There will never be another Bill Millsaps: friend, mentor, hero

By Jerry Ratcliffe

I’ve only experienced writer’s block twice during my lengthy career. One of those times came at Meadowlands Arena during an NCAA East Regional basketball tournament years ago.

Nothing I put down on my laptop worked. I was sitting there in frustration, a blank screen. Bill Millsaps, then-sports editor of The Richmond Times-Dispatch and a great friend and mentor to me, walked up from behind, noticed that I was getting nowhere and said, “It drags …”

He was attempting to lighten the mood and draw a chuckle from his comment. He did just that. 

I shared with ‘Saps, as he was known to all, my frustration. He said that he had experienced the same thing in a World Series press box once upon a time when his writing idol, the great Red Smith, noticed, and told him something that ‘Saps never forgot.

“Red said, ‘Don’t fret … God will provide … God will provide,’” ‘Saps told me. “Red was right. Never had that problem again.”

Whether it was heavenly intervention or ‘Saps just resetting my mind, it worked. I turned in a decent column, have never had that problem again, and have never forgotten that phrase, which I have shared with other writers over the years.

Many years later, in 2011, Millsaps was presented the Red Smith Award, the top sportswriting award in the country.

During his acceptance speech, ‘Saps said:

“Willie Nelson sang that his heroes have always been cowboys. MY heroes have always been sportswriters, such as Blackie Sherrod, Jim Murray and Red Smith.”

All those guys, along with Furman Bisher, David Kindred, Hubert Mizzell, Dan Foster, Edwin Pope and perhaps a handful more were the national guys during the era when Millsaps flourished. He became one of those guys, a select group that my generation admired and idolized.

‘Saps said during his speech that he finally met Red in 1971 and “promptly embarrassed myself by gushing all over him. Red wiped off the slobber and said, ‘You do me honor.’”

I can’t remember the exact year I met Millsaps, but my experience was quite the same as his with Red Smith. I had read him from afar, admired his style and he quickly became my idol, my sportswriting hero.

Once I arrived in Charlottesville, I made it a point to get to know ‘Saps. I reached out for advice on anything and everything and he graciously provided the right answers. He became my mentor in so many ways. We grew closer as friends when he lived in Charlottesville for a couple of years and we took many trips together to either cover events or play golf.

When David Teel texted me late Friday night with the news that ‘Saps had died, I was devestated. I knew he had been ill from a stroke many weeks ago and cancer was discovered at that time. He left us at 77.

Last time I saw him was at Glenmore Country Club. About every six weeks or so, Joe Gieck, the longtime trainer of UVA athletics, puts together a “Dr. Frank McCue, Jim West Memorial Luncheon.” I always made it a point to sit next to ‘Saps in order to catch up and we always had a blast.

Nobody could tell a story like ‘Saps. The Red Smith Award committee would agree.

Our next luncheon will be minus two of our stars, ‘Saps and Gene Corrigan. What will we do without them?

So many stories about ‘Saps rolled through my mind the remainder of Friday night and into a sun-splashed Saturday.

Millsaps, who played basketball at Tennessee and looked more like a tight end or linebacker, was a giant of a man and a giant in the world of sports journalism. I considered him the John Wayne of sportswriters. He was my hero, not only because he was a great writer, but a great person.

When he walked into a room, everyone noticed. He spoke with authority, and if he was your friend, you knew you were always covered. When I lost my job in the spring of 2018, ‘Saps was outraged and was one of the first two people to come to my rescue offering any help he could possibly provide. That’s the kind of friend he was.

Here are a few of my favorite stories about my hero:

* When Harrisonburg High School basketball coach Roger Bergey called a press conference for Ralph Sampson’s announcement of his college choice, only media was allowed in the school gymnasium. We all sat in the bleachers and waited for the longest time for Ralph to come out of Bergey’s office.

Once Ralph emerged and walked across the gym and sat down at a table with a microphone, he told us he was ready to reveal his decision.

“I think I’m going to the University of Virginia,” Ralph said, setting off a loud celebration in the parking lot outside the gym via a live radio broadcast.

Well, that didn’t sound right to ‘Saps, who was so excited to gain a clarification, he almost fell down the bleachers when he quickly rose and said: “Ralph, you said that you think you’re going to the University of Virginia. Are you or are you not going to Virginia?”

Sampson quickly clarified that yes, he was going to UVA.

* Fast forward to a Virginia Associated Press Sports Editor’s Association meeting in Richmond, which in those years was a pow wow of every sports editor in the state. UVA coach Terry Holland had stated that he was considering shutting off media from Sampson just as John Wooden had done with Bill Walton a few years earlier.

Millsaps was adamant that we, as sports editors, couldn’t allow that to happen, that it would be a disaster for readers in our state and bad for newspapers. He led the charge to protest such an idea, and as usual, Millsaps got his way. Thank goodness for his leadership and for Holland’s willingness to listen.

* The Homestead used to put on an event created by its longtime public relations man, Johnny Gazzola, a close friend of Sam Snead. Gazzola called it the “Virginia Golf Writers Shootout,” which included a Monday morning tournament at The Cascades followed by unlimited golf for the rest of the day and the following day.

Gazzola would invite state sportswriters who played golf to the event, and would give out a trophy to the champ based on their handicap on the Cascades course. We all played for a trophy, which we named the ‘Gazzola Cup.’ As one might suspect, there was much wining and dining of media.

