He had done a couple of "son" games when his oldest of four, Adam, was at LSU. He had even done one earlier this season, when No. 3 boy, Luke, had nine points and eight rebounds for Arizona against Purdue in Indianapolis. But the Wildcats had stunk up the joint so badly, the kid had never watched the tape.

"We thought Bill might have been a jinx," said Luke's best friend, Richard Jefferson (who might as well be a fifth Walton son). "We were nervous about him doing an NCAA game."

But there Bill Walton was at courtside in the Alamodome Friday night for CBS on Arizona-Mississippi -- a father who once upon a time owned the NCAA tournament doing color for his son who was merely playing in it. "It's an honor and privilege to call any of my sons' games," the Big Red-Turning-To-Grayhead said. "I'm just like any other proud dad. But we talked earlier and Luke and I agreed this week wasn't about us. His goal is to play the best he can to win the tournament and mine is to broadcast the best I can. It's all business."

Yeah, okay, but ... As solicitous of his offspring as he used to be of his bandmates in a Grateful Dead set, Bill called Luke when the network assigned him to the Midwest Regional to ask if he had any problem with it (which he himself would never have). "I love to do his games if only because it means I get to see Luke play," Bill said.

As many writers, players, other 'casters and simply dolts-next-door do Bill Walton as do Bill Clinton -- the slow-paced, deep baritoned, supremely confident, almost comically critical "Larry Johnson, you are a miserable human being!" stuff. But initially Walton wasn't sure how to do his own assignment. "Bill asked me what should he call his son: 'Walton,' 'Luke,' 'my son,' just what?" said hall-of-fame 'caster Dick Enberg. "I just said call him what you would if he wasn't your son." So in the first half Walton did that, and the commentary was so sterile the viewers at home wouldn't have known if they hadn't had known.

In the second half, as Arizona finally rallied to put away Ole Miss, 66-56, and started to have some fun, so did Walton. As 6'8" Luke -- the Wildcats' versatile "swing forward" sixth man whose forte is passing and defense -- made his only basket midway through the half, Bill piped up with "It's Walton in the lane for two," after which Enberg feigned anger: "Hey, wait a minute. I do the play-by-play here. Just because that's your kid ..."

Then later, when Luke missed two meaningless free throws near the end, Enberg plunged the dagger again: "Well ... like father, like son." A few seconds later, Luke was fouled again and this time he swished both freebies.

"All I could think of was 'get these two down or I'm dead meat with Bill,'" said Luke, who around the team tends to address his dad by name rather than title. Luke's red mop is all but shorn now, but he's got all the other accoutrements: the family voice and the intelligence and the tribute arm tattoo (to both the Dead and his three very-much-alive bros): four skeletons spinning balls and, of course, Big Dancing. "Sometimes off the court I wonder what he's gonna say about me on a telecast. But once the game starts, I try not to remember he's there. This thing tonight was so tight, I never once looked over at him. But I don't worry about the commentary. If I screw up, he's gonna tell me later anyway. He handles the truth. So now he's doing it in front of millions of people instead of just me."

"Luke knows if he makes a bad play, I'm gonna be all over him," Bill had said. Really? At about the five-minute mark, with Arizona leading 54-50, Luke dropped a pass out of bounds right in front of the CBS announcers -- an "unforced error" in tennis lingo. But did we hear the tall color guy characteristically bellow: "HORRIBLE!" Did he scream something along the lines of his trademark: "WHAT A MINDLESS MISTAKE!" No, we did not. And no, he did not. So what's a little wide berth when blood's concerned?

"Hey, Bill wants to be fair," laughs Enberg. "But he's a dad. If that was anybody else -- like for instance ME making a stupid mistake -- he'd have ripped me a new one."

Later that evening, wolfing guacamole and sitting with his second wife, Lori, at San Antonio's legendary, all-night Mi Tierra, Walton was asked how he could balance professionalism with objectivity in the immediate future. Namely, in Arizona's rubber game with Illinois for the Regional championship? "What game?" he laughed. Or for a possible second-generation Walton's appearance in the Final Four, which he dominated in the early '70s? "What Final Four?" he deadpanned (gratefully).

C'mon, Dad. Handle the truth!

"C'mon Bill," said Lori. "You know you're already nervous."