What's the point of college without the basketball?
(As we come to that time of year when many young hopefuls across the country will be receiving either a thin or a fat envelope in the mail from their prospective colleges, Unsilent documents for us exactly what led him to choose his prestigious university. A hint - it weren't the grade inflation.)
Part I: Selecting the Institution
I've always hated school; don't get me wrong, my thirst for knowledge is only exceeded by my thirst for liquor. Regardless, there was nothing I dreaded more than a day spent in the classroom. I got older but nothing really changed so I trudged towards college assuming the freedoms it offered would shed new light on my academic life.
When the time came I began my search with a handful of small private institutions that seemed like nothing more than an extension of high school. That's when I decided to go in the other direction, to go big. It was time to start thinking about what was truly mattered most so I refocused my search based on two criteria, writing and basketball. By adding these variables to the equation I was able to get a better idea of where I needed to be.
Big school, big sports, Big East.
The second search yielded two promising possibilities in Syracuse and Pittsburgh (oh yeah, they also had to have Jewish people). When I visited the Carrier Dome I was met with equal parts disappointment and blizzard. Meanwhile, Pitt was slowly winning me over--even the city seemed palatable. The school's favorite literary son had just won the Pulitzer and I was about to attend a basketball game that would win me over for good.
January 20, 2001
It was on this day that Ben Howland brought his young Pitt Panther team to the MCI Center for a meeting with the team of my youth, the Georgetown Hoyas. I was already convinced that Pittsburgh was the right city and school for me (what the fuck was I thinking?) so this would be the ultimate test. I had to see if the school's traditionally lackluster basketball program could hold my interest. Needless to say they surpassed all my expectations.
The Hoyas stepped onto their home court looking to extend the 16 game win streak they'd reeled off to begin the season. Their strong play was quite surprising when you remember the horror that was the Craig Esherick Experience. The house of cards that was their season would soon be undone by the best coach nobody really knew (myself included) and the single greatest live dunk I'd ever seen (excluding exhibitions).
I'd seen Julius Page play once before; it had been less than a year since the high school senior was in very same building for the Capital Classic. Not even that dunk infested exhibition could adequately prepare me for what I saw from my future schoolmate. Like any great moment in sports you truly had to feel the air sucked out of the arena. Sadly I can't find a single shred of video in the vast expanse of the internet to share with you. All we have is a low quality still image and my memory (pretty crappy in its own right).
What I do remember is this: The 6'3" shooting guard was alone at the top of the lane with the ball. He looked like he was going to take the ball to the rim but there was a lone obstacle blocking his path. That obstacle was Georgetown's 7' center, the shot blocker so nice they named him twice--Ruben Boumtje-Boumtje. If Page did have time to think about what he was about do attempt he never showed it. Without a hint of hesitation the baby-faced lefty began to elevate, only he never stopped. From my vantage point it was as if Julius was climbing Ruben like a human ladder. Forty-five inches later his head had eclipsed the rim and big ol' Boumtje-Boumtje was on the receiving end of a facial so devastating it was given an honorary AVN Award*.
I'd found my team.
*at least it should have been
Stay tuned to No Mas for Part II: Life in the Oakland Zoo
Part I: Selecting the Institution
I've always hated school; don't get me wrong, my thirst for knowledge is only exceeded by my thirst for liquor. Regardless, there was nothing I dreaded more than a day spent in the classroom. I got older but nothing really changed so I trudged towards college assuming the freedoms it offered would shed new light on my academic life.
When the time came I began my search with a handful of small private institutions that seemed like nothing more than an extension of high school. That's when I decided to go in the other direction, to go big. It was time to start thinking about what was truly mattered most so I refocused my search based on two criteria, writing and basketball. By adding these variables to the equation I was able to get a better idea of where I needed to be.
Big school, big sports, Big East.
The second search yielded two promising possibilities in Syracuse and Pittsburgh (oh yeah, they also had to have Jewish people). When I visited the Carrier Dome I was met with equal parts disappointment and blizzard. Meanwhile, Pitt was slowly winning me over--even the city seemed palatable. The school's favorite literary son had just won the Pulitzer and I was about to attend a basketball game that would win me over for good.
January 20, 2001
It was on this day that Ben Howland brought his young Pitt Panther team to the MCI Center for a meeting with the team of my youth, the Georgetown Hoyas. I was already convinced that Pittsburgh was the right city and school for me (what the fuck was I thinking?) so this would be the ultimate test. I had to see if the school's traditionally lackluster basketball program could hold my interest. Needless to say they surpassed all my expectations.
The Hoyas stepped onto their home court looking to extend the 16 game win streak they'd reeled off to begin the season. Their strong play was quite surprising when you remember the horror that was the Craig Esherick Experience. The house of cards that was their season would soon be undone by the best coach nobody really knew (myself included) and the single greatest live dunk I'd ever seen (excluding exhibitions).
I'd seen Julius Page play once before; it had been less than a year since the high school senior was in very same building for the Capital Classic. Not even that dunk infested exhibition could adequately prepare me for what I saw from my future schoolmate. Like any great moment in sports you truly had to feel the air sucked out of the arena. Sadly I can't find a single shred of video in the vast expanse of the internet to share with you. All we have is a low quality still image and my memory (pretty crappy in its own right).
What I do remember is this: The 6'3" shooting guard was alone at the top of the lane with the ball. He looked like he was going to take the ball to the rim but there was a lone obstacle blocking his path. That obstacle was Georgetown's 7' center, the shot blocker so nice they named him twice--Ruben Boumtje-Boumtje. If Page did have time to think about what he was about do attempt he never showed it. Without a hint of hesitation the baby-faced lefty began to elevate, only he never stopped. From my vantage point it was as if Julius was climbing Ruben like a human ladder. Forty-five inches later his head had eclipsed the rim and big ol' Boumtje-Boumtje was on the receiving end of a facial so devastating it was given an honorary AVN Award*.
I'd found my team.
*at least it should have been
Stay tuned to No Mas for Part II: Life in the Oakland Zoo
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