Shark’s Bite Is Mere Memory

At the stroke of midnight, Halloween was officially over, but the basketball season for the University of Nevada at Las Vegas had only begun. Students dressed as vampires, as werewolves and as Larry Johnson’s grandmother were here to start the party. And so was the new coach, Rollie Massimino, looking very Vegas indeed.

They love their basketball here, really love it, and thousands have come to express their continued support. Few wished to forget the UNLV program’s past, the positive side, the many rights that outweighed any wrongs. Yet the time had finally come for everybody here to get on with the future.

A red carpet was rolled out. A countdown was launched: “Ten! Nine! Eight . . . !” And then the new Runnin’ Rebels--Rollie’s Runnin’ Rebels--rushed forward for their first organized public appearance, forming a ring around the center-court circle of the Thomas & Mack Center at 12:01 a.m., after the warm-up acts of impressionist Rich Little and a guy in a gorilla suit.

They, in turn, were followed by the man with the tricky job of wowing the crowd here in Jerry Tarkanian’s main room.

He never said a word.

Instead, upon being introduced, Massimino, 57, dressed in a double-breasted blazer and a shirt buttoned hiply to the top with no necktie, ran around the Runnin’ Rebel circle at full gallop, giving five to every outstretched palm.

The crowd went for it, all right. Five or six thousand--no official count was announced--came streaming into the arena two hours ahead of time, many still in masquerade get-ups, simply to get a look at what this complete makeover of UNLV basketball looked like up close.

Some came with the hope that nothing but the names would have changed. Others came hoping that, change being unavoidable, maybe it would be for the better.

Not everyone has fully adjusted. Larry Johnson, leader of UNLV’s 1990 national champions and 1992’s NBA rookie of the year, upon returning here for an exhibition Friday between his Charlotte Hornets and the Portland Trail Blazers looked around the arena and said: “Since I played here, a lot of things have happened that I don’t approve of. I don’t have anything to do with (the UNLV program) any more. They can have it.”

Infighting within the university’s administration and quixotic windmilling against a national collegiate governing body have left some of the most dedicated and diehard of the Rebel family sad to the bone. Their team won 26 of 28 games last season, yet received no invitation to the championship tournament because of sins, committed or accused. It isn’t easy to be 26-2 and unhappy.

Filmed highlights from every UNLV victory were shown to the fans, with considerable fanfare. Look, there’s a dunk right over Shaquille O’Neal! Oh, and look at that hilarious partial score against San Jose State, 70-17! And just look at that J.R. Rider jam! There were highlights, all right. Only one thing missing from them, in fact: There wasn’t one shot of Coach Jerry Tarkanian in the entire film.

And now on this occasion, the first day of November, the first minute of permissible practice, there is nobody inside a shark costume and, indeed no Tark the Shark himself, Tarkanian having gone off to coach the NBA’s San Antonio Spurs after many years of running the Runnin’ Rebel program. Now the nationally respected team and perpetually inspected program belongs to Massimino, who has brought along four paesan to be the guest coaches for tonight’s scrimmage--Jim Valvano and Mike Fratello to coach one side, Dick Versace and Tom Lasorda to coach the other.

Valvano, battling cancer, is in good spirits and bad voice. Raspy, croaking out make-believe complaints to the officials, he points to Lasorda and says: “He’s a horrible coach! Horrible! I’m serious. He keeps calling for a bunt.”

Massimino takes no part. He neither addresses the audience, before or after the game, or handles the play-calling during the scrimmage. He merely observes from the bench, becoming accustomed to the surroundings, which are a long way from Villanova both geographically and atmospherically. He, too, is adjusting. One night he went to see Buddy Hackett’s nightclub show--you know, getting the lay of the land. When in Vegas, do as the Vegans do.

Rich Little has taken time away from his act at the Sahara to do his bit for Rebel basketball. With an election coming up that to some here is nearly as important as UNLV’s upcoming season, Little, taking center stage after the “Phoenix Gorilla” descends from the rafters on a bungee cord, mimics all three of the candidates.

He does George Bush. (“Clinton didn’t say anything at the debates and Perot disagreed with him.”) He does Bill Clinton. (“I see a country without poverty, I see a country with clean air, I see a country where people are happy, I see. . . . I see Switzerland, is what I see.”) And he does Ross Perot (“My kind of car is the Yugo--it’s small, it’s funny-looking and you never know when it’s going to quit on you.”)

For the rest of the evening’s entertainment, the Runnin’ Rebels play a 62-62 tie against one another, and the star of the show easily is Rider, who definitely has some Larry Johnson in him. “We had to get Rider the ball every time downcourt just to keep the game even,” says Versace, including Lasorda in this serious command decision.

The crowd disperses and so do the five coaches, four of whom won’t be staying. This is Massimino’s team now, and it is also his town. The comics have gone off. Time to get serious.