Even Brent Musburger can't ruin this. I'm sitting on the couch, wearing my pajamas, and watching real, live college basketball. I'm giving way to hoops sensory overload, with three games on simultaneously, and two more to follow. Meaningless pre-season tournaments? Of course. But the approach of winter is a lot easier to accept with the knowledge that Dicky V will be there to keep me company.
It's fitting that I'm presently watching Kentucky kick off its season. It was only because of one particularly rabid Kentucky fan (and his particularly hospitable wife) that I got to watch any college hoops at all last year in Belfast. Those evenings of improvised barbeques, midnight tipoffs, and indoor Nerf-ball H-O-R-S-E were the little tastes of home that made the year that much more enjoyable.
Those memories will always remind me of the rooting power of sports. The experience of a fan is so rich, so sensory, so vivid, and for so many of us tied to the families and friends that it can literally transport you across oceans, at least for a while. Kentucky basketball is just supposed to be played in late March. The Saints need to come back to New Orleans. Loyola and Calvert Hall have to play on Thanksgiving morning. All these things need to happen not because of the result of any silly game. No, they're important because they bring friends and families together, and for a little while can put the carefree smile of a 7 year old on the face of any grown adult.
On Thursday, I'll again make the Thanksgiving pilgrimage with 8000 of my closest friends to watch us beat the Hall in Ravens' Stadium. After having missed it last year, the chance to join that celebration is one of the many things for which I'll give thanks. That, and for the chances I had to stay up watching college hoops with Derek and Sherrill until Belfast sunrise.
