Kendall Gill stood there last weekend in a Minneapolis hotel lobby and thought back to the broken foot he suffered against Georgia Tech last January. ”I didn`t think I`d be back, to tell you the truth,” he admitted. ”I felt my season was over and that I had a lot better things to look forward to. I realized my career could have been over. That my knee could have been broken, or something like that.”
A deeply rooted faith helped him attain that equanimity during a potentially depressing time, and he mentioned his dependence on it during his rehabilitation. Then he dropped the subject-he does not, like many, wear his faith on his sleeve-but minutes later he was led back to it and asked if it ever wavered.
”Not since my freshman year,” he said, and then he wove a tale.
It was finals week of his freshman year, and suddenly he felt a pain in the right side of his stomach. It was a searing pain, a gnawing pain, a pain of untold intensity, yet Gill wanted to take his exams and so willfully ignored it. Finally, on the fourth day, he could endure no longer and at last dragged himself in to see the Illinois team doctor. There, the first thing, the doctor pressed down on his appendix. Gill`s body jerked. ”We`ve got to get you to the hospital,” the doctor declared.
”It`s a miracle you`re alive,” the doctor told Gill after removing his burst appendix.
”After that,” Gill said, ”I never doubted. I survived for four days when I was supposed to be dead (with a burst appendix) after a few hours. When the doctor told me that, I started crying. I wasn`t supposed to be there, just like I`m not supposed to be here this week.”
The day after he spoke, under the roof of the Metrodome, Gill and the rest of Illinois` road warriors guaranteed themselves another week in the spotlight, a week in the Final Four spotlight in Seattle. Often, because of their similar sizes, they have been described as just so many clones. But here, as they fly to meet their collective destiny, they are better viewed as a diverse crew.
Their inspiration, all attest, is the sky-walking Kenny Battle, the 6-foot-6-inch senior forward who last weekend was pyrotechnic though
operating on a bum knee. ”Didn`t have the opportunity to worry about the pain,” he said after proving a pain to Syracuse.
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”He doesn`t even like to lose in practice,” Gill added.
”Not only is he a physical speciman, but he`s always positive,”
assistant coach Jimmy Collins concluded. ”As long as he`s healthy and in there leading, we`ll be tough. I think he`ll be very, very much missed when he graduates.”
Their best defender, all agree, is the industrious Steve Bardo, the 6-6 swingman who is asked always to shut down the opponent`s most dangerous weapon.
”It`s an important part of the game,” he said when asked of his often-thankless task.
”He takes pride in his defense,” Collins said. ”If a guy scores in double figures against him, he`s mad. He`s very competitive. He refuses to be whipped. That makes him a great defensive player. We just say: `Hey, Steve. He`s yours. Watch the films.` From that, Steve`s smart enough to know what to do.”
Their interior defense, all say, depends greatly on Lowell Hamilton, the 6-7 senior center who has finally blossomed after three frustrating seasons.
”I`ve always seemed to have my back against the wall,” he has said. ”But I always seem to come through.”
”He`s had some hard time,” Collins said, ”but he`s worked as hard, if not harder, than anyone on the team. His success has a lot to do with ours. This year, more than any year, he understands what coach (Lou Henson) is telling him.”
Their Man, all certify, is the extraordinary Nick Anderson, the 6-6 junior foward with a limitless capacity for astounding feats. ”He has the ability to take over any game,” Collins said.
”I`m glad they look for me as their leader,” Anderson said. ”I`ll step up anytime. I want the ball no matter the time of the game. Hey. Why not?”
They all share, all finally agree, a toughness, a composure, a work ethic strong enough to hold up under the most withering heat, and so if these Illini need a symbol, have a symbol, it must be Gill. They are, first of all, 23-0 with him in the lineup. When he was sidelined, they were 8-4. He is, next of all, their point guard, the offensive catalyst who must distribute the ball and the defensive front line who must control his counterpart.
He is, too, Illinois` best outside shooter, but-most of all-he has a history that qualifies him as the symbol of the team he leads. For it is a team that was doubted at season`s start, and that was also the case with Gill early in his career.
He was, back then, nothing more than a sub on Rich Central`s freshman team, and though he was improved as a sophomore, he still did not stand out from the crowd. But then his coach, Ron Brauer, told him to spend his summer taking 300 shots a day, 150 from each side of the basket, and to keep a chart on his progress. ”He did that. He`d be out on the court until dark,” Brauer remembers.
”He sets goals for himself, and then works for them. Give him directions, and he follows them. He`s very good at that. He`s an overachiever, someone who works for everything he gets. If you have five kids like him, it makes you a pretty good coach.”
Gill himself was good enough as a senior to be named All-State, to lead his team to the state championship game (it lost to King), and to earn a scholarship to Illinois, but there, once more, the old pattern repeated itself. He started only 10 of 31 games as a freshman and only 23 of 33 as a sophomore. Then his coaches talked to him and suggested he go on an off-season regimen aimed at improving his performances. Work on the weights so you can get your shot off from higher above your head, he was told. ”He spent last summer doing that” remembers Collins.
”He listens. He takes coaching very well. He`s very attentive. I remember telling him once to work on his behind-the-back dribble. Ten minutes later, I looked down the court and he was working on it.”
This willingness to work, this willingness he shares with all the Illini, was called up again in the weeks after his injury. This would be boring work, mind-numbing work, yet each day Gill would swim until exhaustion and then pull on a vest and run through the water. Later there were sessions on a machine that simulates running up steps, and finally long hours peddling a stationary bike. ”Yeah. It was pretty boring. Gruelling, too,” he says now. ”But when I came back, I didn`t miss a beat.”
”He just works hard,” says Brauer, the high school coach. ”He made himself into the ballplayer he is. I had kids with the same talent as him. But you can`t measure heart, and that`s where he gets his game.”
Ron Brauer was then talking of only Kendall Gill. But-and here`s the major reason Gill stands as their symbol-he most certainly could have been talking of all his teammates as well.