Sloan's loss much more than a game
This is madness
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With 57 seconds remaining, Collison went by Sloan and drove the lane for a basket. Then Sloan — from a hard neighborhood in Dallas, a kid who went 13-1-1 as an amateur boxer — came right back, hitting a beautifully ballsy fadeaway that tied the game at 49. There were 42 seconds left.
Collison's turn: a floater in the lane to regain the lead. Twelve seconds.
Sloan tried to return the favor — by then, you knew he would — pulling up in the lane.
"A strong move to the basket," said Ben Howland, the UCLA coach. "And we got a clean block."
In fact, the block wasn't so clean. From the replay, it sure looks as if Sloan was fouled by UCLA's Josh Shipp. Nevertheless, Russell Westbrook, the outstanding defensive player in the Pac-10, retrieved the ball and went hard for a resounding, if meaningless, basket at the other end of the floor just after time expired.
This was exactly the kind of sequence I've come to admire from UCLA these past few weeks. I like the way the Bruins play defense. I like Collison and freshman Kevin Love, who has, among other attributes, the best hands in the college game. But in that moment, as Westbrook dunked to seal the victory as time expired, my heart broke a little for the Aggies and Donald Sloan.
Sloan, despite having the unenviable task of checking Collison, finished with 12 points, a healthy number in a game that ended 53-49. Still, you can't put a number on his game, or the week he's had. On Tuesday, he buried his mother, Sandra. His teammates and coaches, who might otherwise have been immersed in strategic minutiae before Thursday's first-round game with BYU, traveled to Dallas to be with Sloan before they flew as a team to Anaheim.
After beating BYU in the tournament's opening round, Sloan's story drew some national attention. How could it not? The kid from Dallas had played so well, so composed despite the grief.
Sandra Sloan died March 13 after a long illness. According to several published reports, she had been a drug user.
"I don't know," said her son.
This was late Friday afternoon in the A&M locker room at the Honda Center. Sloan had taken any and all questions to that point, but when I asked about her cause of death, he raised his hand, signaling a boundary. He just couldn't go there.
This is what he could tell me — that his mother did not skimp on maternal affections, providing him with more than the requisite quota of hugs and kisses. Also — Sandra Sloan was clear on this — she wanted Donald to keep playing through her illness and eventual death.
"She would've loved for me to play," he said. "She told me not to let anything stop me."
So the day she died, he traveled to Kansas City for the Big 12 tournament.
Then it was back to College Station. Next, Anaheim.
Aggies coach Mark Turgeon said he hadn't seen Sloan so much as smile until the team arrived in California. The win over BYU in the first round, in which Sloan hit a couple of clutch free throws, was seen as cathartic — a young man triumphing over his grief, sending a message to the heavens.
Actually, it did feel like that. But not for long. In short time, Sloan found himself back in his hotel room, alone, watching television. There, he said, "It kind of got bad again."
He thought about watching TV with her, the shows they used to watch. Her favorite was "Martin." The reruns still break him up. Same for her perfume. Every once in a while, he'll catch a whiff.
So, no, winning didn't make anything better. Losing to UCLA won't either. He'll go back to his room. He'll be alone. He'll deal with his feelings like a fighter, just him against his grief. Pick Donald Sloan to win by decision.
His right shoulder is elaborately tattooed. Sandra's name spelled out amid a flaming heart and a dagger. He got it his senior year in high school at Ray's Tattoo shop on Buckner Boulevard in Dallas.
"A flaming heart," he said. "That's like the love I have for her."
Last summer, he got another, inscribed high across his chest, just below his collarbone. In between the lettering — "Mama's Boy," it reads — is a cross with wings.
Now that the season's over, he'll add more. Above the left shoulder, the name of his brother, "Cortrell." And above the right, his mother's name again, in a ribbon with angel's wings. He says all the ink doesn't hurt. But you know it does. Then again, it's the little hurts that make the big hurts better.
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