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stan



Joined: 19 Nov 2006
Posts: 14097
Location: Knoxville

PostPosted: Tue Oct 14, 2008 9:22 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Wildcat1017 wrote:
Reed í74: Curry will go over 40 tonight and lead us to a comeback. G's 15 point halftime leads means they will lose by 5 instead of 20.


Hallelujah, crystal ball!


I used a Reed reference Sunday. Cardinals-Cowboys on the tube. AZ has ball at about the two. They break the huddle and align in a slot to the right. My eldest jumps up and says, "Oh! Oh! Check this out, the outside guy is going to run a slant like this (uses finger in front of TV to point out route) and the inside guy is going to cut under him on a short out! Warner's going to throw it to the sideline for a touchdown!"

A split second later the ball is snapped, outside WR runs slant right along the path he indicated, inside WR runs a quick out under him and Warner throws it to him for a TD.

Whoa.

I turned to him and said "does Reed know you have his crystal ball?" Sadly, he has no idea who Reed is or why he has a crystal ball.
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tennis08tarheels



Joined: 09 Dec 2006
Posts: 3335
Location: Dallas, TX

PostPosted: Tue Oct 14, 2008 11:51 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

stan wrote:
I turned to him and said "does Reed know you have his crystal ball?" Sadly, he has no idea who Reed is or why he has a crystal ball.


That's tremendously funny, and only because we've all probably done something very similar.
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Reed '74
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PostPosted: Wed Oct 15, 2008 8:01 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

stan wrote:
Wildcat1017 wrote:
Reed í74: Curry will go over 40 tonight and lead us to a comeback. G's 15 point halftime leads means they will lose by 5 instead of 20.


Hallelujah, crystal ball!


I used a Reed reference Sunday. Cardinals-Cowboys on the tube. AZ has ball at about the two. They break the huddle and align in a slot to the right. My eldest jumps up and says, "Oh! Oh! Check this out, the outside guy is going to run a slant like this (uses finger in front of TV to point out route) and the inside guy is going to cut under him on a short out! Warner's going to throw it to the sideline for a touchdown!"

A split second later the ball is snapped, outside WR runs slant right along the path he indicated, inside WR runs a quick out under him and Warner throws it to him for a TD.

Whoa.

I turned to him and said "does Reed know you have his crystal ball?" Sadly, he has no idea who Reed is or why he has a crystal ball.


I'm glad that thing has found a good home. I'm also glad Stan thinks it's sad his son doesn't know who I am. I would imagine he's a fine young man and hope I will meet him at Belk one of these days.
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stan



Joined: 19 Nov 2006
Posts: 14097
Location: Knoxville

PostPosted: Wed Oct 15, 2008 9:45 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Reed '74 wrote:
stan wrote:
Wildcat1017 wrote:
Reed í74: Curry will go over 40 tonight and lead us to a comeback. G's 15 point halftime leads means they will lose by 5 instead of 20.


Hallelujah, crystal ball!


I used a Reed reference Sunday. Cardinals-Cowboys on the tube. AZ has ball at about the two. They break the huddle and align in a slot to the right. My eldest jumps up and says, "Oh! Oh! Check this out, the outside guy is going to run a slant like this (uses finger in front of TV to point out route) and the inside guy is going to cut under him on a short out! Warner's going to throw it to the sideline for a touchdown!"

A split second later the ball is snapped, outside WR runs slant right along the path he indicated, inside WR runs a quick out under him and Warner throws it to him for a TD.

Whoa.

I turned to him and said "does Reed know you have his crystal ball?" Sadly, he has no idea who Reed is or why he has a crystal ball.


I'm glad that thing has found a good home. I'm also glad Stan thinks it's sad his son doesn't know who I am. I would imagine he's a fine young man and hope I will meet him at Belk one of these days.


After he asked who Reed was, I told him about the UNCG prediction.

