College basketball season started 32 days ago. So far, around 3,500 Division-I games have been played, most of which have been televised or streamed. And I have not watched one of them. Or one minute of one of them. For most of my life, the anticipation of the start of college basketball began once the calendar hit October. It was something akin to the excitement children feel waiting for Christmas morning, with all its wonderment and special gifts. When it wasn't college basketball season, I'd fill my entertainment needs by playing or watching lacrosse, hiking, beaching, going to the theater or a comedy show, and attending a few Springsteen concerts if he was on tour. All of that was a filler of time and space, however. Like the coming attractions before a movie, or the opening act before a favorite band takes stage. Once Autumn's cool air ended the summer's heat, the countdown began, like December 1st began the countdown to Christmas and Santa Claus. But this year, there's been no countdown, no anticipation, no Christmas morning. College basketball is dead to me now. My five-month long season of joy and dedication, spanning four decades, has come to an end.
I was six years old when Mom drove me to the former Westfield High School on a cold, snowy morning for basketball sign-ups for YMCA's Biddy Basketball League. I didn't want to go and I cried the entire ride there. My best friend wasn't going, and I wouldn't know any of the other kids that would be there. Plus, I had no clue about, or interest in, this sport called basketball. I and a hundred other strange faces did dribbling, passing, and shooting drills, and played a few 5-on-5 scrimmages, which looked more like that old electronic football game where the plastic player pieces just moved in clumps when the metal vibrating floor was turned on. After the two-hour tryout and selection of teams, my tears had long dried, and it seemed like this new sport was something I might enjoy after all. I was selected to play on the "Specials", no doubt the worst team name in the league. There wasn't much I remember about that first season of playing, other than the scoring totals for games were around the 10-6 and 8-4 mark. This was before youth size basketballs and seven-foot baskets were a thing. Regular size basketballs in the small hands of six and seven-year-olds, being heaved up at a 10-foot hoop, wasn't conducive to a whole lot scoring. I'm not sure if I converted on any of my shot attempts that first year, but I do remember Davey, the son of our coach, Mr. Ralph, did most of our scoring. Mostly because of him, I took home my first trophy, for a third-place finish in the league. The collectible memento I still have today.
