Cardiac Spill: Rooting Interests

Category 1: Totally Cool, Totally Cool, Totally Cool

• Crimson Quarry (the Indiana SB Nation blog) has been inexplicably shouting me out all season, which is really cool. They are clearly people of fine taste and good moral fiber and should be treated as such.
• Staying with the Big Ten, you may be familiar with my recurring references to "Maryland Shouting," my friend who is a big Maryland fan and I don't think is aware that I from time to time share his information with strangers. If you're not, here's a conversation I just had with dude about Corey Manigault and this tweet:
  
  

  

The schools on that list are Maryland, Pitt, Xavier, Miami, and Wake Forest. Maryland's been good again for four months now. Know that and read the conversation again. And besides that, dude was salty when they got the four seed yesterday. I want to see where his head goes if Maryland makes noise this month, so I'm totally rooting for the Terps. This isn't to say I'll share/have permission to share what he says when that time comes... but I might.

• Let's show Michigan State that we're good people who won't abuse or mistreat the Pat Narduzzi we adopted from them by cheering them on for their thing.
• We both hate Wichita State... and hey, they're also the Panthers! They're our Panther buddies! Yay, Panther buddies! Let's go, Northern Iowa! Yeah! U-N-I! Teacher's colleges! Wheeeeeeee! "Tuttle" is so fun to say! I'm a regular Tuttlemaniac! Northern Iowa to the Final Four, baby! Please show us how to be ranked again.
• San Diego State, for RPI reasons.
• We all have to like UAB now because their football program was murdered in cold blood and now they're being sent to live with their grandparents in a town where they don't have any friends.
• Speaking of cupcake-seeded schools we sort of share a city with, one time I was on a Megabus with a bunch of Robert Morris fans desperately trying to monitor an in-progress NEC semifinal game as the data coverage cut in and out across the Laurel Highlands, and it was just adorable. They were all, "Oh, we're the one seed! We're going dancing for sure!" and then they were like, "Oh no, it's too close for comfort, this game!" and then they were like, "Oh no, we were upset by Mt. St. Mary's! This is awful!" and then they were sad. Man, I'm so glad I went to a consequential school. Actually, now that I think about it, how about we just say
• Pretty much any team with a seed line 13 or worse. Come on, now, don't be a jerk. Be nice to Lafayette, for once.
• And finally, any ACC team after the Sweet Sixteen besides Duke, because no one calls my brother a loser except me.

Category 2: Probably Fine

Category 3: I Don't Care, It Doesn't Matter

Category 4: Produces A Skeevy, Uncomfortable Feeling

Category 5: No

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Secret Bonus Column

Here's what could have happened, instead of what did.

The 2015 Final Four was surprisingly exciting. Indianapolis, for all the jokes, is actually extremely well set-up to host major events and conventions like the tournament, and all involved had a wonderful time. For a few days, the inevitable seemed like it wouldn't happen: Gonzaga had a certain team-of-destiny vibe after finally getting over the hump; Northern Iowa had a Cinderella charm, despite being a #3 seed; Texas, an #11 seed, would probably have been a more rousing underdog story, if not for the fact that they are Texas and no one is ever shocked when Texas does well at anything. People thought maybe, maybe, one of them could beat Kentucky.

"Forget it," said the eventually-proven-right Jay Bilas. "They're unstoppable. Pitt shot 17/18 from three in the Elite Eight, and even that didn't work somehow."

***

Durand, smile.

I'm trying to. It's just weird, y'know?

There's nothing weird about posing with a trophy, Durand. Sixth Man of the Year is a major award.  Smile. This picture's going to be everywhere next season.

It's a weird award, though.

No it isn't. You're the best bench player in the ACC.

It's proof Coach was wrong about me.

I don't follow.

I'm the best sixth man in the country, right? So I'm better than the best bench guy on these stacked teams... do you really think that big white dude from Virginia couldn't start here?

I don't really watch basketball, Durand. I leave work at work.

He would. He would start here.

I believe you.

So if I'm better than him... shouldn't I start?

Maybe...  Jamie wanted you to win this award? Maybe you're a good... bench guy?

Maybe he doesn't like me.

Why would he not like you? He brought you here specifically because he liked you, I thought.