We currently have plans to be in Chatt for the UTC game and the tourney. I assume you will be driving up from Ga for one or both. Last year, I took the two boys to Davidson for the Furman game. At the end of the day, the eldest (age 14) said to me, "Dad, Davidson people are all so nice. How come you're so mean?" Surprised
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catnhat



Joined: 14 May 2007
Posts: 6252
Location: Asheboro, NC

PostPosted: Wed Oct 15, 2008 10:43 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Your son displays great skills of perception; his diplomatic skills have not yet reached that level. Perhaps he is genetically predisposed in that way.
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Reed '74
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PostPosted: Wed Oct 15, 2008 10:43 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

stan wrote:


We currently have plans to be in Chatt for the UTC game and the tourney. I assume you will be driving up from Ga for one or both. Last year, I took the two boys to Davidson for the Furman game. At the end of the day, the eldest (age 14) said to me, "Dad, Davidson people are all so nice. How come you're so mean?" Surprised


UTC Jan 28, 2009 @7pm. A promise: I won't change your son's opinion of Davidson folks. BTW, I think I can do a little better at the Rodney King thing in person than I tend to do blogging!
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stan



Joined: 19 Nov 2006
Posts: 14097
Location: Knoxville

PostPosted: Wed Oct 15, 2008 1:11 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

catnhat wrote:
Your son displays great skills of perception; his diplomatic skills have not yet reached that level. Perhaps he is genetically predisposed in that way.


absolutely
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Wildcat1017



Joined: 21 Mar 2008
Posts: 864
Location: Atlanta

PostPosted: Sat Jan 03, 2009 3:10 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

These cannot afford to be lost within the depths of cyberspace:

Reed '74:
There once was a Wildcat named Curry
Whose talent made all foes worry.
But "hotdog" they say
When watching him play
That hatchet the Wildcats must bury!

ChantillyCat:
Although I am for all this bluster
That advocates passes sans luster
Know that if they complete 'em
And the Wildcats defeat 'em
The wins sure do taste better with mustard.

Reed '74:
"Play hard, get better, have fun"
Said the Wildcat's anointed one.
"Bah humbug to fun play"
The critics did say
Never mind that the game was won.

ChantillyCat:
Just like Popeye eating his spinach
Even Steph needs to sometimes replenish
If it's fancy assists
That give him his lifts
Fine...as long as they're all high percentage.

Reed '74:
Statistics don't tell the whole story,
In sports there's fame and glory.
The passes he makes
Jabs, jukes, and fakes
Add color to the inventory.

ChantillyCat:
Well, the poems you'll find here are oft gorgeous
But when through this great board you do forge, a...
Good piece of advice
And I won't say it twice
Is don't match rhymes with a Doc from North Georgia.

Reed '74:
Chantilly rhymes with manners and grace
So forget about his namesake's lace.
This Wildcat with class
Who hates a bad pass
Is The Man and Virginia's the place!

Wildcat92:
A limerick does not write itself.
Making a toy requires an elf.
But you must agree
on how nice it would be
if Steph Curry could pass to himself.

Wildcat92:
Higgledy Piggledy
Kruse in his cubicle,
Down in St. Petersburg,
Where it's so hot

A magical season,
A writer's obsession.
Abracadabara....
"Taking the Shot."
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Wildcat1017



Joined: 21 Mar 2008
Posts: 864
Location: Atlanta

PostPosted: Tue Feb 03, 2009 1:57 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Catsanddogslivingtogether wrote:
A lad clad in 30 with game,
With his shot returned Davidson fame,
To arenas fans rushed,
the great pundits they gushed,
all the while misprounouncing his name

As he wowed with preposterous threes,
Like Spiderman scaled the backboard with ease,
more ignored by the masses,
were the magical passes,
to his mates, and his coach he did please.

Zags and Hoyas built leads once thought fine,
30's retort a torching of twine,
like the Badgers sent packing,
they were found to be lacking,
for he reigneth beyond the 3 line.

Yet the magic of April 08,
ended just short on one shot of fate,
30's mates had left all,
for the sake of roundball,
and the promise of one perfect date

For that quest do they now turn attention,
While the bloggers, concerns they do mention
For despite the Cat's start,
at times those faint of heart,
twitter onward with much apprehension

Lost at times is the shared dedication,
So fear not ye disquieted Catnation,
with Detroit this team's goal,
through opponents they'll roll,
30's Cats they doth rain sweet salvation
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Waitress



Joined: 01 Mar 2007
Posts: 11916
Location: Chambana

PostPosted: Fri Mar 06, 2009 7:26 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

bobmckellar wrote:
I posted this after the 2008 final. I am reposting it for Karmical purposes due to last year's excellent tourney results.

-----

Note: This presentation is based on actual events. Some details may have been altered for dramatic purposes or to avoid legal or spousal liability.

