Feb. 19, 2009 (again)

My journal:

Nathan was still in town and had gotten a bleacher ticket, Hawaiian shirt and red crocs and all. During the second half, I caught his eye during the fight song, and we were losing, probably would lose, did lose — but he was still clapping and chanting and singing as loud as he would have been in the endzone, and he nodded at me as we raised our fists, a very strong nod, almost approval, like “this is right. This is what we are supposed to be doing. THIS.” Win or lose, doesn't freaking matter — always, always sing. That still mattered to him from up in the bleachers, from nearly a year past graduation — that still mattered to him. Always sing. It made me feel that really deep, and part of me felt like a torch had been passed, but more than that it made me realize the history of this place and the tradition we have helped maintain—because people come and go and cycle through but there are always people who taught you first, before you taught anyone else, always people who showed you what Davidson basketball was about before you came into your own … Before anyone started associating me with Davidson basketball in whatever capacity, fan/writer/whatever, students who were my friends and students I didn't know showed me what it meant and why it was important — and they let me come into my own by making it so easy to become a part of this fanbase. I BELONG there, and the reason I belong there is because of the people who first made Davidson basketball special, sacred, for me— the ones who have left — and I feel like somehow, they are still at every single game with me. Joe. Nathan. Pierce. JB. Rachel and Harper. Will Bryan. Andrew Ruth.

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