By ROB SULLIVAN
Too often we associate sports with the players in uniform. And although the athletes are obviously the essential component of our joy of sports, there are many others who are just as important.
Fans, parents, referees, volunteers all play a major part in creating the theater that is sport. And, of course, there are other roles that are too numerous to mention here. But they are all part of the fabric of athletics.
Dr. John Orman was one such person. The chair of the Politics department at Fairfield University died suddenly on Sunday, a stunning and terrible event. Everyone who knew and loved the man is certainly diminished by his loss.
Orman is well-known for many reasons. He was one of the most popular professors at Fairfield, an author, a playwright, a candidate, a rock-and-roll fanatic and a person who liked to be a thorn in the side of people in authority. Orman definitely wasn’t afraid to speak his mind.
Dr. Orman was probably best known for one of his more recent exploits. When Joe Lieberman got knocked off in the 2006 Democratic senatorial primary by Greenwich businessman Ned Lamont, he decided to run in the general election in November as a third party candidate. To do so, he formed the Connecticut for Lieberman party and eventually won re-election.
Orman knew this was a sham. So the politics professor hijacked the Connecticut for Lieberman party much to the chagrin of the Nutmeg State’s junior senator. Orman joined the Connecticut for Lieberman party, held a convention and declared himself party chairman. It was classic.
So what does all this have to do with sports? That’s easy. Orman was a certifiable sports junkie and his passing leaves in a hole in the local sports scene. Specifically the Fairfield University sports scene.
As an undergrad, I took almost all of the classes Orman offered, but I also ran into him on the basketball court. A group of professors organized the “Doctors of Dunk,” an intramural basketball team. Orman was the shooting guard on that team and he was like radar. He was money in the bank with a long outside jump shot. I know we never beat those guys. Of course, I was playing for a team called “The Harry Truman Enthusiasts,” so that tells you a little bit about our squad.
One of the classes I took with Dr. Orman was titled “The Politics of Popular Culture,” and a main component of popular culture is sports. In one class, Terry O’Connor, then the Fairfield mens basketball coach and currently the Director of the Cardinal Shehan Center in Bridgeport, spoke to us about the inner workings of a Division I college basketball program.
Before he came to Fairfield, Orman taught at Indiana University and in one class he told us of his one encounter with Hoosier basketball coach Bobby Knight. Apparently, one of Knight’s players was flunked by Orman and the legendary coach wanted to know why.
“So, he called me up,” Orman told us. “And he asked, ‘Are you sure?’ I said, ‘Well he didn’t come to any classes, he didn’t complete any assignments and he didn’t take any tests. Yeah, I’m pretty sure.’ The coach just said, ‘Okay then.’”
The summer between my junior and senior years I played on the faculty softball team with Orman and a host of Fairfield professors. After one game he sidled up to me and said, “Sully, you can call me John.’
I couldn’t do it. To me he was Dr. Orman and I called him that until the last time I saw him.
We saw each other a lot through the ensuing years. He was a fixture at Fairfield basketball games and was the announcer for many years at the Fairfield women’s games. He’d often ask me about Bridgeport politics, a subject both of us held dear.
The last time I saw him was a few weeks ago. It was at my class reunion, which featured a Saturday afternoon picnic. I was walking around the campus looking for some classmates and feeling old. I ran into Dr. Orman and we hung out for about an hour, shooting the breeze, much of which was about sports. He looked great, was full of life and was beaming when he was talking about his family.
Life is funny sometimes. But I guess death isn’t.
So long, John. It was great knowing you.
See you at the games.