Webber's lone plea: TIMEOUT!

By Jared Trexler

Some athletic feats, for better or worse, define one's career.

Bill Buckner can field ground balls in his backyard 100 times over, yet the mental image of a slow roller finding its way between his wickets will forever define him.

Greg Norman can go back to the ninth fairway at Augusta National anytime he wants, pull a pitching wedge and after several waggles release a crisp moonshot that falls deftly 10 feet from birdie.

Yet, his misjudged approach with far too much spin that cascaded backward down the hill in the final round of the 1996 Masters not only signaled the beginning of the end -- what one national writer dubbed "a funeral procession" -- but in many ways defined the Shark's legacy.

Chris Webber's undistinguished NBA career, filled with hollow personal achievements but little true glory, was cemented on April 5, 1993, when one of a Fab Five uttered a singular word forever cringed at in Ann Arbor.

Timeout.

It seems harmless enough, except when you don't have any. The 12th man on the bench -- that civil engineering major with 10 career points -- put his head down the second Webber's panic turned to unequivocal pain.

Little John "Practice" knew basketball's three essentials -- time, score, situation -- yet Webber never had a clue.

Doesn't that speak volumes for C-Webb's stay in Philadelphia? Always a blank stare with usually a blank game to back it up. He was well below career averages in every major statistical category during his 2-year stint with the Sixers.

That night in New Orleans, Webber lost a bit of himself. Before he even got to "The Show," Webber dealt with a situation that in no uncertain terms SUCKED to his core.

It defined who he was. A goat -- a brash, talented goat -- who had just lost a university, a program, his roommates a national championship.

"I cost our team the game," he managed to utter in-between sobs and sounds of hysteria.

Live with that.

He's had to during the rest of his playing career, and it always seemed something was missing. The arrogance had a hint of self doubt, the anger he always turned into 20 points and 10 rebounds suddenly bottled up inside. When he did release it, it was directed at the wrong people, at the wrong time.

Donald Williams may have been the hero of North Carolina's 1993 national championship. However, no replays show the sweet-stroking guard's rise and fire.

Instead, they focus in on one player's soul, standing alone in the corner surrounded by enemies. In panic mode, he screams from inside to out, TIMEOUT!

There were none left. And so began a career in isolation.

You can yell "TIMEOUT" to Jared Trexler at jtt128@comcast.net.