by an elbow didn’t count teeth, they checked their Chiclets. There were kisses off the glass, puppies on the line, a little nylon, here and there. He once issued a double order of “onions!” — his term for testicular fortitude — after a big shot on air, and regularly let loose exuberant responses to dunks as he called games for ESPN and CBS. The networks never forced exclusivity on his popular, cross-generational brand, and, in 2014, he filed trademarks for “onions” and “with a kiss.”
He excelled in both collegiate bandboxes and professional arenas. In 2009, he called the Big East Tournament game between Syracuse and UConn that lasted six overtimes, at one point shouting, “Wow, don’t blink!” His spontaneity was displayed regularly when he called Nets games. One night, Shaquille O’Neal, then playing center with the Orlando Magic, tore down the rim, and the shot clock crashed into his head. Raftery shouted, “Hold onto the roof! It’s the season for tornadoes!”
Away from coaching and calling games, Raftery never fully ceded the stage at home. His daughter, Kelli, remembers the soundtrack of her youth, including dad singing along to the tune of “Mr. Cellophane” from the musical “Chicago” at home.
Cellophane, Mr. Cellophane shoulda been my name
Mr. Cellophane ‘cause you can look right through me
Walk right by me and never know I’m there
He enjoys the spotlight when it finds him, and he will return to The Palestra floor one week after the title game. It will be for his induction into the Big 5 Hall. Chairs and tables will be set up for those being honored. Raftery notes that his first thought after being invited was, “I know I’m definitely not going in as a player.”
Corace is certain that Raftery is worthy of being honored as a contributor to the game. He just doesn’t know what Raftery will say to those in attendance.
NYC PAPERS OUT. Social media use restricted to low res file max 184 x 128 pixels and 72 dpi ROBERT SABO/NEW YORK DAILY NEWS Bill Raftery
“Give Raft a mic and you have no idea what’s going to happen,” Corace says.
No one is beyond the reach of Raftery’s jabs. He hits high and low, showing his full range once more on Tuesday morning inside a second-floor ballroom at the Hilton on Sixth Ave. for the public reveal of his new broadcasting team to the press.
CBS and Turner personnel, spanning the masthead from McManus to play-by-play men like Ian Eagle, dot the room. Nantz, Hill and Raftery are introduced and hit the stage first. Raftery, struggling with his microphone, allows Hill, 30 years his junior, to turn the switch. Raftery is energized. Looking at the back of the room, he singles out Verne Lundquist, his long-time partner and fellow septuagenarian.
“Well, it’s nice to finally work with people my age, with a mature outlook on life,” Raftery says. “Pass the wine list, Verne.”
Raftery is rolling once more. He asks if Eagle is in attendance. Eagle, a bespectacled Lilliputian who called Nets games with Raftery, is seated right in front of him and has a question.
“Bill, your hatred for short people. Why?,” Eagle says.
“Eight years with you?,” Raftery says. “You were a little short when the check came, too.”
The room erupts; Raftery is in control. Hill, the rookie, acknowledges the need to prepare for Raftery’s ribbing. He maintains that he will be able to hold his own when Raftery throws any comments his way. For a scouting report, Hill called Bilas, his old graduate assistant coach at Duke. Hill knows deference is no defense.
“I can throw my punches, too,” Hill says.
In a hallway afterward, Raftery, his performance complete, holds a tin of Grether’s Pastilles and starts sucking on one. He segues into talking about his upcoming call and the church where he will attend Easter services on the Sunday in-between games. He recalls the time he went to Mass at a Final Four and noticed a few coaches who were then under NCAA investigation. Raftery elbowed a friend.
“Hey, we better get out of here,” Raftery said. “The roof’s gonna collapse.”
BY KEVIN ARMSTRONG NEW YORK DAILY NEWS Saturday, March 14, 2015, 12:00 PM A A A
ROBERT SABO/NEW YORK DAILY NEWS
Bill Raftery will hit the big time with March Madness just around the corner, broadcasting the Final 4 for the first time in a long career in college hoops that saw him coach at Seton Hall (below) in the 1970s.
