Keefe Puts Best Feet Forward

Feet can be fickle. So when Adam Keefe’s considerable boats felt uncomfortable in Olympic Festival-issued high tops, he turned to a pair of old friends for help, his Stanford sneakers from last season.

There among the spanking-new shoes of his West basketball teammates stood Keefe and his Cardinal-red models. They had been through the wars of a freshman season that saw Keefe, a Woodbridge man, average 8.4 points and 5.4 rebounds. Deep creases crossed the dull leather, in sharp contrast to the box-fresh pairs nearby.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Keefe wore the shoes when he mowed the yard.

Doesn’t matter. While fashion experts might recall Keefe as the big lug who couldn’t mix and match properly, an audience of 1,200 fans will remember him Monday as the player who mixed it up with the favored North team. In the end, a shorthanded and previously winless West squad defeated the North, 86-84, at the University of Oklahoma’s Lloyd Noble Center.

By the way, the last-minute, game-winning basket was scored by none other than Keefe, who, red jersey half tucked in, shoelaces nicking the court, grabbed a missed free throw and converted a layup with about 25 seconds remaining. Afterward, he thanked his sense of timing and, of course, his Stanford footwear.

“Hey, I wore the other ones the first day and didn’t play well, so I switched,” he said.

Monday’s game meant little--the West already had been eliminated from the gold-medal round--but Keefe played as if he hadn’t been informed.

He ran the court so well that you found yourself double-checking the roster. He can’t really be 6-9, 230 pounds, can he? He pushed and pounded against a beefy North front line. He questioned the referees on international rules. Witness this exchange as Keefe readied himself to inbound the ball with 14 seconds left to play:

“Do I have room to move, huh? Do I?”

“No,” said the ref.

“Are you sure? Are you sure?”

Come to think of it, the official wasn’t so sure and a timeout was called to, among other things, clarify the situation. When play resumed, the referee smiled sheepishly.

Keefe, what with his red hair and freckles, looks like Huck Finn on a weightlifting program. His thighs are as solid as baby oaks. Keefe wouldn’t know how to spell finesse if you handed him a Funk & Wagnalls.

During an earlier scrimmage against this same North team, Keefe delivered an elbow to the mouth of forward Byron Houston, who now is the owner of double-digit stitches. Houston, say those who saw the exchange, had it coming. Keefe shrugged the incident off as part of the game.

“He’s a solid, aggressive player,” Keefe said. “I like that. That’s the way I like to play.”

Even though Keefe’s West team can do no better than a bronze, negotiations are under way to allow him the chance to pursue other precious medals in his first love of sorts, volleyball.

A member of the U.S. national team, Keefe is awaiting word from assorted Festival bureaucrats concerning his request to join the West volleyball team as a late replacement for Joey Guido, who was forced to withdraw from competition because of mononucleosis. If the Festival officials are smart, they’ll simply ask Keefe what jersey size he wants.

“I can’t see any reason why (they) can’t,” Keefe said.

Keefe, who has never been out of the country, could have accompanied the national volleyball team to Sweden and the Soviet Union for a playing tour. Instead, he elected to attend the tryouts for the U.S. World University Games, which begin Aug. 8 at Purdue University. Only 24 players are invited, in which Keefe, 19, will be the youngest. And only 12 players make the team.

“I just feel that I can get a lot out of these tryouts,” he said. “There’s a lot I can learn playing with those guys.”

So this wasn’t a decision made from the heart, but from a practical standpoint. Or was it? Keefe won’t reveal which sport--basketball or volleyball--he cherishes the most. Tell him that he has to choose between the two and Keefe becomes a diplomat.

“Depends on who I played with,” he said. “I don’t mean to cop out.”

Truth be known, Keefe isn’t married to either game. His allegiance goes as far as his aspirations. Goals? Keefe would trade those valued Stanford high tops for a chance at the 1992 U.S. Olympic team.

“I don’t care if I played field hockey,” he said.

That would be some sight, a 6-9 flurry of red hunched over a miniature hockey stick. Then again, better not give him any ideas.