It rained all day yesterday.
I think the hardest thing to forget is the sound a crowd makes when something bad happens. Hinkle Fieldhouse was tense last night. Thirteen shots bounced out of rim as if the ball was cursed. The crowd’s collective “awwww” was just as loud as its cheers when Mack got in a 3-pointer just before the half to take us into the lead. The sound was painful. The disappointment was hard to stomach. A man sitting behind me shouted at the screen like a father trying to get his sons to improve their game–his frustration was only the beginning.
As the minutes clicked by and we went scoreless, I couldn’t fathom what was going on. Sure, UConn’s defense was on its game, but what was stopping us from getting those baskets? Also: why did CBS have a premade graphic of Butler’s “poor shooting”?
When it got down to a minute left in the game, I think I got a little choked up. It wasn’t about winning. Sure, I wanted to win. But I wanted our team, who worked so hard and got all the way here, to finally take the Championship we were so close to getting last year. I wanted the Bulldogs to be proud of themselves and at least shrug and say, “Well, we played a good game.”
But I knew they were going to be down on themselves. It was a bad half. A really bad half, the worst half we could have had in the biggest game of the season. So Vanzant and Howard cried in the locker room, and even Brad Stevens got choked up. I hate seeing such an extraordinary group of men feel like that.
And this morning, live from Hinkle Fieldhouse, Channel 13 alleged that the campus was dead, that we obviously lost a piece of the Butler spirit with the game last night. Woman, please. It is 11 AM and we have the day off. We’re sleeping the game away, and then we’re going to welcome our boys home.
“‘They’re scrappy, relentless,’ said Wisconsin junior guard Jordan Taylor. ‘I don’t know, they’re just tough kids. They never quit. That’s what makes them winners.'”
What was once a vast hall of Butler collectibles and one-of-a-kind expensive yoga pants with “Butler” on the derriere has now become a place of violence and greed. Obstacles are laced throughout the well-worn path from Starbucks to Atherton and C Club.
It is nearly impossible for me to get my daily quesadilla.
People are flocking to get their Butler gear for the game this weekend!! Did you hear that we may or may not be in the FINAL FOUR?! (the F did not want to participate in that hotlink.) We’re so excited!! I’m super jealous of everyone who’s able to go to Houston. Bring back a winner, okay?
After the game Saturday, everyone poured into West Hampton Drive to celebrate. We were there for all of the action.
Everyone has 800 pictures of them with the bulldog statue. We decided to make it 801.
Watch the game Saturday! I’m going to try not to strain my vocal cords screaming. I will probably be unsuccessful.
Butler University is officially a skating rink. Intramural hockey teams will form up tomorrow outside of Jordan Hall at 9 AM. I call playing goalie.
I don’t know who you are, skating man, but I would like to shake your hand. Well played, sir.
Walking to class today even in well-equipped combat boots was quite the challenge. About 10% of the sidewalks have been cleared (and by that I mean, tiny sections have been cleared in an otherwise continuous sheet of ice that has covered all of Butler).
I’m grumpy about going back to class. But I don’t think it’s completely unwarranted.
See, our pharmacy profs decided to use Panapto to record lectures we missed. Others assigned lengthy makeup work and makeup quizzes. Even worse, they gave us all of this to do on Wednesday night, before we went back to school.
Additionally, we don’t have a clusters schedule yet. They start on Tuesday. I would like to know how to study please!
Icepacylpse, you’re killin’ me. At least we got this out of it.