[prolonged silence]

Take the picture.

***

You'd think no one would dare drink out of an Aquafina bottle they just found at a Chipotle with the label ripped off and "The Opposite Of The Space Jam Magic Water" written in red sharpie. You'd think that especially no one would do this if they were, say, a 90s kid who plays basketball on scholarship at a major basketball school. You'd think that even within that subset, there'd be a group of people who are also emerging young stars who are fighting for minutes, and they definitely should not be drinking out of that bottle for so many reasons.

But I had to stop Newk from drinking out of that very bottle the other day. Could you imagine? I mean, it probably wasn't real or whatever, but why would he ever do something like that?

***

"Okay, this is the physical and mental evaluation for Pitt basketball recruit #364-2270, Tyrone Haughton."
"D-1 is nuts, man. In JuCo I just had to show up in a jersey and bring my own ball."
"Oh, there's no need to stress, buddy, don't worry about it! This is just a formality. We do this for every recruit just for record keeping. You'll do fine."
"Sure..."
"Okay, so first we're going to do some basic info. Name?"
"Tyrone Haughton."
"Good job!"
"I know my name."
"It was a joke! Relax, like I said, it's just a formality. Okay, height and weight we measured as six-foot-nine and 220 lubs... permanent mailing address?"
"It's the Miami one on the card."
"Ah, yes. Great going so far. High school?"
"Dr. Krop in Miami."
"Do you have the address handy?"
"Nah."
"That's cool, I can look it up later, don't worry about it.  Major?"
"Social sciences."
"Very good. Do you know how to play basketball?"
"Nah."
"...Tyrone?"
"I don't."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, like I said, JuCo is pretty chill about everything."
"How did you..."
"I dunno."
"My god, we almost gave you a scholarship for basketball."
"Haha, yeah. Honestly didn't expect anyone to ask me that, actually."
"It was a joke! It's not even on the form! Everyone just assumed... oh my gosh, we need to start asking people this stuff..."

***

November 14th was turning out to be a lucky day for Durand. The vending machine didn't eat his dollar, his leg felt fine when he woke up, and his stroke was there in the morning warm-ups. A few of his teammates had actually warned him about that - I don't like wasting all my makes before the game starts - but on this day, he was sure he had enough threes in him to go around. He was still riding that high heading into the locker room after what he jokingly called a "very late breakfast" when he saw Coach was waiting for him at his locker.

"Johnson, can I ask you something?" This was a new approach, Durand thought.

"Yeah." said Durand, said Cam. Coach turned around to face the freshman.

"Cam, go get ready. I was talking to Durand."

Cam Wright stopped lacing his kicks for a moment and looked up. "I'm already getting ready. I've been here for half an hour now." Coach set a mental reminder to stop recruiting any kid with a common name for a few years.

"Durand, let's say one day, after your career is over, you buy a nice house for you and your family. You do a whole interior redesign when you get it - Durand, pay attention."

"I am."

"And you have these nice white carpets in the living room, let's say. And so you tell your kids to take their shoes off before they walk into the living room. What does it mean if you catch them once?" Durand shrugged. "Well, Durand, it might be that they didn't listen to you. But maybe it just meant they forgot. What does it mean if they do it every day for a week?"

"It means they're not listening."

"Right - it means you have to do whatever it is you have to do to get them to learn. Punish them. Ground them, take some toys away, an early bed time, freeze them out of the starting lineup for the year-" The metaphor wasn't subtle, but it didn't matter. "Durand, what does it mean if your kids keep breaking your rule after that? What happens then?"

Durand didn't say anything.

"Durand, my Reese's Puffs."

"What about them?"

"You took them again. You took my goddamn Reese's Puffs again. I told you, I told you Durand, it was a team meeting, everyone on this unit was there. I told you that if you ate them again you were suspended for a year. And now... Durand, exhale for me." Durand obeyed.

Coach frowned. He expected peanut butter, but what he got was peppermint.

"Alright. I was wrong, but you have to know how thin your ice is sometimes. Suit up, we're taking the court for warmups in fifteen minutes." Coach walked away. The second he left the room, Durand felt every muscle in his body relax at once.

Thank God I brought mints today.

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