Sporting News, The: The Las Vegan sports diet: serve up a helping of Tark the Shark for some delicio

It's hard for outsiders to comprehend, but there are people who grew up in Las Vegas. I am one of them. There are many great and mediocre stars associated with Vegas, but for a local, there is no name bigger than Jerry Tarkanian. You know "Tark the Shark" as the sad-eyed towel chewer more famous for his battles with the NCAA than for his 778 Division I wins. I know him as a holy figure.

There is a lot to root for in Vegas--your number on a roulette wheel, a pair of aces to split, that the hooker really is a woman and so on--but it is rare that the whole city comes together. Growing up, we didn't have a professional sports franchise, but we had the Rebels--and Tark was the very definition of the word.

I could never understand why he was so despised. I still don't. Yes, he recruited some kids who were more suited to prison than college. But who doesn't? He didn't worry about SAT scores and silly little high school diplomas.

He pulled hardened criminals off the street, put them in red shorts and enrolled them in college.

My friends and I lived and died with the Runnin' Rebels. We went to all the games and then rushed home to watch them again on TV. We referred to the players by their first names--Greg, Larry, Armon, Freddie and, my personal favorite, Moses.

The closest I ever came to meeting Tark was at the conference tournament in Inglewood, Calif. I was in high school. My friends Tommy, Chris and I drove to L.A. in a van. After the game, Tommy spotted Jerry, his wife, Lois, and a gaggle of assistant coaches walking outside of the Forum. We leaned on the horn and began to scream clever but inspirational things, such as "Hey, Tark!" and "Yo, Tark!"

To our delight, he waved us over. "Hey, guys," he said, "will you take Lois back to the hotel?"

We were as stunned as she was. The van door flew open, and we ushered Lois in. She was still clutching the rosary beads she'd work furiously during every game, no doubt asking the Lord's protection from the three strange men her husband just forced her into a van with.

As we drove off with the mother of his children, Jerry waved and turned away. He wasn't worried because he knew that no Las Vegan could ever harm a Tarkanian. Jerry loved and trusted us as much as we did him.

Lois said nothing during the short ride to the hotel. We dropped her off at the Hilton and then reveled in our brush with greatness. We got to do a favor for Tark. And a 17-year-old kid from Las Vegas couldn't ask for much more.

I rarely even check the UNLV scores anymore. I doubt I will ever care as much about any team as I did that one. I miss the players. Many of them are incarcerated now, but I like to imagine they think back on those times fondly.

Most of all, though, I miss Tark. I miss his face, I miss the towels, 1 miss the wins, the stress, the excitement--I even miss the losses. And I want him to know that if Lois ever needs another ride, I'm there.