The Love of My Life

One of the best moments of my life was when Mario Chalmers hit a three pointer in the 2008 NCAA Men’s Basketball National Championship Game to tie the score and send the game to overtime. KU would then go on to beat Memphis 75-68. Some may say it’s a little sad or pathetic for a sporting championship to be one of the best moments of your life (especially if you weren’t actually playing in it), but my bet is those people aren’t sports fans. And I haven’t had a wedding day or popped out any kids, so what do you want from me?

It’s nearly impossible to put into words all the thoughts, feelings, and emotions that go with being an avid sports fan. It’s hard to explain to a non-sports fan the awful, heavy feeling my friends and I felt in the pit of our stomachs when Memphis was up by nine points with just 2:12 to go in regulation. It’s similar to the feeling you’d get if your spouse told you they were leaving you for their kick-boxing instructor. And as we stood there in disbelief, thinking all was lost, we went from feeling the lowest of lows to the highest of highs. Kansas went on to score 12 points in the remaining two minutes, culminating in Mario Chalmers three point tying basket with just 2.1 seconds on the clock. When that shot went in we all jumped so high in the air we could have touched the ceiling. I can’t remember the last time I felt so happy, so exhilarated, so over-joyed. As my friends and I hugged and jumped and jumped and hugged some more, KU went on to win their first national title in exactly 20 years. We felt like we’d just landed a date with the hottest chick/dude in the world. It was like winning the Powerball Jackpot. Like meeting the President. And the celebration that took place afterwards in the streets of Lawrence? Imagine having a party with 30,000 of your closest friends. It was kind of like that.

What followed is a blur. My friends and I paid our tabs at the Bottleneck as quickly as we could and poured out onto New Hampshire Street. We hugged and high-fived every stranger we passed. As we reached Massachusetts Street, we could already see that most of Lawrence, Kansas was pouring in on all sides and from every direction, like a swarm of army ants devouring a piece of sticky candy on a hot summer sidewalk. The air was full of cheers, screams, whistles, horns, shouts, chants, songs, high-fives, and various shouts of "Champions!", "Rock chalk Jayhawk!", and "Yeeeeaaaaaahhhhhhh!" The best part of a celebration like this was that there was no plan at all. It was spontaneous and wonderful. Chaotic and beautiful. It was about being with family and celebrating one of the awesomest things to happen to that family in the last 20 years. The streets were shoulder to shoulder, so packed with people that hardly any cars could pass. You'd think we'd just won a war. It was like we'd just topped Saddam or Hitler. People were embracing, kissing, dancing, and any number and combination of other things. Mass Street was Crimson and Blue for as far as the eye could see. And my eye could see pretty far. I got to the highest point I could and as far as I could see there were Jayhawk fans. It was like that scene at the end of Field of Dreams when the camera pans out and the line of cars on their way to the baseball diamond seems to go on forever and ever. It was just like that. If you win it all, they will come. And come they did. And the best part was, there was no violence. Just happiness, joy, and camaraderie. And lots of celebratory drinking. Only two people were arrested that night, one was in connection with a car fire several blocks from the celebration, and I'm pretty sure the other was the Asian guy who's Jayhawk joy inspired him to climb to the top of the flag pole at US Bank. There were plenty of officers waiting for him when he finally came down. It was like Jayhawk Mardi Gras. People parading up and down the streets until all hours of the morning. I don't remember what time I finally went home, but I do know that I wanted that night to last forever.

I can't think of another memory as joyful that's not related to sports. I have similar memories from my freshman year at KU in 2003 when the Jayhawks made it all the way to the Big Game, only to lose to Syracuse as Michael Lee's game tying three pointer was blocked by Hakim Warrick. That shot did not go in, and Lee was not dubbed "Miracle Michael," but the games leading up to that last heartbreaker were amazing.

I remember being crammed into my friend Sean's dorm room on the third floor of McCollum Hall dormitory with about twenty other people for the Kansas/Arizona game. We huddled around his TV like bums around a flaming garbage can. After blowing a 16 point lead in the second half, the Jayhawks were back within three points. After KU commed a shot clock violation, Arizona had the ball with 7.1 seconds on the clock. Jason Gardner threw up a 25 footer, but Kirk Heinrich got a hand on it and tipped it away. Luke Walton got the rebound and fed it back to Gardner for one last shot, but it didn't go in and the game was over. We were in the Final Four. Rowdy Freshman were running up and down the halls all over the building. Sean and I went down to the parking lot to join a bunch of others in celebration. And as we stood there, we could hear cheers of joy all across Mt. Oread and all over town. Car horns honked in the distance, fireworks shot into the air, and beer cans were cracked open all across Lawrence. I knew at that point that I was part of something special. Something that would live on for years and years. Something I had already felt rush through me that year as I had cheered on my Jayhawks in the hallowed basketball haven of Phog Allen Fieldhouse. After beating Marquette that same year in the Final Four and advancing to the Championship game against Syracuse, my friends and I ran up and down Mass Street high-fiving everyone we saw. I high-fived so many people my hand went numb. It was the best feeling ever. That is until 2008, when I would beat my single evening high-five record, and experience one of the best nights of my life.

And that's one of the best things about being a sports fan, the memories. Imagine this: I walk into a pub in Ireland and spot someone in a Jayhawk t-shirt. After just a few minutes of KU related conversation, it feels like we’re old friends. We both know the history, the wins, the losses, the players and coaches of past and present. As alumni, we attended classes in the same buildings, lived and studied in the same dorms, and can recall with remarkable precision almost every detail of the foliage that covers one of the most beautiful campuses in America. We share stories of where we were when Roy left, what we thought when Self showed up, and how many celebratory beers we drank after Mario sank his miracle shot. And as we buy each other Guinness after Guinness, what onlooker would know that the only thing really connecting us is the love of a college basketball team in a small Kansas town thousands and thousands of miles away?