School is soon to be in session on the Syracuse University campus, and Bill Raftery, a college basketball broadcaster lovingly referred to as “Uncle One More” among family, can’t help himself. It is late August, the offseason for his audience, and the night’s occasion is the WAER Hall of Fame enshrinement of his long-time play-by-play man, Sean McDonough. Raftery, set to present his friend, steps behind a lectern, slips on a pair of eyeglasses and adjusts the microphone. He opens a folder and looks out on a room filled with 80 or so staffers, alumni and supporters of the school radio station. Raftery, as he is wont to do, turns the appreciation into a roast.
“I’m glad someone loves Sean McDonough because I know I certainly don’t,” Raftery says.
There is no feting with Raftery on stage. He starts off humbly, insisting that McDonough probably preferred to have ESPN’s Jay Bilas introduce him, adding that Bilas, the most vocal critic of the game’s governing body, must be on vacation with NCAA president Mark Emmert. Raftery’s deadpan delights the crowd, and he continues on in an unassuming manner. He asserts that McDonough’s second choice must have been Dick Vitale, an ESPN analyst. Raftery informs the crowd that Duke’s Mike Krzyzewski is traveling with Team USA at the moment, and that likely prevented Vitale, a Duke devotee, from trekking to Central New York for the night.
“Dick is busy in Durham taking care of (Krzyzewski’s) lawn and taking out his garbage,” Raftery says, “so you’re sort of stuck with me.”
Self-deprecation is Raftery’s favorite shtick. He is an equal-opportunity quip artist, fashioning phrases for fans (“Send it in, Jerome!”) and sharpening barbs for broadcast teammates (“You want to land the first punch.”) He is also 71 years old, a grandfather of five and blessed with what former La Salle teammate Frank Corace refers to as “that gray hair and that Irish moxie.” Forever checking Mass times on the road, Raftery will address the largest audience of his career on Holy Saturday, preaching in his evocative vernacular as he analyzes TBS’s Final Four broadcast in Indianapolis, his first national semifinal performance on television after 23 on radio. He will then look into a CBS camera lens for the title game that Monday. A week later, he will be inducted as a contributor into the Big 5 Hall of Fame at The Palestra. On June 8, the National Sportscasters and Sportswriters Association will enshrine him, as well.
“I told him to go buy a lottery ticket,” McDonough says.
Both know illicit behavior, more than luck, led to his final ascension. It was only after colleague Greg Anthony was suspended midseason that CBS elevated Raftery to team up with Jim Nantz and Grant Hill. On Jan. 16, Anthony was arrested in Washington, D.C. after agreeing to pay an undercover officer $80 for sex at a hotel. According to court papers, the officer asked Anthony if he wanted her to “dress up.” Anthony said, “Oh yeah.” He later called his actions a “lapse of judgment.”
Raftery, who is fond of referring to players leaving “a little lingerie on the deck” when talking about the dignity a defender loses after an opponent goes past him, was tabbed to replace Anthony shortly thereafter. CBS Sports chairman Sean McManus announced that the team of Raftery, Hill and Nantz is “not a one-year fix.”
“Bill’s energy is remarkable,” McManus says. “When he gets excited, his excitement is infectious for the viewer.”
Raftery is the familiar presence in the era of conference realignment, calling games for Fox Sports 1, home of the Big East, here, and sitting courtside for Big Ten contests there. He first pledged the coaching fraternity at Fairleigh Dickinson University before uprooting for Seton Hall in 1970. He was a whirl on the sideline, throwing a chair, a la coach Bob Knight, once, whipping his charges into a frenzied defensive force and downing beers with his staff at Victor’s, a bar near campus.
He collected 154 wins while losing 141 times at Seton Hall before departing the profession, but never left the party. He remains a night owl, known to barkeeps from Manhattan to Maui. Former Notre Dame coach Digger Phelps is a favorite foil on such trips. When Raftery visits Parisi’s, an Italian restaurant in South Bend, Ind., he always eyes a photograph featuring Phelps. Raftery then covers it with a napkin.
