They were his first points in a three-year UCLA career. It was only the third shot of his UCLA career. It was only the fourth game in which he played in his UCLA career.
When fans realized that the last basket in that chapter of Pauley's history had been scored by a Wooden, many of them hugged and wept, including coach Ben Howland, who conducted the postgame interview while fighting back tears. The moment still lives in comments from strangers, and in the background photo on Trapani's phone.
"It was the greatest moment of my life, and I have no doubt my great-grandfather put me in the situation to make it happen," Trapani says.
The meddlesome elderly relative and the confident kid in that driveway were thus bonded forever. Two years later, when his former Simi Valley JV coach Chris Garton asked Trapani to join him at Cleveland this summer, the decision was surprisingly easy.
Trapani is attending Cal State Northridge in pursuit of his master's degree. He is also working part-time bussing tables and greeting customers at a California Pizza Kitchen. But he knew where his heart needed to be.
"Nobody has ever asked me, 'Why are you doing this?'" Trapani says. "I want to teach, I want to coach, I had to do this."
The Wooden name holds little influence with Trapani's players, a collection of teenagers who know little about the former coach. Neither of the two team leaders interviewed for this story knew anything about Wooden's accomplishments, neither had heard of the Pyramid of Success, and one didn't even know he had coached at UCLA.
"We don't see the past or whatever, we just see the coach," says Roman Morales, a sophomore guard-forward. "And [Trapani's] coaching style is great. He's patient, he's calm, he doesn't scream, he lets us play."
Indeed, like his great-grandfather, Trapani does most of his coaching during practice and uses the games as a report card. Perhaps that's what makes his team, which is 4-1 with several overwhelming victories, so much fun to watch. The Cavaliers currently have only eight players because of eligibility issues, but, even when greatly outnumbered, they press, they run, they overwhelm the opponent with passing and defense while Trapani, like Wooden, rarely calls a timeout.
"The little mannerisms, the way he deals with the players, I can really see my grandfather in him," his mother, Cathleen, says during a recent game. "He never talks about who he's following, but you know it's there."
After the rout of San Fernando, which was completed when he ordered his players to stop shooting, Trapani addressed them in a locker room that's not really a locker room. It's an oversized closet with no showers, a small room where freshmen have to get dressed from their backpacks that are strewn across the floor. As they pull on their jeans over sweaty uniforms, Trapani is doing one last bit of teaching.
"You helped each other today, that's so important," he says.
If that phrase sounds familiar, it is part of John Wooden's celebrated seven-point creed. A laminated version of that creed is the one memento from his great-grandfather that Tyler Trapani carries with him every day, even if it sometimes feels so bulky he has to leave it in his car.
"The creed is not always on me," John Wooden's great-grandson says with a smile. "But I always know right where it is."