KU 109-OU 106, Triple Overtime, Hield for 46, Game for the Ages, But C-5 Takes It in Stride with ANOTHER Double-Double--17/17 and 4 blocks…(uh-huh uh-huh)

  • While all the pro journos were shoving microphones in exhausted players’ faces, and scribbling quotes from two brilliant coaches; while everyone was shaking their heads and giving ovations to Buddy Hield doing to Allen Field House what Kevin Durant once did, i.e., setting fire to one basket one half and the other basket the second half, and leaving them smoking like orange ringed Beowulf pyres on the precipice of yet another new basketball age; while persons tried to comprehend the wills of these players and coaches to never quit competing nor quit believing; jaybate 1.0, I, me, moi, yours very truly and anonymously, parachuted into the Kansas River, drove the Navy’s latest iteration of George Greenough’s attack rescue boat to Mass Street Bridge, off loaded a black mil spec stealth dirt bike on steroids and wheelied in Navy Seal black wear, waited on Daisy Hill until the locker rooms were empty, the coaches were driving home, the players were trying to comprehend what they had just participated in, and then I sneaked into the Field House via the underground tunnel system known only to a very few. The tunnel system is accessed by wheeling to Naismith’s grave, chanting Gertie’s Sex Palace (code for Gertrude Sellers Pierson Hall once upon a rhyme) 11 times at the grave of James Naismith, waiting for the stone to swing aside and reveal a down stair case, by then taking that staircase to a sandstone tunnel that extends all the way from grave under a Daisy Hill dorm I cannot name, to a guilt ceilinged vault with a giant crimson K on its highest point, located directly under center court of Allen Field House where the holy grail of college basketball remains under vigilant guard, and where, I, jaybate 1.0, me, moi, and yours very truly in anonymity, held an imitation ball point pen from Amazon that is actually a recording device to be used on bosses screwing you out of your retirement benefits, and began asking the old field house the tough question that no other pro journos have ever been willing to ask the biggest barn on the inland coast of the ocean of grass at:

    Latitude: 38.9553221 Longitude: -95.2529378.

    Commence interview transmission…

    jaybate 1.0: So, Mr. Field House, or is it Mrs? Inquiring board rats want to know.

    Allen Field House: Neither, just call me Armory Architecture, or AA for short.

    j: Alright AA, i’ve wanted to interview you, since I was a little boy being taken to games here when I was 7 and you were only 4. Do you remember that? I am older than you.

    A: Man, that is old. But do I ever! I remember you holding onto your pops big, warm hand with the gold Hamilton on the wrist and you spilling pop corn into my dirt floor, and crawling under a section of the old raised, rolling, sectional court–the one your brother played on later in a high school state championship game on.

    j: And lost to Wyandotte. You know, my bro said your floor had a lot of dead spots where the ball didn’t bounce true.

    A: Nothing is perfect. And you’ve written about this fixation on that loss to Wyandotte before, so let’s move on from that, shall we? (Author [DFW/RIP] nods.) But I’ve gotten a lot better over the years. I’ve gotten a new ‘do as it were. New floor that bounces true, after that one horrendous artificial one the mortals tried. New scoreboards. New bleachers and some new benches, what your father used to call basketball pews. More banners. Some building appendages that diminish my regal bearing and obscure my grandeur, but sharply enhance the fan experience and player practice and living standards, while stroking the egos of a few fat cats. The statuary is still not what it should be, but the endearing pictures of old KU greats have been augmented by still more in more distinguished display, plus a goodly array of trophy hardware is now properly exhibited for young boys to ogle and dream of contributing to, as you once did. (AA exhales.) Where as you have just gotten older.

    j: Touche, AA. But now let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we?

    A: By all means.

    j: Was this game tonight one of the best ever played in you?

    A: No question.

    j: Was it the best game ever played in you?

    A: That is a naive question, even for the one they call long winded and redundant.

    j: I don’t think its naive. I think everyone in Jayhawk nation wonders the same thing tonight. Was it the best game ever played in you? Was it the best game ever played in you?

    A: Do you think you can handle the truth?

    j: Wait a minute, you’re not @HighEliteMajor are you? He uses that line from “A Few Good Men” once in a while? Heck, we all do from time to time.

    A: No, of course not. I am The Monarch of the Midlands. The House that Wilt Built. The Man-Up Monastery in Basketball Tibet. But of course I do try to keep up with the jargon of the times, as all the improvements I just itemized attest.

    j: So, lay the truth on me, AA.

    (Long intercoursing pause by the greatest arena ever built to play the greatest game ever invented.)

    A: Every great game you have ever seen in me is a window into eternity—basketball eternity—some even say the real big E Eternity—for those that grok the living myth that is KU basketball. It is a glimpse from this mortal coil of wars for control of the Eurasia center point strategy, it is a glimpse into now and always, to Kansas and forever, to the intersection of sport and the timeless. A deep 40 minute guarantied with unlimited 5 minute options look into The Big Sacred, if you will.

    j: (getting a little weak in the knees) I see.

    A: (another long pause.) You have shamed me and yourself.

    j: (dry washing and in a hypnotic monotone) I…am…not…worthy…oh…great…one.

    A: You predicted Unibrow and the University of Oklahoma would come in here and defeat me and my coach, and my players, and so the entirety of the KU basketball legacy and the greatest game ever invented. What have you to say for yourself?

    j: I, uh, I had a weak moment?

    A: There is no greater basketball sin thaN predicting a home court loss in Basketball Tibet THAT DOES NOT COME TRUE. I spaketh to you as a child of 7 once. And you heard me. And you have never betrayed the living myth once in your life until now. You have never not believed in my awesome powers. You have never not believed that amazing things happen in this building of stone and mortar and girders and steel plate and finely cut and finished wood in a Golden Rectangle with the black lines handed down to mere mortals by the great basketball god that is beyond even me.

    j: There’s something beyond even you?


    j: (knees knocking) Ok, ok.

    A: Silence means no talking, long winded one selected as a very small child specifically by me to be an irreverent medium for my deep message that you have now tarnished!

    j: I, I, I, I could repent, or something. Surely, there is forgiveness in a living myth. I could ask Zenger, or CBernie for their rosary beads and take a Berlitz course in Latin and…

    A: SILENCE!!!

    j: Ok, ok, ok…(makes exaggerated zipper motion right to left over pursed lips)

    A: (The silence of his Basketball Immenseness weighing jaybate 1.0’s basketball soul) Looking deep within you, to the point where your sniveling insignificance in the grand scheme of hoop things connects up with basketball eternity, I find genuine contrition, true sorrow, wailing, and a vow never to let down the living myth of the KU basketball legacy ever, EVER again.

    j: Y-y-yea, that’s it,

    that’s the way, uh-huh, uh-huh,

    I like it…

    A: Now shake your booty like Queen Latifah after a long diet of Jenny Craig.

    j: (booty shaking, twisting, alligatoring, giving way to slam dancing, giving way to rap hand gestures and splits, giving way to Walking Like an Egyptian, giving way to moon walking, giving way to Macarena, giving way to Drop that Nae Nae) uh-huh uh-huh…

    A: You are now back in the flow of The Dance of life as we know it.

    j: uh-huh uh-huh…

    A: You will now ask me no more foolish questions.

    j: that’s the way…

    A: You will doubt no more.

    j: uh-huh uh-huh…

    A: You will resume bringing my message to the board rats.

    j: I like it…


  • @jaybate-1.0 Basketball prose at its best. Love it!

  • classic! Also, I love the term “basketball pews”… I think that’s what my family called them too!

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