No one enjoyed this more than Millsaps, who was the leader of the pack. A tournament dinner was held in the main dining room with no limit on the bill as long as we provided a healthy tip for maitre d’ Mario.

‘Saps always sat at the head of the table of about 24 attendees and he felt it was his duty to keep the table well-stocked with high-end wine and kept it flowing throughout the lengthy celebratory meal.

My good friend Scott Michaux, who served as the columnist and golf writer at the Augusta newspaper from where he covered the heck out of the Masters for years after he left Virginia, said that watching ‘Saps ordering the wine was like watching Vito Corleone do the same.

“I was in awe,” Scottie said.

We all were.

* Another time at The Homestead, after one of those “into-the-night” dinners, Virginia Tech coach Frank Beamer, an avid golfer, had been invited to join the writers. We all loved Frank, a heck of a guy.

It was custom after the dinner to make our way to the Tower Room for cocktails and chatter. I might have enjoyed some of Millsaps’ favorite beverage, Early Times, which he would call “ET,” or “the brown.”

On this particular night, Beamer came up for a drink and then told us he was going to have to get back to Blacksburg. We said, it’s late, just hang out. Why do you have to get back to Blacksburg?

Beamer said that Tech was opening the season against Clemson (1988), which was one of the best teams in the nation.

Millsaps was quick to question Frank’s judgment.

“Frank, why do you have to get back?”

Beamer replied that he needed to get back and study Clemson film.

“Frank, when do you play Clemson?”

Beamer: “September.”

‘Saps: “Frank, it’s early July. What is Clemson going to be ranked?”

Beamer: “Probably top two in the nation.”

‘Saps: “Frank, you can study film every day from now to September and you’re still not going to beat Clemson.”

Beamer: “You’re probably right. Pour me another drink.”

I wrote a column about that night, which happened to be the first day I met Frank, upon his last regular-season game of his career, which happened to be in Charlottesville.

After his postgame press conference, I went over to shake Frank’s hand, and he said, ‘I really liked your column today,’ for which I was grateful.

He said, “You know what the best part of it was?” I said no, and Frank said, “Because it was all true.”

* It was 1985, the year after Virginia’s first-ever bowl game, and the Cavaliers had a great chance to end their long losing streak to Clemson.

UVA led at the half, 17-13, and after three quarters, 24-20, before finally losing once again to the Tigers, 27-24, at Clemson. A few of us in the press box couldn’t figure out why George Welsh and offensive coordinator Gary Tranquill didn’t give the ball to Barry Word, who led the ACC in rushing and was the league’s Offensive Player of the Year that season.

Word, who was a powerful running back with blazing speed, had only 7 carries for the game (24 yards), BUT only two of those carries came in the entire second half for a measley 8 yards. Didn’t make sense to us, but who would have the required coconuts to question Welsh in the postgame?

Outside the locker room, as Scott Michaux put it, with ‘Saps towering over Welsh, said: “Coach, I need you to ‘splain something to me. You got a hot running back and he gets the ball only two times in the second half?”

Welsh looking straight up at Millsaps’ chin: “Really? That’s not good.”

Again, Scottie and the rest of us were in awe.

* Golf was a large part of Millsaps’ life. He created the “Snowman” tournament, which incidentally was conducted during one of the hottest weeks of July each summer. He invited his friends and it was a four-day, PGA-style tournament played mostly by the strict rules, including putting everything out.

It was four of the best days of my life each summer that I participated. The golf was great, but evenings were better, listening to ‘Saps tell stories in our makeshift “hostility room,” sportswriters’ lingo for hospitality room, which was usually Millsaps’ room.

One of my favorite golfing memories with him came at a different event: the ACC Sportswriters and Sportscasters golfing trip to Grandfather Mountain in North Carolina.

‘Saps was living in Charlottesville and I told him I would drive down to Linville. The late Hugh Morton, a huge Carolina supporter, owned Grandfather Mountain, where he had a grand golf course, as good as you’ll ever play, and an animal preserve, among other things.

Morton loved to get media and the coaches together at this event to play golf, tennis, and have down time at meals and social hours. There would be others, a couple of New York Yankees, and other guests over the years.

While the event was held in the summer, it would get cold at Grandfather and surrounding courses that we could play. I mean really cold.

Temperatures for our 9 a.m. tee were normally between 28 and 34 degrees. After all, we’re talking about the highest elevation in the state.

Well, ‘Saps wasn’t thinking and I think when we got to our room and unpacked, he might have brought a light sweater.

We went to breakfast early that morning and it was hovering around 28 and the wind was blowing. ‘Saps said, “Hootie, I’m going to freeze to death unless you have some extra gear.”

Having been there many times, I was over-prepared and I supplied him a heavy sweater and a windbreaker. We thought we were ready.

We were playing that morning at Linville Ridge, which actually looked down on the Grandfather course, got in our carts and waited for instructions from the pro. It was summer time and it started snowing.

Saps looked at me and said, “You think it’s too late to call this thing off?”

So many stories, so many memories, so many great times. I still find myself slobbering over how much the man meant to me as a dear friend and colleague.

Time to raise a glass of ET as a tribute to Bill Millsaps. We will miss you. May you forever Rest in Peace.