Precious few are the athletes who reach the pinnacle of their chosen sport, and fewer still are the ones who do it against all odds, when the opponent is looked upon as unbeatable and the world decides the outcome before the battle is ever waged.  Those who catch lightning in a bottle often find themselves immortalized on film, their achievements canonized by a society hopelessly in love with the underdog.  The 1980 US Olympic hockey team jumps to mind, their upset against the Russians portrayed most recently in Miracle, as do the achievements of an undersized,  crooked-legged racehorse in the movie Seabiscuit.  Their stories are told and retold with classic Hollywood hyperbole, growing bigger through the generations, until it is nearly impossible to discern fact from fiction.  Many fall victim to their success, cursed by it, unable to escape the long shadow cast by that magical moment when everything comes together and the most improbable of champions is born.  Others are swallowed whole, never outgrowing their past glory.  And then there are those, like Ed Pinckney, who go on to other successes in their lives, holding dear the moment while refusing to be defined solely by it, daring instead to build a legacy beyond that singular, awe-inspiring event.

In Pinckney’s case, that singular, awe-inspiring event was the 1985 NCAA Final Four.  David had met Goliath many times on a basketball court, but never before had the underdog appeared so overmatched in a championship game at any level.  Until 1985 that mantle belonged to Norman Dale and tiny Hickory High School, the same group of overachievers depicted so expertly in the ’86 film Hoosiers.  Hickory won their game and guaranteed themselves a place in Hoosier lore, but the stakes were far higher when Villanova squared off against Big East rival Georgetown that Monday night in Rupp Arena.  The Hoyas were Mike Tyson in his prime, crushing opponents with a relentless barrage of speed and power.  The Wildcats were Evander Holyfield, full of heart but viewed by many as nothing more than a glorified light-heavyweight.  And nowhere was this size discrepancy more evident than in the post:  Georgetown boasted Patrick Ewing, one of the greatest centers in the history of collegiate basketball.  Ewing was the intimidator, the “Hoya Destroya”, the seven-footer who blocked shots as if he was the Second Coming of Bill Russell.  Young Ed Pinckney, Ewing’s lithe counterpart, specialized in doing the subtle things that helped his team win games.  Pinckney wasn’t going to overpower you, but he was clearly superior to Ewing in terms of technique.  He was also one of the few players who relished playing Georgetown’s dominant All-American.  Still, those who had even a passing interest in basketball knew that Georgetown was the king of the basketball universe, a dynasty in the making.  The game itself was nothing more than a formality, a requirement for coronation.

Nothing in life is certain, however, and on April 1^st, 1985, Villanova and Georgetown tipped off with a piece of history at stake.  The Wildcats didn’t play the perfect game, but they came as close to it as any team before or since, a feat made all the more remarkable when you consider Georgetown’s blast-furnace defensive pressure.  Few teams have ever turned up the heat quite like the Hoyas – Nolan Richardson’s Arkansas champions come to mind, as do Jerry Tarkanian’s title team at UNLV – and on this night the Wildcats found themselves up against the dual pressures of Georgetown’s relentless D and the glare of  the national spotlight.  That Villanova somehow won, 66-64, while converting a mind-numbing 78.6% of its field goal attempts (22-of-29), including nine of 10 in the second half, still defies imagination.  That Pinckney played a major role in the upset does not.

A graduate of Adlai Stevenson High School, in New York City, Pinckney grew up in lockstep with Big Apple hoops and all that makes it special, keenly aware of both playground legends and NBA Hall-of-Famers alike.  That he flew below most recruiter’s radar screens also comes as no surprise, since Pinckney’s game was more about substance than flash.  He was the ready, steady yeomen who thrived on the challenge of playing against the best competition.  And while that national championship was truly a defining moment, Pinckney viewed it as an incredibly beautiful chapter in his life.

As is the case with all good books, the post-Villanova read on Pinckney was loaded with plenty of plot points.  There was his selection as the 10^th pick in the 1985 NBA Draft, a dream-come-true for a player with a solid game and a solid reputation to go along with it.  There was his trade from the Sacramento Kings to Boston Celtics, a transaction that put him in the rotation with arguably the greatest frontline in NBA history.  There was the classic Boston-Indiana series in 1991, the one where Larry Bird returned from bouncing his head off of the Boston Garden parquet to outgun a young Chuck Person .  There was the decline of the Big Three and the tragic death of Reggie Lewis.  And then there was Pinckney’s blue-collar, twelve-year NBA career, conclusive proof that the steady big man was more than a one-hit wonder.

Following retirement, Pinckney moved effortlessly into broadcasting.  In 2003, he traded in his microphone for an opportunity to return to Villanova as an assistant coach.  The institution and the former player go together like hand and glove, and each is certain to benefit from the presence of the other.  Pinckney is an excellent communicator, and the perfect teacher as well.  It is easy to imagine him as a head coach one day, perhaps guiding the same team that he helped lead to the most improbable of championships.  The NBA could also be a destination.  Pinckney lives each moment with an appreciation for the past and an eye on the future, always moving forward, never allowing himself to become trapped in his own mythology.

As Gene Hackman – a.k.a., Norman Dale – would like to have you believe, some things are best left up to Hollywood.