3/12/1998: Ballet on the Hardwood

Regarding Princeton basketball and its upset of UCLA in the first round of the 1998 NCAA tournament.

===========================


I wrote about a full moon a few months ago, and seeing that same shining sight again tonight through the Arctic cold that has embraced us East Coasters (and undoubtedly made Barbara a happier woman) inspired me to write tonight. I thought I was going to write about the moon and just see where it took me, but something just changed my mind.

Most of you know that this is the time of year know as March Madness, when the NCAA holds a sixty-four team tournament to decide who the national champion will be in basketball. I caught a few games this afternoon, and as always I was impressed by the enthusiasm with which these men approach these games, even the men who knew their teams had not a chance of winning. Just being invited to the Dance is enough for some.

Princeton University probably fell into that category for a number of years, almost always playing well, and usually coming up short by a point or two. Last year that changed when they knocked off UCLA. But the underdog image is still firmly rooted in most of our heads. I’m hear to tell you that, in the words of Dick Vitale, “they’re the real deal, baby!!”

In a time where basketball, and most college and professional athletics, has degenerated into a chest thumping, roof-raising orgy of self promotion, along comes a team that declines to play that game. People say they play a style right out of the fifties. To that I say BULLSHIT. They simply are one of the few teams around that still remembers that team has no “I” in it. They are one of the few teams where the sum is far far greater than the individual parts.

As I watched the game tonight, I noticed that their style changed my viewing habits. Usually I try to follow the ball handler, maybe anticipate where the next pass is going. When I tried to watch Princeton that way, I was missing the beauty. It was like standing three feet away from a Renoir or Monet and trying to appreciate the beauty of it. Impossible. You have to step back and let the picture coalesce in your mind. So instead of focusing on the ball, I focused on the colors, I sort of let my eyes fall out of focus and just watched the white shirts dance across the hardwood. Constant movement, fluid and rounded, and then
BANG

A white shirt cutting through the lane with no one between it and the basket.

BANG

A bounce pass that puts the ball right in the hands of the cutting player.

Swish

The ball falling through the net for an uncontested lay-up.

Princeton has lost one game this year, by eight points to the University of North Carolina in the Dean Dome. If both Carolina and Princeton win their next games, they’ll meet in the Sweet Sixteen. And I have no problems believing that Princeton can win that game. I think Princeton WILL win that game.

Some of you know I despise North Carolina, but I’ll fully admit they are and have been the best team in the country this year. But if Princeton gets another shot, I have a feeling they won’t miss 16 of 24 three pointers.

It’s just a feeling, I could be wrong, I probably am wrong. Just a feeling.

I love college basketball, a love that was fully cultivated in the years I spent on Tobacco Road at N.C. State, and the years I lived there after college. Tonight was just a slap-in-the-face reminder of why I love it so much.


(from the here and now: I was wrong. Princeton lost their next game.)