Saturday:

I do enough chores around the house to earn some time off for the afternoon. It works.

Game Time Wofford:

This is a Kilgo game, so Iím out back. The office fridge is well stocked, but not with Cokes. Iíve got Kilgo on one computer and the message board and Willís blog on another. The game is never in doubt, and I celebrate a little too freely. Maybe I should stock the house fridge; at least I would get some exercise going back and forth. I do make a few trips in. The Boss is doing lesson plans and she is entitled to updates, whether or not she is actually interested.

Sunday:

I earn more husband points in the morning, going grocery shopping. Discussions begin on why Iím not in Charleston, and I point out the awkward schedule. Charleston is 6 hours round trip, and I have to take Pink Hair back to DC on Monday, a 10 hour round trip. I also have to make a quick trip to see a customer Monday morning. Things just arenít working out.

The Boss and Pink Hair head out shopping in the early afternoon, stocking up for the trip back to DC. Pink Hair is apparently running a beauty salon and theater on 4th Belk, so she needs a lot of snacks.

I spend the afternoon with NASCAR, but my heartís just not in it this week.

Game Time UNCG:

This is TV, so Iím indoors. The laptop is next to me, part of my triple tasking routine. At each TV time out, I switch to Kilgo, since heís about 45 seconds behind. When he brings in the favorite soccer player I hit the message board, and finish there in time to unmute the TV. Sadly, Will gets relegated to halftime and postgame due to time constraints.

During the half the Boss comes through and points out that a trip from Savannah to DC and then to Charleston is significantly shorter than the Savannah to DC and back round trip Iíve made so many times in the last 8 years. She also sweetly points out that I am getting to be a dull and boring old man who never goes anywhere or does anything. I am forced to admire both her geographical sense and her perceptive powers. A vague plan begins to form in my head, but I suppress it so as not to generate any bad karma.

Kilgo has Chambers the yard dog, but I have two living room dogs. They interpret all shouts, groans and furniture smacks as calls to action. Being dogs, they donít have a lot of discretion about what kinds of activities are appropriate. It can get a little rowdy in there.

The Boss sits in for the last few minutes of the game. She watches the first few minutes of the postgame and turns to me. ďLook,Ē she says, ďjust go.Ē

And so I do.

-------


Monday:

I wake up early, after not sleeping too well. Since just after the game last night, Iíve reserved a motel room and a rental car, and planned all the steps and contingencies of todayís trip. Part of my working life involves imagining everything that can possibly go wrong and having a plan A, a plan B and so on. I have a hard time turning off that mindset.

Pink Hair just assumes everything will go perfectly for her, because she is the center of the universe and it is her due. I envy her at times.

The Boss wishes us well and heads to work.

We get all loaded up, including the 150 pounds of snack food from Samís. My car starts, which it refuses to do on occasion. Potential Bad Thing (PBT) #1 has been averted.

We stop by my customerís office. I manage to get in and get out without getting sidetracked or bogged down on any new issues. PBT# 2 is no longer a factor. Pink Hair is out in the car with the engine running, to avoid PBT#1b.

Out at the airport, the rental car desk actually has my reservation, and the car is ready. That takes care of PBTís #3 and #4. Cargo is transferred and we are on I-95 a bit ahead of schedule.

I assign Pink Hair the task of figuring out how to change the electronic displays from metric to real measurements. She gets out the ownerís manual and puzzles it out, and also learns how to run the satellite radio. I compliment her on her DC imparted research skills.

After a couple of hours she goes to sleep. I make a pit stop about 50 miles out of Charlotte for lunch, but she says sheíd rather stay in the car and go back to sleep. This is an Unexpected Good Thing (UGT). I figure that saved me 10 minutes and several dollars worth of fast food.

I hit the ramp at Exit 33 and immediately think Iíve made a wrong turn. An entire new city has sprung up between I-77 and the campus. I figure out the two traffic circles and make it in to the Belk dorm parking lot. I call it that because itís the parking lot next to Belk, but I expect it will have its own name soon. Theyíve sold the naming rights to all the buildings and I expect theyíll start on the parking lots any day now. When they break it down to individual parking places I might be in the market.

We are loaded down with all Pink Hairís stuff when friends appear and help us out. The elevator is a big help too. The very concept of an elevator in Belk is hard for me to handle. I try to convince the group that when I lived in Belk we only had one light bulb per hall, and had to share it, moving it from room to room. I donít think theyíre quite buying it.

