In like a Tiger, Out like a Wildcat?

I hope this ends the madness and we won’t have to deal with it again for a very long time. Because frankly, my outside voice is weary of screaming in silence.

(Pantomiming being stabbed in the back with a very large knife is fun though)

At least the PAUSE button has been depressed and we can go back to our regularly scheduled lives. I don’t really recall what I was doing on Sunday night or early Monday morning though.

I’m pretty sure it had something to do with class(es).

I have another fiction/short story due in less than two weeks. There is also a very large research paper (will I ever get over my fear of William Faulkner?) due two days after the short story.

And I think I'm working 30 hours a week, on top of my five classes. It's funny how easily our thoughts shift in moments of (perceived) high drama.

Speculating over a new head coach for our beloved Tigers basketball program seems to be next on the menu of public opinion.

Mike Anderson (Missouri) has signed a new deal to remain firmly planted. I think Memphis is classy enough to resist riding in and stealing a coach.

(Did my outside voice just win?)

Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match…

There is a lot to consider now. Sheer determination and grit would fit nicely. SKILL should be on the top of the Want list. No hasty decision needed. But don't push PAUSE again, please.*

*Although now I am versed in the fine art of simultaneous BlackBerry and Note-Taking.

Thankfully this episode has erased what happened Thursday night. Can anyone even remember that far back? Friday I was walking emotional wreckage.

I even had to turn off NCAA action. Do you know how serious that is?

In the grand scheme of things, not really. But if you are reading this in the first place--you know where I'm coming from.

~~J

Bundles of nerves, everywhere.

And back on campus...

Listening to opinions, questions and ideas.

Heated cell phone conversations. Pondering. Hushed tones...

We sit and wait. We go to class.

This morning we collectively covered our eyes while looking at the modular design of various front pages across the country.

Lexington Herald-Leader, I mean you.

There was a riveting lecture about British Literature (Modernism). Yes, actually very interesting. Then students started disappearing.

An announcement? Check your BlackBerry. No? Nothing official? Okay.

The pale yellow tulips are opening up. Little faces welcoming the new bright blue sky. The clouds seem to be rolling away. Ever. So. Slightly.

An announcement? Turn on the radio. No? Nothing official? Okay.

No news is good news, did someone once say? I beg to differ at this point in the day. So I continue to imagine it all in my mind:

I see you shiver with anti-ci-........SAY IT! pation.

~~J

Et tu, Coach Cal?

The “fear” was palpable today on campus, no doubt about it.

I saw it behind the eyes of everyone in Memphis blue. We are a town of Blues, by the way. The irony is never lost on me.

Will he stay or Will he go? (I'll stop before I ruin a brilliant song.)

What about the $$$? So, what about the $$$? I can’t even imagine the amount of money being tossed around in conversation, so I won’t include figures here.

The thought of Coach Cal being lured away in the night, ironically enough for greener pastures (it is horse country up there) feels extremely personal. It makes me sick to my stomach. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

(Can a girl include too many clichés in one blog posting?)

As a soon-to-be Memphis alumna + basketball FANATIC, I feel as if I have a right to state my case about the subject.

If there is one thing John Calipari is good at (there are several, I know) it would have to be his ability to talk up the town. There was a great article in the Commercial Appeal specifically about this talent.

He’s a big dose of confidence for the city and the university.

Cal makes us feel good about ourselves. The city in which I live, the university in which I attend has a problem with our self-image. Our own reflects bothers us.

Confidence. I mean the ability to look ourselves in the mirror and realize:

“Hey—I’m not that bad. In fact, I’m kinda awesome!”

Cal fights for the little guys. The underdog. He's spent so much time defending our school. Our city. Our team. Our conference.

And now he wants to turn around and coach for the "big cats," so to speak?

Et tu, Coach Cal?

There is only one Adolph Rupp. Just like there is only one Dean Smith. Why even go there?

If it isn't the money, what else is it? An NCAA title? We're on the verge. We are on the verge. WE ARE ON THE VERGE. (Do I have to say it again?)

Why go to a place and live in the shadows of the former, when you’re doing a great job carving a new path—a new way on your own already?

By the way, it took Rupp 18 seasons before he had his first title.

It took Smith 21.

We are looking forward to season ten, Coach Cal. The pieces are falling into place now. The stars are in alignment. Stop talking for a minute and listen. Can you hear it?

Your destiny is calling. OUR destiny is calling.

It’s right here, in the little city alongside the Mississippi river.

No where else.

~~J

"Happy March Madness, Y'all!"

I bring my title to you today in quotations, because it was actually said by one of my professors on the Eve of the First Day (of the tournament).

I kid you not!
HOW COOL IS THAT?

Thursday morning (the First Day) I was listening to the radio on the way to my 8 a.m. class. I was sufficiently decked out in Tiger Blue (and white).

Someone said that more people call into work/leave sick on the first day of the tournament than any other day of the year. Isn't that crazy?

I "half-way" followed suit and oddly came down with my own case of a mysterious "basketball disease" during the 11-2 time slot.

This is what happens when your school finds itself with a basketball team playing for the title (again). This is what happens when aforementioned basketball team is one of the top three in the country. This is what happens when the coach of the aforementioned basketball team is named Coach of the Year by a national publication.

Superstition keeps me from going any further.

People who don't even care about college basketball seem to become experts Mid-March. Which I appreciate, unless they talk bad about "my team." Then I get a little upset. Because, what do "they" know anyway?

(Of course I know that none of us "really know" in the first place, but that is beside the point)

Now that half the field has been eliminated, I figured it was time to blog about the magic number: 32. There are exactly 32 teams currently vying for the title of NATIONAL CHAMPIONS!

Let the game(s) continue!

~~J

And so it ends, but begins: