To my readers

During the past year and a half, I learned a lot about blogging.

Today I learned how to step aside.

Times zones and responsibilities have made it increasingly difficult to keep up with this blog and make it relevant. I was recently promoted to managing editor of the newspaper I work for, and with that went most of my free time.

I have done this for almost 18 months. I have changed platforms, and I have interacted with amazing UMass fans from across the country. There was not one morning that I regretted what I posted, but there were too many mornings that I just didn’t have time – and that’s not fair to me or to you.

This blog has served as my notepad of nostalgia at times, while some weeks have just been my regurgitation of UMass news. Between Mullins and McGuirk filled up hours of transition – as I worked my way up from a college-campus cook to a business newspaper’s editor.

For a portion of the day, UMass athletics became my beat again. Three years and almost 2,000 miles removed from the Maroon and White press boxes and sidelines – I had a virtual press pass and byline, which is all I could ever ask for.

I was able to write about coaching changes, a men’s soccer Final Four, football playoff pushes, alumni, the band, myself, an unbelievable trip to the NIT Finals and everything else that reverberates from Between Mullins and McGuirk out into the athletic ether.

Perhaps one day I will be able to come back to my corner of the Internet and start this project over again – or maybe just pick up where I left off. For now, it’s too much. I have always been one to do things all out – for better or worse – and if I can’t, I simply tip my cap at the past and continue with whatever life’s randomness has in store for me.

So with this, I leave you with a fond farewell. I will still be active in other UMass circles (CrooksisRhyming is my screen name on UMassHoops.com: If you’re not already a member, get on there and say hi to the motley crew). Also, if you are ever in the Denver/Boulder area and want to have a beer during a UMass game, shoot me an e-mail: BobMcGovern@gmail.com.

I chose today because it seems symbolic. Tonight UMass plays Memphis and John Calipari. It is the first marquee game for Derek Kellogg, and it is further indication that Calipari loves and supports the Minutemen.

It is teacher versus student under the beautiful Southern stars, which will briefly be colored that nostalgic shade of Maroon at midnight. In front of a national audience, the past and future success of UMass athletics will shine in a way that makes us all proud of our school and our team.

It will shine down on all of us that stand Between Mullins and McGuirk.

And that, my friends, is the intangible beauty of being a fan.

A UMass fan.

You can go home again

Ten days ago, at around the stroke of midnight, I boarded a plane heading East.

I had no idea who or what waited for me on the other end.

Months and miles separated me from my friends, and there was no telling who would want to see me or when I would see them. I thought I had been gone for way too long. I thought time and distance were the great separators between friends. I thought the trip was going to be a reality check.

I forgot how great my friends are.

Since landing on the crowded runways of JFK in New York City, my UMass connections found me, took me in and took me out. My friends made sure my 10 days away were spent the same as my six years in the Northeast – random, fun and exciting.

I went from New York City to New Jersey for an old rugby teammate’s wedding, which somehow turned into an errant and unorthodox trip to Philadelphia. I reminisced with former ruggers, and I listened to a dozen bagpipes serenade one of my best friends into married life. During the first song, I looked over at another rugby friend, and we both cried: Not because of the wedding … it was something more mysterious than that.

During my travels through New Jersey I saw my handsome godson, my uncle and my grandmother. My grandma made me a BLT, and it tasted just as good as it did when I was a mischievous 5-year-old. Some people never lose their touch.

After a night in Brooklyn I made it up to Boston – just in time to get absolutely slammed by Boston Red Sox traffic. That night I saw my old stomping grounds in Allston, drank with friends in Brighton and told a couple of Boston College kids that they were stinking up the bar.

I guess I haven’t lost my touch either.

The next morning I decided to pack up and leave for Amherst, just for a night, to see another rugby friend that I haven’t seen in almost four years. He’s a man we call Mancandy, and that’s all I have to say about that.

That night we went to Seven Os and sang karaoke. It was a standard night with a good friend. When we walked home we sang rugby songs and cheered for the old days. The shouting was Sunderland’s serenade.

