The Shot helps define Laettner's stellar career

The Chronicle celebrates one of Duke's most successful decades by honoring our top 10 Devils of the Decade. Each Tuesday, The Chronicle has featured one of the selected athletes. Today we profile athlete No. 1, Christian Laettner.

Mike Krzyzewski didn't even see it.

He didn't have to.

Not 40 feet from where he was sitting, the program he had all but rebirthed almost a decade ago was being reinvented and Krzyzewski wasn't even watching.

"I didn't really see the ball go through," the coach said after the game. "I saw it leave his hand and everyone jumped up and his arc-I've seen him shoot so many times-I knew it was in."

He wasn't watching just like you don't have to keep reading.

You know the story like you know how to get home at night. You know where it starts. You know how it ends.

You know every moment, from Grant Hill's perfectly cocked arm to the upraised fists of Christian Laettner challenging God himself because even the Almighty couldn't have stopped Duke that day. You know exactly how many tears Thomas Hill shed on the sideline because those tears found legend long before they ever found the ground.

Then he jumped, shot and planted the ball directly through the net of immortality.

Those two points barely made a dent in a lifetime of gaudy box scores, but on a Saturday night in March, they made a career.

"I still enjoy it when the college season begins and they show it," Laettner says. "It was a great play, Grant made a great pass and I was able to make a lucky shot."

But in the instant the ball passed through the rim, lucky became unforgettable.

And Mike Krzyzewski wasn't even watching.

Because that was your story. He knew how your story would end before you knew it was your story. The pass, the shot, the tears, the drama-it was to Krzyzewski what the color of Rick Pitino's tie was to you, useless irrelevance.

He already had his story.

And his story was Pete Gaudet's story.

Gaudet was Krzyzewski's right-hand man, and during his time at Krzyzewski's side, he handled his star players-Henderson, Ferry, Abdelnaby. In 1992, it was Christian Laettner.

A month before the season's end, Pete Gaudet was standing alone in Cameron. Practice had just ended, and the stadium of legend was left to its ghosts.

From the locker room strode Christian Laettner. Gaudet saw him coming, but he did nothing.

Their relationship was built on respect-a pairing of the nation's premier big man and the nation's premier big man coach-but it was a contentious one. Laettner had the drive of a Mac truck and "sorry" popped up in his conversations as often as palm trees sprout in North Dakota.

Gaudet later called him a "pleasure" to coach, but he has never said it was easy.

"I remember once we got in a shouting match in the hall [of Cameron Indoor Stadium]," Gaudet said. "As we were in the airport flying out, someone bumps into me. I turn around and see it's him. All he says is, 'Are you all right?' and I knew everything was OK."

So when his star protégé walked up to him after practice that afternoon, Gaudet eyed him carefully, saying nothing.

Laettner spoke instead.

"Coach, can I get Cherokee to stay after practice?"

Gaudet paused.

It seemed a simple enough request, but he knew better.

"I want to have him put a hand in my face while I shoot jumpers."

All Laettner wanted was to ride Cherokee Parks, Gaudet thought. He wanted to give the talented but notoriously lazy freshman a hard time. It was just Laettner and his coarse manner of leadership-Laettner being Laettner.

But it wasn't, really; it was as earnest a request as it appeared, and after a moment, Gaudet agreed.

"He is the hardest working big guy I ever had," Gaudet says. "He was always wanting to try new things, stay late in the gym. He was fantastic to work with, so [that day] I said, 'OK.'"

And the drill started.

Every day after practice, it was repeated-at the free-throw line, on the wing, Laettner shooting, Parks defending, Parks shooting, Laettner defending.

The season wore on. The ACC tournament became the NCAA tournament became the Sweet 16 became the Elite Eight. All the while Laettner practiced and Krzyzewski never took his eyes off of him.

Gaudet later called it "good preparation."

Carrying an umbrella out on a rainy day is good preparation. What Laettner was doing for the month before the Kentucky game would prove to be nothing short of perfect.

When the Elite Eight showdown finally rolled around, The Shot could've been a layup.

But before there was glory, there was trouble. With Duke unable to pull away from Kentucky in the second half, a frustrated Laettner planted his foot directly in the center of the prone Aminu Timberlake's chest.

And that too is part of Gaudet's story.

"Earlier in the game, Feldhaus had grabbed him and just thrown him to the ground," Gaudet said. "It was amazing what wasn't being called. That's the way it was that night, and it was one of those environment-it-occurred-in things."

The infamous stomp, combined with Laettner's brusque persona would have combined to vilify anyone else. But because of what he did next, that incident became a footnote in history and likely even less in your story.

Because after Sean Woods had all but given Kentucky the victory with a banked floater in the lane, Christian Laettner gave you your story-the epilogue to the tale of one of college basketball's greatest games-in a game that was nothing short of perfect: 10-of-10 from the floor, 10-of-10 from the free-throw line. One-for-1 when it counted.

Sportswriters have come up with a million words to describe that game, but it's still Pete Gaudet who tells the story best-Krzyzewski's and yours.

"He deserved to be rewarded," he said. "[Laettner] must have shot 1,000 of those jumpers with a hand in his face; it was simply fated."

And Mike Krzyzewski didn't even see it.

Neal Morgan contributed to this story.