Enough slack has opened up in my schedule that I can afford my usual campus tour. We encounter more friends, including a former roommate. Some of these creatures also have hair colors not normally found in nature. Roommate says sheís going down to the game on the bus, and Pink Hair tells her to look for me.

The ticket office in Belk Arener does not exhibit the typical DC efficiency Iíve come to expect, but they do show me a telephone number written on an old napkin. I make the call and reserve my ticket. This goes fine, so Iíve disposed of another PBT. Since Iím on a roll, I check my office voice mail and everythingís fine. More PBTís bite the dust.

There are two messages from my Charleston customer, following the usual pattern:
1. ďProblem, big problem!Ē
2. ďNever mind, I figured it out myself.Ē

I call her anyway, and tell her Iím on the way and will see her tomorrow. I promise her just enough time to make my whole trip tax deductible.

Soon Iím watching the mile numbers count down on I-77. I have enough extra time for 1 flat tire, 1 speeding ticket and a moderate traffic jam.

Even the weather is cooperating.

Life is good.

-----

Monday Afternoon:

I stop for gas in Blythewood, SC. As Iím leaving the store, three carloads of athletic looking young ladies wearing a variety of Davidson gear come in. I naturally start talking to them, but then I realize Iím not yet in uniform. I quickly identify my affiliation and destination so I donít get the ďDirty Old ManĒ treatment.

Heading down I-26 about forty miles out from Charleston, I spot a minivan parked in the emergency lane. As I go by I see a woman standing in the grass vomiting. I am so fixated on my mission that my first thought is ďShe must be really nervous about the game.Ē

Arriving in Charleston, I hardly notice that my prepaid motel room is all ready and I have no trouble getting in. I have vanquished the PBTís! The room is pretty crappy, but I donít care. Itís so old that the shower puts out a lot of water. The writing desk has a big light, but no convenient electrical outlet. Do they think Iím going to write something? On a piece of paper? With a pen?

The doorís still open and a man comes up to it. He asks, in an accented voice, ďDo you know Wallace?Ē. I tell him I donít know anybody by that name, but he points to my laptop and says, ďNo, Wallace, Wallace!Ē Now I get it. ďWireless.Ē

The French-Canadian couple next door is having trouble getting the motelís wireless internet working, and they thought I might be able to help. I give it a shot. Two problems immediately show up:

1. Their laptop runs on Vista, the most despised operating system in the world.
2. Itís all in French.

So after a while Iím up to my armpits, asking for translations of menu items and prompts, and generally getting nowhere. The nice Quebecers tell me itís OK, I donít need to keep working on it, itís not a big deal.

But no. Iím in this thing and I will not quit. I am going to find a way to win. I refuse to be defeated. And I do finally win, and they are very happy.

Now where do you suppose I picked up an attitude like that?

The Coliseum:

I get to the parking lot and find a spot I can find my way back to. I have on my red shirt by now, and as I get out of the car I hear, ĒHey, Davidson, over here!Ē A few feet away a group of students were partying around their cars. One hands me a beer and says, ďI hope itís cold enough!Ē Of course, a Davidson Gentleman does not look a gift beverage in the mouth. That would be rude.

I introduce myself and suddenly get some strange looks. I try again and pronounce the last part of my last name more carefully. I point out that I do have a Bob and an McK and some Lís in there, but Iím not claiming to be ďHimĒ. Much hilarity all around.

I tell them my story of being a 40 year prodigal, and how I used to make fun of old fat alumni hanging around the games. Someone says, ďThatís great. We were just getting ready to make fun of you!Ē I respond, ďAnd you would be perfectly justified!Ē Even more hilarity abounds. This is going to be a good night.

After a while I have to move on and go get my ticket. Todayís victories over the PBTís have been so complete that I fully expect my ticket to be waiting patiently for me. And so it is, in a nice little envelope.

I move around to the other side of the Coliseum and thereís a van with the Alumni Association banner on it. I walk up and get offered another beer. Well, a Davidson Gentleman certainly would not want to offend the Alumni Association. I do my best not to offend them the rest of the night.

After a while, the Alumni folks are looking for more customers. I suggest the group I first met, and offer to lead the way. The Alumni guy says he thinks itís a bunch of Phi Delts. I say, ĎWell, I guess some things havenít changed in 40 years.Ē

I realize Iím wearing a magic shirt, like Iíve read about in Mexican folk tales. Wearing the shirt, you walk around and people want to shake your hand, to talk to you, to give you beer. Itís quite an experience for a quiet shy person like me.