VINCENT RIEHL/NEW YORK DAILY NEWS Bill Raftery wins 154 games as a college basketball coach, including stint at Seton Hall.
“(He’s) going to bring something back that hasn’t been at the Final Four since Al McGuire,” Nantz says, referencing the street-wise coach from Rockaway. “There’s a love, an exuberance, something so endearing.”
Those are kind words, but the ripostes never end around Raftery. Back at Syracuse, McDonough stands behind the microphone. He thanks Raftery for the introduction before noting that the small gathering may have overwhelmed him.
“You know, Bill left ESPN a year ago and went to Fox Sports 1,” McDonough says, “so he’s not used to speaking with this many people watching.”
The Raftery few remember is featured on the cover of a pamphlet that was printed in 1962. He is 19 years old, a 6-foot-4, 190-pound senior guard at La Salle wearing No. 25 on his uniform top. In the image, he is down on one knee at center court inside the school’s gymnasium, one hand on the ball opposite co-captain Tony Abbott and adjacent to coach Dudey Moore. All three touch the ball, and Moore references Raftery’s “steadying influence” in later passages. Raftery is billed as the “possessor of the coolest head and calmest hand on any court when he’s physically fit.” It also notes, “At the moment, Bill is probably the biggest ‘If’ in La Salle history.”
He was previously considered the surest thing since Tom Gola to suit up for the Explorers at The Palestra, the team’s home court at the time. Former UConn assistant coach George Blaney referred to the schoolboy Raftery at St. Cecilia’s in Kearny, N.J. as “Bill Bradley before Bill Bradley,” noting an uncommon coupling of grace and grit. Raftery, the son of Irish immigrants, appeared on the “Today” show stage as an All-American alongside host Dave Garroway, and transitioned smoothly to the freshman team at La Salle. He went on to average 17.8 points per game as a sophomore, but his career slowed thereon due to back injuries, one from crashing into the stands, another from being kneed in the back. He managed to play only four games and score 18 points as a junior. Corace remembers visiting Raftery’s room.
“He couldn’t even sleep on his bed,” Corace says. “He was lying on the floor.”
Raftery’s pain grew to the point that in order to stay loose during games, he ran inside the Garden tunnels before entering action. Stuck in traffic back in Philadelphia, he once got out of the car to crawl along an expressway for relief. He eventually woke up on a hospital bed after undergoing a laminectomy, the surgical procedure that creates space by removing the lamina — the back part of the vertebra that covers your spinal canal. The spinal canal is enlarged to relieve pressure on the spinal cord.
Raftery was visited by a priest ready to administer last rites.
“I was wondering what the hell the doctor did to me,” Raftery says.
Bill Raftery has called 23 national semfinals on the radio.
As it turned out, the priest had the wrong room. Raftery lived, and eventually met Bob Wolff, the broadcaster who called Don Larsen’s perfect game in 1956, when Wolff came down to La Salle to prepare for a game. Raftery caught Wolff up on the Explorers over a meal, and Wolff encouraged Raftery to consider entering television someday. In the interim, Raftery finished his senior season and earned a tryout with the Knicks before being cut. He transitioned into coaching, heading the basketball and golf teams at Fairleigh Dickinson while selling Chuck Taylors out of the trunk of his car. He then moved to Seton Hall and spent 11 years leading the Pirates. When he decided to leave for television two weeks before the 1981-82 season, his star guard, Dan Callandrillo, offered to transfer to whatever school Raftery was going to next.
“No, no, no,” Raftery said. “I’m going to television. It’s a 24-hour sports station called ESPN.”
Raftery never practiced vocal yoga or took voice lessons. He was a natural, dedicating himself to disciplined note-taking prior to tipoffs and adjusting only his wardrobe, to be more “sporty.” To prepare, he filled pads with information gleaned from viewing videotapes and, later, DVDs. The combination of his work ethic, authenticity and excitability drew a following. Once, at a charity event on Long Island, a police officer thanked Raftery for not being a “stuffed-shirt coach,” and gifted him a bulletproof vest in appreciation for his work the next year. After a few beers, the cop asked Raftery if he wanted to “take a charge,” offering to shoot Raftery in the vest. When the officer left the bar to retrieve his gun, Raftery turned to a coaching friend.
