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When Coleman arrived in Lexington for the 1956 state tourney, a plane few overhead and dropped leafets announcing that he was in town. seats — then balance yourself by reaching up and grabbing one of the I-beam rafters that carried the roof across the feldhouse. Te place ofcially held 5,630, but there were always more stufed in everywhere for big games. Corydon took that Jef regional, advancing to Evansville for the semi-state. Jasper stopped Corydon in the afternoon, and Tell City beat Jasper that night to advance to Indianapolis. But the lasting memory for this young fan came on the trip to Evansville, when passed by a car with a giant red apple on top, shot through with an arrow longer than the car. Te Tell City Marksmen. C entral Yellowjackets gonna sting you. And they would. In the 1969 tournament fnal, Central got the opening tip and Ohio County fell back on defense. But 5-6 Central guard Otto Petty stayed out near midcourt. Te crowd of more than 17,000 in Freedom Hall had cheered mightily for underdog Ohio County in the introductions, but to start the game, Petty tucked the ball under his arm and pivoted 360 degrees around Freedom Hall with a No. 1 fnger held high. Ten he whizzed a pass to Ron King, who drilled a jumper, and the rout was on: 101-72. King scored 44, most ever in a championship game. O ne of the reasons you don't hear so much from small schools anymore is there aren't so many of them. Consolidation was a wonderful beneft for the education of schoolchildren, but it was hard on nicknames. Te Hazel Green Bullfrogs and Wayland Wasps are no more. And neither are 32 LOUISVILLE MAGAZINE 2.14 the Ellettsville Eels. But the single greatest crime against art came when four small Indiana schools were consolidated as the Crawford County Wolfpack. Lost forever were the English Red Raiders, Milltown Millers, Leavenworth Wyandottes and Marengo Cavemen. Players have always been more legendary than their schools, large or small. Players such as "King" Kelly Coleman, who averaged 46.8 points for Wayland in 1955'56, and always ate hamburgers and drank beer. It's a shame Coleman is so associated with drinking and a wild, undisciplined life. But he was wild and undisciplined. In Dave Kindred's book Basketball, Te Dream Game in Kentucky, Coleman says he started drinking at 14. At 16, he was the object of a no-holds-barred recruiting war between UK and West Virginia. Coleman was crowned "King" Kelly in a nod to King Coal, the previous biggest thing to come out of the eastern Kentucky mountains. When he arrived in Lexington for the 1956 state tourney, a plane few overhead and dropped leafets announcing that he was in town. Really. Coleman opened with 50 against Shelbyville and 35 against Earlington. But after he was held to 28 in a one-point loss to rival Carr Creek, he got so mad he planted 68 on Bell County in the consolation game. King Kelly didn't hang around to see Carr Creek win the championship and was already laid up in a Lexington tavern when his sister came out on the court to accept his alltournament-team award. A far happier career was turned in by Rex Chapman, perhaps the last Kentucky high school legend. Chapman was an all-court 6-4 guard who could bury the three or glide to the basket and dunk with style. He was the son of Wayne Chapman, who had played at Western Kentucky, and was then coaching Rex at Owensboro Apollo. When Rex signed with Kentucky, crazy UK fans went crazier. Gardner remembers that what really put Chapman in the spotlight was a national television special that aired before the start of his senior high school season. At the end of the show, Al McGuire, the coach- turned-broadcaster from Marquette, named Chapman the pre-season national player of the year. A video clip from that show can be seen on YouTube. Chapman skies to the basket, fips the ball behind his back and over his head, then catches the ball and dunks it through backwards. Smooth as silk. "When Rex came to Louisville at Christmas for the King of Bluegrass tournament, he was the hottest ticket we've ever had," Gardner says. "Tickets were going for $50 outside. And people were climbing the gutters outside, looking for windows to look in to see him. "Te funny thing was, there weren't any windows up there." Well, you know Kentucky fans. Almost as mesmerized as those in Indiana for that state's last legend, Damon Bailey, of Bedford. Te state championship had to be moved to the Hoosier Dome so 40,000 could be on hand to see Damon win it. But more than the big crowds and the big points, it's the color of the high school game that's the most fun. Te bright uniforms, the bad bands, a couple of junior high kids running soft fannel mops side by side at halftime to put a perfect polish on a hardwood foor. And stories everybody has heard a million times. Like the famous tale about Jock Sutherland, when he was coaching at Gallatin County and stormed out on the foor to protest a referee's call. Te ref stopped Jock with a whistle and told him he would be assessed one technical foul for each step it took him to get back to his seat. Jock thought about it for a second, then called over a couple players to pick him up and carry him back to the bench. Hey, don't laugh. John Pelphrey, who starred at Paintsville at the same time Richie Farmer was throwing 'em in at Clay County, recalls when the two schools scheduled a game their senior season. At Clay County. "Before the game, Richie and I meet as captains at mid-court," Pelphrey says. "Te ref says, 'Mr. Pelphrey, your team will be shooting at that basket.' Ten he whirls around and says, 'And, Richie — we're going THISAWAY!'"