We moved in winter 2002 to the house directly next to my childhood best friend, Alex. I remember being annoyed by the fact we were moving because I loved living with my grandparents, but in my mom’s case I can imagine that’s less fun to do. My stepdad moved down from Detroit after being there for 30 years. We talk a lot about going from a metro area of 4M+ people to a town of 12,000. It had to be pretty weird, but then again, the town where he bought a cheap lake house in 1994 apparently has just three digits’ worth of living humans, so maybe not.
The move was uneventful. I was 9 then and 31 now; the only thing I remember is my grandfather and I getting lost on the first drive over, before GPS eliminated the experience of getting lost and asking for directions. I don’t remember much about 2003 in general, other than getting glasses for the first time and getting violently sick on Christmas Day. But I do remember coming home from my best friend’s house one Sunday and there was something in our driveway that wasn’t there before.
Okay, it’s very blurry because I didn’t feel like pestering any family members for a photo of a 2001-era basketball goal, but you get the point. We got it when I was 7 and watching Allen Iverson play in the 2000 NBA playoffs made me think basketball was the greatest thing ever invented. I liked pretty much every sport because I was 7 (minus golf or tennis or the like) but basketball felt real, felt at home to me. Also, I have the body type of someone who would snap in two if they played football, I sucked at baseball, and there were no hockey arenas within an hour, so.
The goal was not very good. It had an adjustable base, which meant it was great for moving but could only be filled with sand or water. The former was usually our choice but any wind over 45-50 MPH knocked the goal over, which happens every single spring in Tennessee. The backboard was extremely kind because of the lack of energy bolting it down, so any shot with the board involved went in. We adjusted it down to dunk on it one too many times, so for the final six years of using it the goal only went up to 9 feet. After the seventh or eighth time falling over the rim was permanently bent upwards at this angle:
Which meant jumpers either had to be swishes that knocked off of the underside of the back iron or perfectly cradled off of the back iron. Also, after the 17th time a spring thunderstorm knocked the goal over it took a small chunk out of the lower right side of the backboard. By the end it was worse than any playground hoop in the surrounding ZIP code. I loved it more than any actual item I have owned in my life.
Of the 50 or so waking hours I had in Texas this past weekend I probably spent 15-20 on the Riverwalk somewhere. San Antonio is a lot of things - the third-biggest city in Texas, the oldest city in Texas, the city with the highest Hispanic population of any over a million people - but ask any visitor and they’ll tell you it revolves around the Riverwalk through key stretches of downtown.
I have to say, as a first-timer, it lived up to the hype. During the day Friday and Sunday (I spent a large amount of Saturday away from the Riverwalk, because your resident introvert can only handle so many people), it was packed with people of all different uniforms and subsets of life. I had talked with a few people leading into the weekend and my honest best guess was that you’d get as close to a 25/25/25/25 split (or 30/25/25/20) of the four fanbases as possible. More or less, this was accurate.
I guess I came less to the Riverwalk for the people and more the convenience. All around it, there were coaches and administrators and media people of various ilk. One of the first people I recognized once in San Antonio on Friday: Brad Underwood. One of the first people I met in San Antonio: Ross Dellenger. In terms of pure number of famous or near-famous basketball people, the Final Four still cannot be beat for networking and/or people-watching and/or rekindling friendships.
I tried to go to a Final Four once in college, 2013, in Atlanta. I had no idea what I was doing. I went with my friend Derek because he was the only other person I knew at Tennessee whose dad was a Michigan fan. We went to Atlanta hilariously ill-prepared and didn’t even manage to get tickets to the games, instead opting to watch at a nearby Taco Mac after several hours of attempts and goofing around riding the MARTA throughout the metro area. A photo of us in front of a remarkably large NCAA sign is lost to time or a lack of iCloud backups.
I’ve been to two actual Final Fours now: this one and Houston in 2023. As someone that is now considered independent basketball media, I operate on a Moneyball budget and the teachings of a father whose frugality would astonish the average reader. But, hey, being there is a lot more fun than not being there, and you don’t have to Uber 10 times in a weekend. San Antonio it was.
When I was younger I would dream of attending these. I dreamt of it in 2013 and many, many other years. I thought they looked like the greatest thing in history, being in the city where the only games are being played for a weekend. My father, Mr. Frugal, went to three of these (2016, 2018, 2019) before I attended my first. He still talks about meeting/cornering Jay Bilas outside of the FanFest. I suppose it’s in our blood now, waiting to be passed onto the next generation.