The funny thing is that we donít talk about basketball. We talk about how special Davidson is, about evil experiences at non Honor Code schools, about how to convince our kids to go to Davidson. We talk about how the current students are so much smarter than we were. I also note that almost none of the people Iím having such a good time with were actually at DC the same time I was. The time spreads are wide enough that thereís not much overlap. But it doesnít matter, since everybody has a magic shirt.

But suddenly time is up. We all head for the entrances, and our priorities have changed.

Letís Go Cats!

To be continued ÖÖÖ. (perhaps with actual basketball content)

-----

In the Coliseum:

Wow, itís noisy in here. Waiting until the last minute means a not particularly good seat, but as you all know I donít generally know what Iím looking at anyway. Iím in a top row, meaning I donít have to worry about anybody behind me.

We are all arranged so that the TV shots on the other side will look like itís a full house. There seems to be about a 5 to 1 fan ratio in favor of the magic red shirts. I think the noise ratio is even higher, but then Iím sitting near the Pep Band.

Looking over at the student section, Iím glad Iím not there. I want to be near them, but I donít think I could handle total immersion. Then I spot Roommate in the crowd.

I call out to her, expecting an acknowledging wave. But I get a lot more Ė she comes up to sit with me. This is very nice, not only for the company but for the fact that she has actually played basketball and can explain things to me. Somebody should be very proud of their daughter.

This is a neutral site, which means dueling cheerleaders, dancers, bands and parading elephants. Well, actually, Iím lying about the elephants, but itís not much of a lie. In the middle of all this, Iím beginning to wonder if an actual athletic competition is going to occur.

My fears are groundless, and a sure Ďnuf game is soon rocking along. I donít know enough to critique things, but it seems to me to be well prepared teams both playing well. But the Cats seem to be a bit better and the lead gradually expands.

Halftime arrives, and the bouncing and jumping around on the court picks up again. I wish I had that kind of energy. I donít really bounce too well anymore. I take the opportunity to sit down, and realize Iíve been standing for most of the game so far.

The second half proceeds like the first, and Iím getting a bit of confidence. I keep mentally dividing the points lead by the minutes remaining. I know itís not really a linear function, but I feel good as the quotient slowly but steadily increases.

Part of being a fan is accepting responsibility for what happens in the game. I soon am caught in this trap, as the ghosts of all those PBTís I dispatched today coalesce to bring forth a new spectre, the mother of all Potential Bad Things, the possibility of an actual loss. The lead drops to five. I tell myself itís just a series of lucky breaks for Elon, a statistical aberration. But did I tempt Karma by having everything work out so well today? Should I at least have missed a turn, or forgotten to pack something, or had that flat tire?

A voice comes to me from above, and says, ďYou know, youíre really an idiot! Those guys on the court can take care of things. Lighten up! Itís not about you!Ē

I yell out, ďItís not? Then why am I here?Ē

Roommate asks, ďWhat did you say?Ē

ďUh, nothing.Ē

And so the crisis passes. The lead to minutes left ratio climbs back up, and soon I say to myself, ďItís a lock.Ē

The band leader seems to agree, and I hear the much anticipated familiar notes.

This is my first live and in person exposure to ďSweet CarolineĒ, and itís spectacular. I have no idea how a sappy song about sweet love and tender affection got transmogrified into an arrogant musical assault on a defeated foe, but it sure is effective. I would hate to be on the receiving end.

Those of you who are used to it may not fully appreciate the structure, the instrumental lead-in to alert the crowd, the initial monosyllabic grunts to get them started , the choreographed hand moves, and finally the full throated singing. Itís a piece of work.

Then again, maybe itís not a militaristic anthem. It could, in a more benign interpretation, be like an ancient tribal celebration chant:

ďNice job killing that Woolly Mammoth, boys! Letís eat!Ē

The aftermath is fun to watch, with the extensive sharing of the net pieces, the team working the crowd like they were running for office, and the innumerable photo ops.

But the job is long done, and good times have never seemed so good.

Epilogue:

When I get home, I email Pink Hair, and announce that Roommate has been officially awarded ďAssociate DaughterĒ status.