Upon my return to Boston I met with an old friend in the North End, and walked into a bar filled with suits. I was out of place and uncomfortable. Then, another old rugby friend rode his bike from Somerville, and two other friends came out – one from Cambridge and one from New Hampshire – and the night quickly changed gears.

My rugby buddy and I met up with another, and we painted the North End with stories and songs. I threw up in the Boston Harbor – I knew that she missed me.

The rest of my time in Boston was spent with rugby buddies and Collegian friends. However, after introducing everyone to everyone, it was clear that the college categories were no longer needed.

On Saturday morning, it was time for Amherst.

Mike Marzelli and I were awestruck by the tailgating scene out in front of McGuirk. During our time there were no crowds aside from a sparse gathering of alumni drinking beers by their car. This was massive – this was a big time football tailgate. Mike and I stood there for a second and thought the same thing:

“Unbelievable.”

There in front of us was the beauty of our alma mater, painted delicately by fall leaves, Pabst Blue Ribbon and dozens of scattered friends.

That night we saw acquaintances and visited bars that hadn’t seen us in awhile. We saw the Sox come back on the Rays, and we fell asleep in a Puffton apartment filled with 10 drunk sleeping men.

For my last day in the Northeast, I hung out with my best friend from college, and we talked and relaxed over Brooklyn deli food. There was no need to fully reminisce because there are certain friends you don’t need to recap with. You just need to sit over a turkey sandwich and watch a football game.

Yesterday, I fought through New York City traffic and dropped off my rental car. I sat in the airport with the new Lindy’s college basketball magazine and turned right to the Atlantic 10 to see how the publication thought my boys were going to do.

I boarded the plane heading West, and I got a little misty when I thought of everything I was leaving behind again.

Then, somewhere over Nebraska, I had a nostalgia-driven illusion. Below me were the amber waves of grain, shrouded by the darkness of another beautiful American fall night. Yet, my mind’s eye painted the scene the perfect shade of Maroon – the shade that reminds me of my friends, my school and the section of the country where life goes on and the past is seldom forgotten.

I turned away from the window and thought about time and distance and their affect of friendships.

Then I realized I was thinking too much and lowered my UMass hat over my eyes.

(Special thanks to: Jillian Simms, Paige Cram, Stacy Wasserman, Rachel Karlin, Steve Bagley, Ben Myers, Mike Marzelli, Jeff Howe, Jeremy Quitko, Ray McGovern, Paul McGovern, Audrey McGovern, Patrick Ewing Jr., Al Barish, Alie Romano, Lurch, Casey, Philadelphia, Michelle Lacasse, Aaron Millman, Ross Couture, Scotty “Mancandy” Neas, Brian Long, Todd Foster, the Mullins Center, Mike Hershey, Derek Volner, Lawrence Enweze, “Chris Puliafico” … and, as always, Mr. Jordan Quitko.)

‘No doubt’

The Daily Collegian strikes again, and I love it.

The student paper had a staff editorial telling students to get off their asses and actually support their alma mater.

…it seems like the entire student body couldn’t care less about UMass sporting events.

Where’s the school pride? We see thousands of freshmen every day decked out in their UMass gear that they bought at the U-Store, but gosh forbid they actually take their hooded UMass sweaters to an actual sporting event.

You know all that money you’re spending on tuition? Part of that goes to the athletic department. Your hard-earned money is in-part paying for many of our student-athletes to come to UMass for free. OK, maybe you should resent the athletes then.

While I worked for the paper me and my colleague Mike Marzelli both wrote pieces telling the fans to get out there and support the basketball team. Was that objective, down-the-middle journalism? No. Was it something we stapled to our respective resumes. Hell no. If we could go back in time, would we write them again?

Yes – “no doubt.”

Perhaps it’s cheesy, but here’s what a 21-year-old version of myself thought.

On Dec. 9, the Minutemen reaped the benefits of this passion. UMass played UConn in front of a rowdy 9,037 people at the Mullins Center and fed of their energy to pull off one of the largest upsets in college basketball this season.

The center of the court was flooded, and for the first time in years, it looked like UMass was truly a basketball school.