My San Antonio review is that it was very fun. My Final Four review is that it was a great time. My life review is that it was a terrific reward after what’s frankly been a rough few months. But most rewarding of all was this run I had on Sunday morning:
Okay, not the most rewarding. That came later that day after I maxed out at 44,000+ steps.
That goal is long gone. My old street is long gone; I left it for college in 2011 and my parents (and little brother) for a larger city in 2017. I’ve been back by the old house once, maybe two years after they sold it just to confirm my mom’s report that they had built a giant, garish pool in the backyard. The goal is no longer there, either; that was a moving casualty because my little brother played hockey and soccer.
We bought our new house in 2022, our first as a married couple, and my wife has said multiple times that the goal in the backyard swayed me towards the purchase. She may or may not be onto something. This goal kinda sucks, too. I measured it at 10 ft, 7.5 inches, so whoever installed it previously was just a bit off with their measurements. The backboard is pretty forgiving. The return system I’ve bought twice at Dick’s has shattered into bits within six months. It also has a rim slightly bent upward. I do not care; it is my goal on my street.
A lot of long days and long nights have had periods of shootarounds on this goal interspersed. I wrote about finishing off last season with a set of jumpers as the sun fell one final time. These shootarounds are a bit different: stress relief and/or an elimination of screen time. The shootarounds have traditionally crept up in volume the worse my day job (or night job) has been in terms of annoyance, demand, or both.
I did this a lot in high school and college, too. I’ve gone and hooped after every job interview I’ve ever had. Once our company went full-time WFH I hooped at a gym 2-3 times a week, usually on lunch break instead of working on a project I was sick of thinking of. Other than running, my preferred method of brain clearance, this is the best way to not feel like the walls are closing in a bit.
The best day of Final Four weekend, oddly enough, was not Saturday. That was pretty great; I had this lunch at Burnt Bean BBQ in Seguin with my best friend and his wife. Apologies to CJ Moore, but the below image is why I didn’t attend the media game. Hopefully understandable.
NOT THE POINT BUT: The above image cost $96 TOTAL. That’s all! $96. I have had similar megaplates at other BBQ restaurants, all totaling somewhere between $100-$150. This was, at minimum, a top-2 BBQ eatery I have attended AND it was cheaper than most others. Seguin!
I also had tacos a few hours later with Eamonn Brennan, then watched two great Final Four games on my own time. The upside of being independent college basketball media is that my boss is the reader; the downside is that I am still new to the point that my credential didn’t get approved, so I was just like any random fan. Alas.
That day was good. Sunday was better. It started off with the run noted earlier and became a whirlwind of walking and talking. I did the entire Riverwalk, start to finish, then met up with a few people I knew on the coaching side of the divide. In the afternoon, I got drinks with several different media people at a German bar you can almost squint and see in this image.
That was all, though I did get to go to H-E-B twice. (I’d also like to shoutout this place east of downtown which had the best tacos I took down all trip.) But sitting there, chatting it up, forever…four hours went by in what felt like 10 minutes...well, folks, it was nice. It is not some sort of new phenomenon, the theory of ‘time flies by when you’re having fun,’ but I think we all can attest to the truth of it. Everyone’s experience of a Final Four is different; mine felt more about friendship and joy than the actual basketball.
Frankly, it was nice. It’s been a hard few months with a lot of upheaval: getting laid off in February, the death of my grandmother in November, career questions, life questions. (There are more items, but this is a basketball website, not a therapy session.) The entire time, there was one event I’ve been looking forward to for months: the Final Four in Charles Barkley’s favorite city in the world. It lived up to what I’d hoped it would be and what I needed it to be: three days of good in a sea of not-so-good out there in the world.
This piece is titled My Old Street for a pair of reasons. The first and most obvious is that I heard this on a Spotify new release playlist on the way to the airport:
And the second is that we finally sold the last remnants of my oldest street, the one I took first steps on, my grandparents’ 60+ year old house. It’s where that basketball goal first resided prior to our move, where I took my first shots. There hasn’t been anything out on the deck aside from potted plants and old wrought-iron furniture in many years; the main feature is a back-door entrance to the den where my grandfather would spend entire days.
There are no connections to old streets anymore, none that necessitate monthly visits. There are no more portable basketball goals in driveways at places I know to look for them. There are no more friends, at least the ones that I still talk to, left in the town. I have as many active ties to San Antonio, a place I have been to one time for three days, as I do our old driveways and parks. But they can’t erase the memories, the joy, those shootarounds. None of it.