_________________
That didn’t happen.
And if it did, it wasn’t that bad.
And if it was, that’s not a big deal.
And if it is, that’s not my fault.
And if it was, I didn’t mean it.
And if I did…
You deserved it.


~Tip well.
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Wildcat1017



Joined: 21 Mar 2008
Posts: 864
Location: Atlanta

PostPosted: Fri Jul 24, 2009 4:59 pm    Post subject: Landry's post Reply with quote

So it doesn't get lost again...Landry Kosmalski, post Georgetown

Quote:
As the Davidson band played "Sweet Caroline" during Sunday's game against Georgetown, I looked around the RBC Center. Davidson fans, students, parents, alumni-and even former basketball great, Hobby Cobb-were on their feet singing enthusiastically. One journalist later labeled this display "corny." But as I scanned the stadium to measure the reaction of the thousands of North Carolina fans in attendance, it seemed to me that they thought it was anything but corny. In fact, I think they were somewhat envious and thought it was pretty cool.

That is what makes Davidson special and unique. Sure, we don't have the same facilities and resources that many of the bigger schools have: we don't have 17 practice courts, or charter planes, or obscene amounts of shoes and apparel. But that is not for everyone. What we do have is players that know our fans and students by name and are proud that we have an anthem to sing (however irrelevant it may be).

Despite being a former player and coach, I was not prepared for how proud I would feel after this weekend. After the Gonzaga game on Friday I raced to the hotel to meet the team. I hugged some of the guys and told them that they had no idea how much the win meant to former players. The older guys-Boris, Thomas, and Jason-might have understood a little bit. The freshmen said, "Great, Larry," and went looking for their girlfriends.

As clichť as it sounds, why did this team's success mean so much to me, someone who graduated eight years ago? Why was I tearing up when the final buzzer sounded against Georgetown? I will do my best to articulate it: in January, with many players gathered for Davidson basketball's 100 year anniversary, Coach McKillop talked about dreaming big. He spoke about how he believes Davidson can get back to the heights it reached in the 1960s. While many may think that is impossible, the people at Davidson do not. Therefore, we work very hard: we lift, we run, we play, we fight, and we compete every day of the year-all while simultaneously working hard in the classroom. While struggling through the rigors of the Davidson academic workload, and playing for Coach McKillop, one is not inclined to make excuses. Home from Georgia Southern at 4 a.m.? So what-get to class at 8:30. Up all night studying for a test? Too bad-practice hard for two and a half hours. Nasty dead-leg to the thigh? Get tougher. We welcome these experiences because we see that goal in the distance: getting back on the national stage. We know that all the hard work-all the early morning workouts, all the frustrations, all the long, tough practices-will one day be worth it. But when? We made a small step in 1998 by making the NCAA tourney. Almost had Ohio State in 2002. Gave the Buckeyes another run for their money in 2006. Gave Maryland all they could handle in 2007. Great progress, but still not where we wanted to be. Everyone associated with Davidson basketball-players, coaches, fans, students-still wanted to take the next step and make some real noise.

So would all the hard work over the years ever be worth it? Would tiny Davidson ever really be able to touch the national scene? Well, I can now tell you that the answer is yes to both questions. This year's team may never fully understand it, but what they have accomplished this year (so far) is a gift to anyone who has ever been involved with Davidson basketball: fans, students, coaches, and players. We all know that Davidson is a special school in a special town and, despite its size and seeming limitations, we have always felt that it can have a very special basketball team.

That is where the feeling of pride came from on Sunday. That is why, when I felt myself tearing up, I did not know if I could articulate my thoughts to anyone. Luckily, I was sitting next to my former teammate and roommate (and soon to be former Davidson career assist leader), Ali Ton, and when I saw the emotion on his face, I knew that he did not need an explanation. When I left my seat and went out into the hallways of the RBC Center and saw the students and fans cheering, high-fiving, chest-bumping, and singing the fight song, I again realized that no explanation was necessary. The Davidson people understood it: against long odds our team accomplished a near miracle.

So as Davidson heads to the Sweet Sixteen and maybe (gasp!) the Final Four, my pride will not dissipate. And if I find myself being envious of other schools' resources, facilities, or the size of their fan base, I will think back to this weekend and remember that I would rather be singing "Sweet Caroline" with Hobby Cobb any day of the week.

_________________
Davidson '10
http://www.claireasburylennox.com
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