At approximately 8:45 this morning, I awoke. And I was nervous.
I had plenty of reasons to be nervous on this cloudy, mild morning. I could have been apprehensive about the events of the preceding night, or the impending email I am to receive today telling me whether or not I am officially transferred into the College of Media as a print journalism major, or the fact that the days are slipping away faster than my brain can process. But today I am nervous for only one reason: the Illini basketball team, the very team I've been rooting for since practically my birth (I secretly wish I was born with jaundice just so the doctors could have confirmed from my orange-tinged skin that I was an Illini the moment I left the womb).
This is our first Tourney game in two years and only our second game in the past four years. Obviously, this has been a cause for concern and numerous columns, blogposts, message boards, etc. dedicated enormous amounts of ink trying to diagnose the recent futility. But that all disappears at 8:20 tonight. The tweets, the anger, the elation, the frustration - it will simply become white noise as we watch the game unfold.
My upbringing as an Illini fan taught me to be an optimist. My father, a graduate of the University of Illinois and devoted fan for 40 years, is a cautious optimist. He believes that the team deserves faith, regardless of the situation, and that a rational look at the team will yield a cautiously optimistic view of each game, season to season. Unfortunately, I was raised as a rabid Illini fan, so naturally I'm more of an enthusiast/apologist than optimist. But optimists get nervous sometimes, too.
I know our team is good. I know this simply because I've watched every game this year. We beat North Carolina by ten. We hung with an uber-talented Texas team until the final minutes of overtime. For all intents and purposes, we lost to Ohio State by only one point. The Gonzaga team that smoked St. John's last night didn't stand a chance against us in their own backyard as we pummeled them with aggressive defense and lights-out shooting. I know our team is good.
I also know that our team has a serious mental issue that makes us look like a bad team. We couldn't close out a vastly inferior UIC team. We displayed our usual pitiful rebounding effort as we lost to Penn State on a last second offensive board/tip-in. We resembled a group of 7 year olds trying to play basketball in the last 7 minutes of the Michigan game and blew a lead that sent every Illini fan into a fit of fury.
But neither of those things matter anymore. Nobody knows if we are a good or bad team, because we're in a new season - a new season where our record is 0-0. Throughout the season, my dad kept saying, even during the past 3 months of basketball hell where we don't know what personality our team is going to take on a game-to-game basis, "just get this team to the tournament." He thinks this team has a lot of talent, but he knows mentally something has been off. His theory is that this team will finally get its head straight with the prospects of a long off-season and no more collegiate basketball for the seniors, and the team will rise to the occasion with a renewed level of focus that will match their noticeably high talent level. And this is coming from a cautious optimist!
So as I continue to bide my time the rest of the day, watching other basketball games with a detached interest at best, I will send out one final plead to this Illini squad. Play to your potential. Forget all of the past season; every dribble of the ball, every second of the game. Feel the weight of a merciless fan base rise off your shoulders. Play loose. Meet the opponent eye-to-eye with confidence.
My dad and I will be watching as we always do. We'll curse when Brandon Paul inexplicably turns the ball over, and cheer when McCamey hits an Eff You Three. And maybe, just maybe we'll pull a win out.
But maybe we're just doomed optimists.
