My faith in the saving power of college basketball has been restored.
On Saturday night, years of frustration were released in a catharsis that manifested itself in shouting, leaping, and general revelry. High fives all round, fist pumps, running in circles — hands-over-the-eyes while balanced on the edge of the sofa knees almost touching the floor. Leaning forward on every free-throw, leaning back on every three-point attempt. It was pure.
It was a picture of Rockford circa 1994, a reminder of a time before mortgages and smart phones, hanging out at my grandparents’ house on a Saturday watching the CBS Big Ten game of the week. Bobby Knight prowling the sidelines. I wouldn’t miss an IU game when I was younger. I was defined by my allegiances: The Hoosiers, the Cubs, 1970s singers and songwriters, leather vests, red T-shirts, sports cards in piles around my coffee table. The sports cards have been replaced by stacks of bills, the T-shirts have given way to … more T-shirts. And the allegiances have lost their luster (for many, many reasons… too much to tackle here).
But on Saturday night, in the company of friends, my faith was renewed, my joy boundless, the moment not soon to be forgotten. The good guys won, the foes were vanquished, Kentucky was sent back to Lexington with the concusive boom of 17,000 crazed fans letting go of the same frustration I had held onto for years.
Even after watching the shot over 20 times in replay, it is still hard to believe. Crean’s face says it all. It represents how we all really felt, feel and will continue to feel for days to come. He made the shot. We won the game.
Go. Big. Red.
