LSU basketball fans are nice. That’s my experience, anyway. We’ve been to games there four times. This past game didn’t end so well for my team. But it was still a memorable night for my family. Here’s why.
There are a couple of different entrances into the Pete Maravich Assembly Center. Most people come around by Mike the Tiger. He’s a real tiger, in his own personal zoo. Then people walk up the ramps to the entrance doors on the upper level. Somehow last year we parked in the wrong lot and approached the arena on the side opposite Mike’s home. So before we came around to the ramps, a LSU usher motioned for us to enter in this not really secret but sort of hidden side door. That door was on street level, and once we entered it, we walked about twenty feet and found ourselves standing court-side. Seriously. It was kind of shocking to be that close to the court and players and coaches, at least for a fan who’s usually relegated to the upper arena. We bypassed the ramp entrances again this year and found the not really secret but sort of hidden side door again.
For the second year in a row, we were greeted by Dale Brown. Coach Dale Brown. His conversation with us began the same way each year. Something like this: “Those are beautiful children, but they aren’t wearing the right colors. I suppose we’ll let them in anyway. Enjoy the game tonight!” This year, we walked in the door as the same time as Coach Brown. He asked us if we picked up our programs, and then handed one to me and one to Ben. I regretted not asking him for a picture last year when he spoke to us court-side, so this year when we saw him again, Ben didn’t let the opportunity for a photo get by us. One of Coach Brown’s friends took a picture of us on Ben’s cell phone. I think he took about 10, actually.
After our pleasant conversation with Coach Brown, we walked along the side of the court, down to where our team was warming up. And the LSU usher there was so nice. She said we could stand there, as long as we backed up to the seats and kept the aisles clear. As Kentucky fans who are never allowed to get so close to the players, you can bet that we stood there as long as the guys were on the floor and we were so very careful to keep the aisle clear. The usher came up to me at one point and asked if we’d driven down from Kentucky. I told her no, that we now live in Mississippi, a couple of hours from Baton Rouge, but that I was originally from near Georgetown. She happened to have family roots in Kentucky as well. She said her father was from Hickman, but had gotten a job running boats down the Mississippi River and had eventually moved to Louisiana. She hoped we enjoyed the game.
The whole time I was watching our players and pointing them out to our kids, I also kept glancing over at the line of people behind Jay Bilas. People were asking for autographs and photos, and just making conversation. At first I didn’t want to be one more person asking for a picture, but Ben said I’d wish later that I had one, and of course he was right. So as our guys finished shoot around and we finally headed for our seats, I got brave and asked Mr. Bilas if he took pictures with UK fans. He said he did. He was polite and funny. I wish I had thought of something else more exciting to say to him, but I didn’t, so we thanked him and headed to section 310.
If you watched the game, you already know that it was pretty bad. I don’t know what the crowd sounded like on TV, because I haven’t rewatched it, and I probably won’t. But, being in the arena, I can tell you that the LSU fans were totally in this game and they were incredibly loud and in sync. At times they were brutal. At one point I considered trying to move seats. I don’t know where we would have gone, but I tried to think about who I could ask to move. There was a man behind who really had it out for Skal and he was yelling things that were terrible. I really didn’t want my impressionable five-year old boy who idolizes UK basketball players to hear the kind of things the man was saying, but I also realized that there was probably a man like that in every section. Plus the five people in my family were a dot of blue in a sea of purple and gold and I didn’t want to make a scene.
That part where Marcus and Alex fouled out and the crowd followed their every steps to the bench. I wanted to cry. It was awful. I was heartbroken and I felt awful for my favorite guys. Alex has been my favorite player for the past couple years. I don’t know why, he seems so quiet. But there is something that draws me in and makes me feel like he is complex. I want him to play well, especially when it seems like he is lacking in confidence or that his mind might be somewhere else. We all know he could dominate if he believes he can.