“Hey kid, maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” Raftery said. “If he misses north, he’ll hit the pipes, and the pipes have been golden.”
No shots were fired, and Raftery’s silver tongue offered viewers a new translation of the game. There were no centers or forwards, only big fellas. Players hit in the mouth by an elbow didn’t count teeth, they checked their Chiclets. There were kisses off the glass, puppies on the line, a little nylon, here and there. He once issued a double order of “onions!” — his term for testicular fortitude — after a big shot on air, and regularly let loose exuberant responses to dunks as he called games for ESPN and CBS. The networks never forced exclusivity on his popular, cross-generational brand, and, in 2014, he filed trademarks for “onions” and “with a kiss.”
He excelled in both collegiate bandboxes and professional arenas. In 2009, he called the Big East Tournament game between Syracuse and UConn that lasted six overtimes, at one point shouting, “Wow, don’t blink!” His spontaneity was displayed regularly when he called Nets games. One night, Shaquille O’Neal, then playing center with the Orlando Magic, tore down the rim, and the shot clock crashed into his head. Raftery shouted, “Hold onto the roof! It’s the season for tornadoes!”
Away from coaching and calling games, Raftery never fully ceded the stage at home. His daughter, Kelli, remembers the soundtrack of her youth, including dad singing along to the tune of “Mr. Cellophane” from the musical “Chicago” at home.
Cellophane, Mr. Cellophane shoulda been my name
Mr. Cellophane ‘cause you can look right through me
Walk right by me and never know I’m there
He enjoys the spotlight when it finds him, and he will return to The Palestra floor one week after the title game. It will be for his induction into the Big 5 Hall. Chairs and tables will be set up for those being honored. Raftery notes that his first thought after being invited was, “I know I’m definitely not going in as a player.”
Corace is certain that Raftery is worthy of being honored as a contributor to the game. He just doesn’t know what Raftery will say to those in attendance.
NYC PAPERS OUT. Social media use restricted to low res file max 184 x 128 pixels and 72 dpi ROBERT SABO/NEW YORK DAILY NEWS Bill Raftery
“Give Raft a mic and you have no idea what’s going to happen,” Corace says.
No one is beyond the reach of Raftery’s jabs. He hits high and low, showing his full range once more on Tuesday morning inside a second-floor ballroom at the Hilton on Sixth Ave. for the public reveal of his new broadcasting team to the press.
CBS and Turner personnel, spanning the masthead from McManus to play-by-play men like Ian Eagle, dot the room. Nantz, Hill and Raftery are introduced and hit the stage first. Raftery, struggling with his microphone, allows Hill, 30 years his junior, to turn the switch. Raftery is energized. Looking at the back of the room, he singles out Verne Lundquist, his long-time partner and fellow septuagenarian.
“Well, it’s nice to finally work with people my age, with a mature outlook on life,” Raftery says. “Pass the wine list, Verne.”
Raftery is rolling once more. He asks if Eagle is in attendance. Eagle, a bespectacled Lilliputian who called Nets games with Raftery, is seated right in front of him and has a question.
“Bill, your hatred for short people. Why?,” Eagle says.
“Eight years with you?,” Raftery says. “You were a little short when the check came, too.”
The room erupts; Raftery is in control. Hill, the rookie, acknowledges the need to prepare for Raftery’s ribbing. He maintains that he will be able to hold his own when Raftery throws any comments his way. For a scouting report, Hill called Bilas, his old graduate assistant coach at Duke. Hill knows deference is no defense.
“I can throw my punches, too,” Hill says.
In a hallway afterward, Raftery, his performance complete, holds a tin of Grether’s Pastilles and starts sucking on one. He segues into talking about his upcoming call and the church where he will attend Easter services on the Sunday in-between games. He recalls the time he went to Mass at a Final Four and noticed a few coaches who were then under NCAA investigation. Raftery elbowed a friend.
“Hey, we better get out of here,” Raftery said. “The roof’s gonna collapse.”
good luck to all!