Sports are felt in different ways by different people. Obviously. After a season with record highs in efficiency and tied for record lows in parity, where the sport goes going forward is an open question. I think people seem to want this vague return to whatever the NCAA Tournament was when they were 16-21, which is how pretty much all art and sport seems to be desired now. (If you’re my age, I am giving you the green light to tell me how impactful Animal Collective was to you 10-20 years ago in the comments.) People seem to idealize things the way they were, not the way they are, thanks to convenient, selective memory.
Personally, my college basketball experience over the last five months was like a balm when I needed it most. A lot of people didn’t have this exact lived experience and seem to feel that we just watched a very boring NCAA Tournament, albeit one saved by a quality Final Four. I guess I could get there if I tried hard enough. I cannot. I remember how fun the average Tuesday or Wednesday was this year and that basically every single Saturday was a non-negotiable couch lock situation. It was possibly too healthy a distraction.
As all the signage everywhere said, the road ends here. We always, thanks to the well-greased wheels of history, continue moving forward no matter what the result. I loved this season. It was what it was, and what was it but the right thing at the right time? Just like that old hoop. Just like this new old hoop. Warts abound, yet we continue moving forward, one step at a time. It’s all we know.
I meant to get this out a day or so earlier but wanted to let the season sit with me for a few more hours, sorry. If you’re looking for actual breakdowns of How Florida Won or How Houston Lost or Holy God Almighty How Duke Lost That One I’m Still Aghast Do You Think the White Lotus Dad Found Out When He [SPOILER], sorry, not here. I have an entire offseason to do that, starting later this month with a fun piece on big wings and slashers.
For now, I would like to get out a huge pile of thank yous for everyone who’s helped, aided, supported, shared, or otherwise done a good thing for me this year. First and foremost is my wife, Carly, who has put up with me spending far more time on a MacBook Air than is medically advisable. She is a wonderful spirit whose gifts of love and grace know no bounds.
Secondly: my brother Andy, who helped out with behind-the-scenes data stuff at the site this year and asked for no credit. If you are reading this and your company hires engineers who are extremely good with computers, please hire him so I don’t have to house him this fall. Also, thanks to my parents, who put up with having to watch basketball every time I come home and are the greatest supporters in world history of dreams, even when they look like nightmares.
In no order: thank you to anyone I met with in San Antonio - Eamonn, Jim Root, Mark Titus, Nephew Kyle (who really lives up to the hype, by the way), Ky, Isaac Trotter, David Cobb, Evan Miyakawa, Sam Federman, the crew at the SoCon, a few coaches who’d presumably like to be anonymous, Pat Taylor, and many others. It’s all dudes but it’s a bunch of dudes I’m always happy to associate with - kind, good-hearted people who fight harder for you than they do for themselves.
Another batch of names that deserve special notes here: the wide variety of influences that I’ve had the chance to interact with (and in several cases, work on projects with) privately or publicly over the recent past. Thank you to Brian Cook, Matt Norlander, Jordan Majewski, Dylan Burkhardt, Anthony Dabbundo, Jon Fendler, Ken Pomeroy, Bart Torvik, Lance Hartzler, Tate Frazier, Kevin Sweeney, Tanner McGrath, Jimmy Dykes, Tom Hart, Fran Fraschilla, Eric Fawcett, the person I know only as Skins, the still-masked Trilly Donovan, Brendan Marks, Kyle Boone…many, many, many more. I have to stop here or I’ll be naming people for hours. I am deeply sorry if I forgot you here, because I am thinking about going to get ice cream.
Thank you to EVERYONE!!!!, everyone, who subscribed this year. I do not care if you came just for the first week of the NCAA Tournament or if you were here for all 365 days. You are the engine that drives this thing forward, not me.
One final thank you to those in my personal life who helped beyond basketball. The names of known friends and trusted agents must not be listed; they know who they are.
Thanks for a tremendous season, and for everything. Our offseason plans? Keep going. It’s all I know. Why stop now?
BONUS: Cedric the cat. He asked politely.
Thanks for a great year. As a fellow UT grad ('84) and a fan going back to Ray Mears 1969-70 team where they started off the year winning against preseason #1 So Carolina in Columbia, and only one team from each conference went to the 25-team tournament, it's amazing to see how college basketball has evolved and is analyzed. Thanks for great analysis. And thanks for a great piece to close the year. I like Riverwalk and San Antonio a lot. I even got a UTSA Roadrunner t-shirt, though I couldn't find an Incarnate Word t-shirt. Appreciate all your hard work this year.
Everytime I read something this compelling and interesting it makes me feel very good about going to law school because I was never in a million years going to write something as good as this. Thank you for sharing so much and for all the energy you put into this product!