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Eastern Connecticut Death All Too Familiar
By Jeff Jacobs, Hartford Courant
January 22 2005

WILLIMANTIC, Conn. - Bill Geitner, the basketball coach at Eastern Connecticut State University, finally left St. Vincent Hospital in
Worcester, Mass., about 12:15 a.m. His heart ached, and his mind was racing. He needed a sanctuary, and he found it where you would figure a basketball coach might.

Geitner walked alone into Eastern's Geissler Gymnasium, turned on the lights and shot baskets for half an hour.

"And then," Geitner said, fighting tears, "I went home and hugged my two kids."

It was noon on Friday now. Geitner hadn't slept and was recalling the tragedy he had witnessed 17 hours earlier at Worcester State.

"There was 15:44 left in the first half and the score was 9-7," he said. "Yes, it was 15:44 on the clock when Antwoine went down.

Geitner is an educated man, the holder of a master's degree. He also is a basketball coach, and a basketball coach wouldn't see the clock on the wall that showed 7:15 p.m. So, yes, it was 15:44 on the clock when Antwoine Key went down Thursday night.

"We came back on the break," senior forward Jeroy Smith said. "Twoine stumbled. I thought he tripped."

So did his coach.

"I thought he'd tripped on his shoelace and he'd get up, look at me, give me that Antwoine smile and say, 'Ah, Coach, it's just me being goofy,' " Geitner said. "Suddenly you realized that's not what it was at all."

Hank Gathers.

Geitner immediately thought of Hank Gathers.

The nation remembers how Gathers of Loyola Marymount died in 1990, collapsing on the court, during a game, the eye of the television camera etching it in America's consciousness.

"You see that ESPN clip a thousand times," Geitner said. "Antwoine's body was exactly like that."

Geitner sprinted off the bench. In 17 years of coaching, he has called out countless numbers for countless plays, but now he was screaming, "911! 911!"

Smith said, "I went to half court and kept saying, 'C'mon, Twoine. Just move. Do something. Give us a sign.' Then I sat down and started praying."

Geitner began to gather his players, to calm them. Some were sobbing uncontrollably.

Police, emergency personnel, doctors, on the court, in the ambulance, at St. Vincent … Geit- ner is sure they all did everything they could.

"I knew we were in a bad, bad situation," Geitner said. "You work with kids and you fall in love with them and nothing can prepare you for this. You hope and pray for a miracle."

The game was stopped and Eastern's players returned to campus. "When we got back to the locker room, I kept waiting for Twoine to come in, but he didn't come," Smith said. "They said he had a low pulse rate, and I thought everything might be all right. But then we pulled into school on the bus, and I was told 10 minutes before the others that he had passed away.

"I broke down. I couldn't even tell my teammates. I cried for five hours."

Then Smith, 6 feet 4, 260 pounds, one of Geitner's leaders, sat up tall.

"I want to be strong for Twoine," he said. "I want people to know he is the best friend anybody could have. Playing good, playing bad, scoring or wasn't scoring, he was always upbeat. Always smiling. Always. No matter who we played."

Smith called Michele Walker, Key's girlfriend of three years. He called Key's parents in Stoughton, Mass.

"Antwoine's family comes in and you try to understand what they're going through," Geitner said. "You try to understand the emotions a parent must be going through. You just can't imagine it."

Antwoine Key was 22.

"He's a good person," Walker said, then corrected herself. "A great person. Basketball was his life. Basketball, music and me."

Walker had met Key when he played at Southern Connecticut in New Haven. Basketball hadn't worked out there, and the coaches recommended him to Geitner. He transferred to Eastern in the fall of 2003. A two-time all-state player at West Roxbury (Mass.) High, Key had hit his stride in recent weeks.

"His last three games were the best of his career," Geitner said. "He was coming into his own as a player. But he was always happy. Even after a bad game. He's the type of kid you'd see in the hall or on campus and he'd come across just to shake your hand and say, 'Hey, Coach.' There aren't many kids like that."

It was noon when Michele Walker, after a night of no sleep, anguish in her soul, walked into Geitner's office, catching him in midsentence talking about the man she loved. She hugged the basketball coach and wept.

"Antwoine called me right before the game started; it was 6:40," Walker said later. "He never does that."

Never?

"I said, 'Why you calling me?' "

"I just want to say I love you," Antwoine Key said.

"What? I can't hear you."

"I'm calling from the locker room. I can't talk loud. I'm not supposed to be on the phone. I just called to say I love you."

"I love you too," Walker said. "Now go play."

And he did — for 4 minutes 16 seconds, scoring five of Eastern's seven points, loving his game until 15:44 showed on the clock, loving his girl forever.