Center Herb Williams, wearing jersey number 32 for the Ohio State Buckeyes, stands poised in the paint at St. John Arena in Columbus, Ohio, circa 1980. The hardwood court beneath his feet has borne the weight of countless players before him, but tonight it seems to vibrate with something different—anticipation, energy, and a fervent crowd pulsating with every movement. As Williams readies himself to shoot, teammate Jim Ellinghausen, number 41, watches nearby, his eyes locked onto the ball, his body tensed in expectation. It’s a moment suspended in time, emblematic not just of a game in progress but of a storied era in college basketball history, a period where grit, fundamentals, and rising athleticism merged to form something truly special.
Herb Williams was a towering presence, both physically and symbolically, for the Buckeyes during this time. Standing at 6-foot-11 and possessing a frame built for post play, he was not only a key offensive weapon but also an anchor on defense. His ability to back down opponents, use the glass, finish with either hand, and protect the rim made him a constant threat and a foundational piece in the Buckeyes’ game plan. In this particular scene at St. John Arena, the classic venue is alive with the kind of energy that only Big Ten basketball can generate. The crowd, packed into the historic bowl-shaped seating of the arena, roars with each possession, their voices rising like waves as Williams prepares to release the shot.
Jim Ellinghausen, number 41, may not have carried the same star power as Williams, but his role was far from negligible. As a teammate and a forward, his job was often to create space, set screens, crash the boards, and play tough defense—duties that often go unheralded but are vital to a team’s success. Watching Williams shoot, Ellinghausen’s posture reflects a readiness to react: for a rebound, for a defensive transition, or for the quick shift in momentum that often defines college basketball. The synergy between them, developed over countless practices and game situations, underscores the essence of team play, a hallmark of the era.
St. John Arena itself adds texture to the moment. Opened in 1956, the arena had become a beloved fortress for the Buckeyes, its hallowed halls echoing with the cheers of generations of fans. It was within these walls that legends were born and rivalries intensified. The 1980s marked a transitional period in college basketball, where traditional systems were being challenged by more dynamic, fast-paced strategies. Yet for Ohio State, the fundamentals still held strong. Big men like Williams were still focal points, often dictating tempo and forcing opponents to adjust their defensive schemes to contain them.
In the context of this specific game, the atmosphere crackles with intensity. Williams’ shot isn’t just another field goal attempt; it’s part of a larger chess match unfolding over forty minutes of relentless play. Every possession matters. Every screen, every cut, every box out is calculated. The coaching staff, led during these years by Eldon Miller, had instilled in the team a balance between structured offense and responsive adaptability. Miller’s approach to the game, emphasizing discipline and player development, meshed perfectly with Williams’ growth as a dominant center.
As the shot arcs toward the rim, time seems to stretch. The crowd holds its collective breath, the ball tracing a path through air heavy with expectation. In that instant, all the work Williams has put in—the hours of shooting drills, the early-morning practices, the weight training, the film sessions—culminates in this singular act. Whether the ball goes in or not becomes almost secondary to what it represents: execution under pressure, belief in one’s training, and the unyielding drive to contribute to the team’s success.
Around them, the game continues in a rhythm of constant movement. Opposing defenders fight for position, some collapsing toward Williams, others holding tight to perimeter threats. The Buckeyes’ offensive set is fluid, designed to adapt to the reactions of the defense. Ellinghausen, ready to crash the boards or rotate back on defense, is emblematic of the kind of reliable role player every successful team needs. He may not be the focal point, but he is always in the right place at the right time, prepared to make the hustle play or the smart pass that keeps the offense moving.
Williams’ career at Ohio State spanned from 1977 to 1981, a period that saw him evolve from a promising freshman into one of the most respected big men in the country. By the time this photo was taken, circa 1980, he was nearing the peak of his collegiate powers. Over his four-year career, he would accumulate over 2,000 points and 1,000 rebounds, making him one of the few players in NCAA history to reach both milestones. His dominance in the paint made life easier for his teammates, drawing double teams that opened up space for shooters and cutters alike.
The photograph, frozen in black and white or grainy color typical of the era, does more than capture an athletic gesture—it encapsulates a moment of cohesion, of silent understanding between teammates, of execution born from countless hours of preparation. The fans in the background—students, alumni, families—are more than just spectators; they are part of the fabric of the team. Their cheers provide a soundtrack, their presence a constant reminder of the stakes involved.
College basketball in the early 1980s was a landscape on the verge of transformation. The three-point line had not yet been universally adopted, and the shot clock, where implemented, was still a relatively new feature. This meant that post players like Williams had even greater influence, as offensive possessions could revolve around methodical ball movement and strategic inside-out play. The game was more physical, with battles in the paint that were not for the faint of heart. In this context, Williams’ ability to maintain composure and execute plays under pressure was invaluable.
Ellinghausen’s contributions, while perhaps more subtle, were equally crucial. In basketball, not every player is destined to be a star, but every team needs glue guys—players who do the dirty work, who bring consistency, who help hold things together when the game gets chaotic. In this image, his eyes on Williams, his hands ready for the carom, he represents the commitment to team above self. That was the hallmark of Buckeyes basketball during this time—a shared purpose, a collective identity forged through sweat, sacrifice, and shared goals.
Looking at this scene now, decades later, it’s impossible not to feel a sense of nostalgia. Not just for the players and the team, but for what college basketball represented in that era: a purer form of the game, untainted by many of the commercial pressures that would come to dominate in later years. It was about school pride, about representing your state, your classmates, and your coaches. It was about making memories that would last long after the final buzzer sounded.
Herb Williams would go on to be selected in the first round of the 1981 NBA Draft by the Indiana Pacers, beginning a professional career that spanned over 18 seasons. His longevity and effectiveness at the next level were testaments to the solid foundation he built at Ohio State. Ellinghausen, like many college athletes, may not have pursued a professional playing career, but his role during his time with the Buckeyes remains part of the program’s rich history.
As the shot descends, perhaps swishing cleanly through the net or clanking off the rim to be rebounded and put back up again, the play continues. The moment passes, replaced by the next one, and then the next. But for a brief second, caught on film and burned into memory, Herb Williams and Jim Ellinghausen are immortalized—two teammates locked in the flow of the game, contributing in their own ways to a team effort that transcended the box score.
This image from St. John Arena is more than just a sports photograph. It’s a window into a time when college basketball was undergoing its own quiet revolution, when players like Williams could dominate in the post and earn their place among the game’s elite, and when teammates like Ellinghausen played the vital supporting roles that held the team together. It’s a moment that speaks not just to athletic ability but to the spirit of competition, the camaraderie of teammates, and the legacy of a program that has seen its share of legends. On this night, at this arena, in this moment, Herb Williams shoots, Jim Ellinghausen watches, and the game unfolds in all its rich, enduring glory.
