100% Cotten: Shouldering The Blame
Clemson sharpshooter might have been a Deacon

Feb. 1, 2008

Should freshman James Johnson have taken the ball to the rim in regulation at Clemson instead of passing to Harvey Hale as the clock melted away with the Deacons on a three on one break?

Maybe. Probably. Definitely. Who knows?

But let's not second guess Johnson's instincts. He's been more right than wrong in his brief career. And as Coach Dino Gaudio told his young star after the game, "We're not even in that situation with a chance to win without you."

Oh how true. Johnson hit seven of his ten attempts on his first trip to Littlejohn Coliseum, and the Deacons had other opportunities to steal that one on the road against the Tigers. But if you're one of those people who just has to blame somebody - blame me. Yep - I'll take it.

Let me explain.

About ten minutes into our pre-game show, a tall man with an orange and white striped shirt came up to our broadcast location and had that "can I talk to you?" look on his face. Dinger and I were chatting about the matchup when I held up my hand to the man to give him the "I'll be right with you" sign and refocused my attention to my broadcast partner. My brain began to spin and work overtime. It was telling me: "Stan, you know this person."

We finished that particular broadcast segment, and I tossed to a commercial break. I took off my headset and turned around to speak to this man, an obvious Clemson fan. As I stood, he grinned. And then it hit me - I did know him! His name was Tony, but I hadn't laid eyes on him in almost 25 years.

Tony played forward on the very first team I worked for back in the early 1980's. He began his basketball career as I started my broadcast career at Carson-Newman College, a private liberal arts school about 30 minutes northeast of my hometown of Knoxville, Tennessee. C-N was, and still is, a football power. The Eagles won five national football titles in their division while I was there and had many epic battles on the gridiron as a member of the South Atlantic Conference with teams like Elon, Lenoir-Rhyne, and Catawba.

But Tony was on the basketball team. He was a good player, played very hard as I recall. And the Eagles won plenty of games while he was there. I couldn't believe it had been half my life since I had seen him. And as we embraced and caught up on old times my brain was trying to figure out why Tony was inside Littlejohn Coliseum. He was a Tennessean, and as far as I knew he had absolutely no connection to Clemson.

Wrong.

That's when it slammed me like Jeff Teague's lane-parting flush against Miami. Tony's last name?

Oglesby.

And his son is Terrance Oglesby - the freshman sharpshooter who drilled two three pointers in overtime against the Deacs to beat them in overtime.

"He's yours?" I asked before the game. "He sure is," Tony smiled.

As Oglesby's second three ripped through the net from practically Oliver Purnell's seat on the bench - it really was a very long shot - my heart sank. Wake was not going to win the game. If only Tony and I had kept in touch - maybe I could have influenced Terrance to become a Deacon. What might have been?

So, blame me for the loss. Put it squarely on my back. I can take it. I promise, it'll never happen again.

Did I mention Terrance has a little brother?