And then Marcus. Here’s why my family loves Marcus Lee. It’s not because we’ve read the feel good stories about how he’s been a friend to sick kids, though we have read those stories and they are beautiful. It’s because last summer, at Pro-Camp, my daughter and son were in the group of the youngest campers- as little as five years old. And Marcus played on the court with them the whole afternoon, both afternoons. Mychal Mulder did too, but we saw Marcus bend down and talk to kids, pick them up to shoot baskets, guard them, block them just because he could, and run the floor with them. The little ones who could barely shoot the ball at all. You could tell Marcus wasn’t hanging out with little kids because he had to. He seemed like he was having fun. He played in such a way that when we watched him, we knew we wanted to being in his corner, cheering for him this year.
So the game ended and we were sad, but there was still something we had to do. And that is called stalking the bus. This is something you don’t really think about doing at Rupp Arena. Leaving the Maravich Center a few years ago, we accidentally stumbled on the bus outside the locker room and a group of twenty or so UK fans waiting patiently beside it. Ever since then, we make it part of our routine when leaving the game to find the bus. This year, there were probably only 12 UK fans total outside the bus. Five of those were my family. (I should also acknowledge that some people will not approve of me having my three little kids outside waiting by a bus at 11 PM on a school night, but we were making a memory, ok?) The first guy we saw walk out to the bus was Marcus.
A guy in a suit escorts each player to the bus. Probably so fans like us won’t bug them for pictures and autographs. Marcus signed something for a few of the other people waiting. But as he walked by where we were standing he had his head hanging down, just staring at the pavement. He looked defeated.
Earlier, when I knew we weren’t going to win the game, I told our kids that we were probably going to lose. “But what do we say if we lose?” I asked. “Good game!” they answered. We practiced it. Mostly because I needed reminding.
As Marcus passed us, Joe, our five year old, yelled out after him, “Good game, Marcus!” And Marcus looked up, looked back at Joe, and waved at him. I wanted to Joe to run out and say, “Hey remember me from camp this summer?” But I doubt Joe was as memorable to Marcus as Marcus was to Joe.
We said good game to every player that passed us. Most of them nodded our way. When Alex walked by I cried. If I thought Marcus looked defeated, Alex looked defeated and then some. Maybe my mom instinct kicked in, I don’t know, I just felt like he really needed a hug. But I didn’t want to be some crazy lady hugging unsuspecting guys she doesn’t know, so I just stood there and was sad.
When Mychal Mulder walked by, Joe was shooting imaginary free throws (as he often does) and Mychal stopped and pointed at Joe and said, “That’s money right there.”
The moment that truly made the bus stalking special was when Jamal Murray passed us. He walked totally by us, but as Joe and our oldest daughter, Sadie, shouted “Good game!” to Jamal, he turned around and walked back to us. He high-fived Joe. Then he high-fived Sadie. Then he high-fived LIzzie, our youngest girl who was on her daddy’s shoulders. And just like that, a guy who just got beat in a basketball game smiled and brought joy to three impressed kids and two grateful parents.
Here’s the thing. Our players already know they played a bad game. They know it. We could spend our time on call in shows dissecting their mistakes and missteps and trying to fix them. A lot of people have done that and will continue to do so. I’m guessing though, that there were many people at the game on Tuesday night like the man behind us in section 310, yelling really terrible things, name calling, and belittling our players. I’m sure some of the players heard some of those comments. As fans, we don’t have to and we shouldn’t add to the negative things these players are already hearing.
We can tell them “Good game.” Even when we know it wasn’t good. We can be encouragers. We can call out the good we see in them, the potential we believe they have, and we can call them into being really great players on a really great team. I believe that by saying “Good game” after a loss, we are also saying, we believe in you. We support you and we want you to succeed.
At the end of basketball there is still life. Some of these guys are going to be playing basketball for a long time and some of them aren’t. But none of them have to be defined by it. They are so much more than an athletic performance on the court. As fans, we’d do good to remind ourselves of that often.
We don’t all play basketball, but we all have times when we know we’ve performed or acted at much less than our best. May we never get so caught up in feeling defeated that we miss the person standing next to us, looking up to us, who still loves us very much. May we turn around and give them a high-five and tell them thanks. It just might make their day and it might help us see that we are capable of so much more than our mistakes.
My family will be cheering from our living room for the rest of this season. Go Big Blue!
