1. I woke up this morning determined, no matter what the weather, to drive Debbie to Spokane International Airport to catch her 3:25 flight to Portland and than another to Eugene.
We woke up to snow falling, but as I checked updates online about the 4th of July Pass, the conditions looked good. As I filled the Sube's gas tank at the Gondolier, I overheard a guy bellowing to a woman outside the convenience store about how he'd just come over the pass and didn't have any trouble. The guy's bellowing, by the way, was not emotional bellowing. He simply possessed a megaphone voice.
Debbie agreed with my desire to leave early enough that I could drive back to Kellogg in daylight. So we left shortly after noon and, indeed, the road conditions were pretty good and we arrived at the airport in good time.
As I began my return drive, another snow storm revved up. Some cars had slid off the road between Spokane and Spokane Valley. I didn't have any problems and was happy traffic was moving slowly. Once in Idaho, road condition temporarily improved. Along with other drivers in the right hand lane, I took it easy, didn't push anyone to go faster and no one pushed at me.
Things started getting a little bit more difficult coming down the east side of the pass and at about Cataldo the snow fell hard and fast. Visibility diminished. The snow started to pile on the freeway a bit. It felt to me like the Sube was getting good traction, but, again, I didn't push it. I had some good company in the right hand lane with big trucks and a few cars who were content to travel at a moderate speed. I didn't mind the pickups and cars that whizzed by me in the passing lane. That's not my way, though, and as I eased up the exit ramp and turned left on Bunker Ave. and made my way to a right on West Cameron, I was relieved to be back in Kellogg. The storm was still fairly new when I got to town, but it continued for quite a while.
Later on, I sat silently and was thankful, thankful that Debbie agreed to arrive at the airport way early and that my drive home was in daylight; thankful that, upon arriving home, I fixed myself a dry martini up, stirred not shaken, and enjoyed it, followed by a most welcome nap; thankful to be warm and secure in my house because the storm, which had only just begun when I was on the road, gathered more strength in the ensuing hours and things looked nasty outside.
2. The Big East cellar dwellers, DePaul, visited Villanova tonight. It's the game I decided to watch, even though it was possible that Villanova would cruise to a win.
From the get go, it was clear that Villanova would not be cruising tonight. They trailed DePaul by as many as thirteen points in the first half, but a late surge put them ahead by 2 at halftime.
It looked like the game was virtually in the bag for Villanova when they held an eleven point lead with just over two minutes left to play. I was too lazy to change the channel and am grateful for my sloth.
DePaul turned up the defensive pressure; Villanova suddenly became unhinged; they turned the ball over; they surrendered points. Miraculously, DePaul made up those eleven points in the last two minutes and sent the game into overtime.
The miracle didn't last long. Villanova regained its composure and eked out a 79-75 win.
Sidenote: DePaul's men's basketball team features Pantelis Xidias, the most animated end of the bench player I've ever seen. When DePaul does anything good, Pantelis Xidias, a walk-on guard, with his black-rimmed goggles and shock of sandy hair might dance; he might shimmy; he might appear to be running in place; he might make gestures moving has hand from mouth into the air, like he's blowing kisses; he might pogo up and down in ecstasy. He exerts almost as much energy celebrating as the players on the court who inspire his ongoing carnival of exultation.
If there were a John R. Wooden Award bestowed upon the most enthusiasm expressed by a bench player who essentially never sees any action, Pantelis Xidias would win it in a landslide.
3. I spent the evening enjoying two very different television programs. First, I sat in awe watching an episode of Vera. DCI Vera Stanhope waded into the wealth and glamor of the beauty parlor world and doggedly got to the bottom of a grisly murder that took place during a high-priced, booze-drenched, wild night of throbbing music and dancing on a pleasure boat on a local river.
Afterward, I flipped over to ESPN+ and watched a 30 for 30 documentary, Requiem for the Big East. In many ways, it was a history, simultaneously, of the Big East basketball conference -- which began play in 1979-80 -- and ESPN, which began broadcasting at roughly the same time. I loved remembering the early hey days of Big East play, the splendid players, the passionate coaches, the heated rivalries, the rough and physical style of play, and this new conference's almost immediate successes on the national college basketball scene.
Inevitably, the original Big East conference disintegrated. The film explains the disintegration. It's too complicated for me to explain, but, really, it all came down to money -- and college football.
I'm really happy that a new Big East conference rose out of the ashes of the original conference nearly burning to the ground. I spend a lot of time these days watching games featuring original conference members Providence, Seton Hall, St. John's, Georgetown, and Villanova and the new members of the conference, Creighton, DePaul, Marquette, Butler, and Xavier as they all play each other.
But the special alchemy of players, coaches, rules that allowed more physical play, and star players staying at their schools longer that defined the Big East of the 1980s will never happen again.
So be it.
Tonight, I loved going back 30-40 years, seeing clips of some of the most intense games ever played in college basketball, hearing what Chris Mullen, Patrick Ewing, Dwayne Washington, and Ed Pinckney had to say in 2014 as they reflected back on playing in those games, and listening to the coaches of that era, especially Lou Carnesseca, Jim Boeheim, Rollie Massimino, and John Thompson share their memories and give their insights.
For anyone (including those who hated this conference (!)), who loves the history of NCAA men's college basketball, this documentary will transport you back to a scintillating period of time in both the sport of basketball and the history of sports broadcasting on television.
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