If only he had a heart

By Ron Kantowski

Saturday, July 12, 2008 | 2 a.m.

So it’s Saturday afternoon on Day 98, and Gun Rack — which is what one of the local talking heads called UNLV basketball Hall of Famer Glen Gondrezick — and I are sitting on his couch, sort of watching the Yankees and Red Sox disrespect each other on TV, but mostly drinking his beer.

Or at least he’s watching me drink his beer. Gondo’s got a couple of auxiliary refrigerators out in his garage filled to the brim with Mr. Adolph Coors’ finest — as well as a six-pack of Bud Light — but he’s not allowed to partake. You’re not allowed to partake in a lot of things when you’re at the top of the list of those requiring a heart transplant.

It had been more than three months since they put his name there. Ninety-eight days if you were scoring at home, which Gondo was, because that’s about all you can do when you have a heart like the Tin Woodsman’s.

So Gondo winds up telling me a story about his old pal Bucky Dent, who used to live just up the hill from him in Nanuet when Dent played for the Bombers and Gondo played for the Knicks. They could see each other’s homes and were always playing practical jokes on each other, and so one night Gondo says he keeps hearing this tiny ping ... ping ... ping sound against the sliding glass door to his patio.

Then the whole thing cracks, leaving the plate glass looking like a giant spider web.

A few minutes later there is a knock on the door. Bucky Freakin’ Dent’s (which is what the Red Sox Nation still calls him) BB gun looks like Gary Cooper’s rifle in “High Noon.” It still has smoke coming from it.

Telling that story is the highlight of Day 98.

Monday was Day 100 since Gondo was told he needed a new heart ... or else. A milestone of sorts, I guess. He said he was thinking about walking out to the curb to get his mail. Or maybe he’d leave it for Day 101. Give him something to look forward to.

The next time you think you are having a bad day, think of the skipper who beached that cruise ship off the Alaskan coast this week. And if you’re that guy, think of Glen Gondrezick.

It could be worse.

A hundred days at the top of the list. Gondo thought he’d have a new heart by now. Doctors told him the average wait was 10 weeks. That’s 70 days. Gondo has done the math in his head. Ten times, 50 times, 100 times. Especially on Sunday. The mailman doesn’t come on Sunday.

Since Day 1, there has been one huge misunderstanding — on the last day of April, Gondo had raced to Los Angeles, thinking he was getting a heart, only to find out when he got there that it was just as defective as his — and three close calls. He’s been in and out of intensive care three times with heart-related problems. Each time it felt like it might be the last time.

His immune system looks like the carburetor in an old Buick. That’s why he shouldn’t go outside. Too much risk of infection.

What else can I tell you since I first wrote about his situation during March Madness?

Let’s see, a benefit at the Orleans held in his name raised $30,000, not nearly enough zeros to pay off his hospital tab.

Lon Kruger, God bless ’im, sent two text messages from Australia, one of which bounced off satellites for 14 minutes.

And Las Vegas Mayor Oscar Goodman not only made an appearance at his benefit (which is all he promised), but stayed for the whole thing and gave Gondrezick a good-luck charm — a gambling chip (what else?) with hizzoner’s picture on it (what else again?).

The mayor told Gondo that if he kept that chip in his pocket he’d have a new heart in a week. The week passed. Gondo didn’t get the heart. So he called Goodman, who had given him the number to the Bat Phone in City Hall.

“What color was that chip?” the mayor said. “Black?! It was supposed to be a green one!” So he sent a green chip over to Gondo’s house the next day. And a bobblehead doll. God bless the mayor, too.

Day 102. 5:30 a.m. There’s a buzz on Gondrezick’s Bat Phone, the cell unit the doctors at UCLA are supposed to call when they’ve found a heart. The first three numbers on the readout are “3-1-0.” He excitedly flips open the phone.

“Gondo? You up?”

It’s former UNLV basketball coach Bill Bayno.

Note to Gondo’s outer circle on the West Coast: Although he appreciates the good wishes, do not call him at 5:30 in the morning. There’s only so much excitement a guy in his condition can take.