He didn't halt his long stride or hesitate to answer over the pep bands' dueling brass. "Well, if I ain't ready, I'm in the wrong place!"
I chuckled nervously. Then I stopped and thought about it.
If I ain't ready, I'm in the wrong place.
I'd spent the morning barely getting over our eeked-out semifinal victory against App, savoring the gray skies from my table at Malaprop's with no stress or pressure or imminent history-claiming moments on the horizon - at least not in the next hour. (As an aside: Asheville wins over all other tourney sites, because I can walk from the cozy paper-smell tea-and-bagel independent bookstore to the arena in under three minutes. Can we make this my normal routine, please? K thanks.)
Then I'd traipsed up the block to the arena, gulping down cold air and nerves to watch the Lady Cats take on the Lady Mocs in our first championship game in over a decade.
Oh, what a glorious bursting brilliant rip-out-your-heart forty minutes.
If I ain't ready, I'm in the wrong place.

Only hours before they took the floor, Hannah Early had tweeted: On the day of the biggest game of the season, I know that nothing in this life matters, unless it's about loving God and loving others.
We are in the right place.
On my way to the pre-game event for the men's game, I happened to pass our women's team bus on the side street behind the U.S. Cellular Center. The driver was waiting for the girls at the door, a small older man with a baseball cap and glasses. Rain misted. One of our girls tossed her bag onto the pile of luggage and made to board the bus. But then she stopped, leaned down, and the bus driver gave her a hug. Consoling, congratulatory, sharing in this moment and all of its aching emotions.
She boarded, and I spoke to the driver as I walked past. "Please tell them," I said, almost a plea, "Please tell them that they were wonderful."
He nodded.

Sitting in the arena waiting for the boys' game to begin, I could only think that none of us felt we were in the wrong place (though my nerves made it difficult to tell if I was ready). Some of us have been in this place for years, decades, pumped full of memories, the highs and the nosedives. Some of us have been welcomed in only recently. Some of us were welcomed when we didn't even realize it - I can't say that I knew how intertwined my future would be with the people of Davidson and Davidson basketball when I walked into Belk for my first game on December 1, 2006. And that's the fun and magic of this ongoing story. When you take away the nerves, the Facebook and Twitter posts, the selection committee, the hype and predictions, the past and the future, even when you take away the matter of winning and losing, it all boils into the air and this remains: a family.
Yes, it's a sweet victory, but why does it matter? Family.
It struck me as the buzzer sounded and they ran to hug each other, genuine and rejoicing, players and coaches, mentors and friends. It struck me when they raced to the edge of the court and reached the students, cheering and chanting and stretching their hands out to touch celebration. It struck me when Coach McKillop approached the students beaming, holding his granddaughter, and when he bowed down to their cheers. It struck me when the boys hoisted the trophy and sang with us, and Jake carried the trophy to the students, a sharing, a communion, an acknowledgement of what life in this community means. And it struck me when they draped the victory net around Dick Sanderson's neck, crowding around his wheelchair for a photo, mirroring teams of the past, answering a call: We are in the right place.
I've noticed something about this team all year, most of McKillop's teams actually, and I only just wrote it down at 7:03 p.m. that night, right before tip-off, right before I would suddenly have no control over this game and this outcome (ready, set...). Deep breaths, I typed hurriedly on my phone, and tried to take some myself, deep breaths. Because even as "Sandstorm" raged and the roars rose, Jake, JP, Nik, De'Mon and Chris huddled, arms solidly around each other, inhaling as one. In, out. Ready. Deep breaths, I wrote. They do it because they know: We are in the right place.
How lucky we are to be right with them.
1 comment:
Oh my...This is special. Thank you
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