Yet, only a few weeks later, the Mullins Center was silent. The hangover from the UConn win slowly started to subside, and winter session took a large bite out of the student section. The crowds began to mirror those of the past few years, when this team was trying to rebuild.

After I wrote this, I got a little bit of grief from my peers. I was told that I was being a “homer,” that I was showing my biases, and that I should essentially be embarrassed of myself for being so subjective.

I didn’t care then, and I don’t care now.

College is a time to experiment – in more ways than one – and figure yourself out a bit. It’s a time to make mistakes, learn from them and move on. While I wrote for my college paper, I was a fan of my college’s teams. I tried to be objective, but I wanted to have some fun.

These days I’m an editor, and I edit stories for AP style, objectiveness and libel. I lecture freelancers and make sure the paper gets out without a hitch. Directly to my left is a UMass hockey puck, and as I swivel in my chair ever so slightly, I see pictures of McGuirk Alumni Stadium, friends from UMass, and me and Marzelli on George Washington’s center court.

I am one of a few diehards for UMass athletics, and I’m totally fine with that. The funny thing is, I wouldn’t have loved it so much if I never worked for the Collegian. I was allowed to see the inside: the athletes, the facilities, the coaches, etc. – and I liked what I saw.

On Dec. 9 2004, I was an active student journalist covering UMass’ upset of UConn. For the entire game, I sat next to Mike, and sweat and shook for my school. When the clock hit 00:00, I became a student, and, with my pen behind my ear, I charged the court and gave Jeff Viggiano the most subjective hug of my life.

After I left the court, I became a journalist again.

But I sat in the press conference with a fan’s smile.

–

The Associated Press had the breakdown of Travis Ford’s contract with Oklahoma State.

Rich bastard.

–

CAUTION: The following is a message board rumor, proceed with extreme care.

On the UAB message board, someone mentioned a new conference involving:

Memphis, Houston, UAB, Creighton, Xavier, Southern Illinois, UMass, VCU, George Mason, And Temple.

Obviously this is kind of crazy, but I figured I might as well mention it. AGAIN THIS IS A MESSAGE BOARD RUMOR…

… don’t hate me.

Playing for Saturday

For four years, the UMass Marching Band served as my background music.

At about 4 p.m., five days a week, I went to rugby practice behind the Mullins Center – right next to the tennis courts. On the field next to us was the band, which started practice before we did and typically left a bit later. The band members worked relentlessly, and so did we.

Our activities were very different. We ran, hit and went over plays to prepare for that week’s match. The band worked on its formations and technique so it would be ready for Saturday’s football game.

We didn’t interact much, but we both worked for Saturday.

In mid August, Western Massachusetts is an unforgiving and humid hot box. Not many students are on campus. The small population consists of fall varsity athletes, a few students, the rugby team and the band. Two-a-days were for the rugby team – the band had all-days.

We ran, we hit, and we threw up. The band carried equipment, began practicing and played our background music. The sun beat down and was generous with its punishment.

After almost six hours of practice, we went home. As we popped blisters and pain killers, the band played on. They played until the sun gave up, and they came back when she was ready to dish out another day of torture.

As August turned to September, students returned, and we both kept practicing. They were tired of playing for nobody, and we were sick of hitting each other. The band perfected their product, and we both prepared for Saturday. We still didn’t pay attention to each other – the goal was Saturday and only Saturday.

At the end of practice, we had to run what our coach called “hennies,” which are quarter-mile sprints. We ran around the band’s field, and the band played our running music. We did this run every day, and every day we were carried by aching legs, swollen feet and whatever musical compilation synched up with our conditioning.

Thursday was our final day of conditioning for the week. Thursday was the day the band played Elton John’s “Saturday” during our 6 p.m. hennies.

We used to run in packs on Thursday because we knew the week was almost over. Our footsteps went to the music, and every Thursday we would sing along with the music, squeezing the words in between our deep, burned-lung breaths.

They were playing the anthem of our efforts. They played “Saturday” for Saturday, and we ran for the same reason.

When Saturday finally came, the band went to the football game, and we played rugby. They traveled and played and showed the country their talent – which was molded by the Pioneer Valley’s golden sun. We went around the Northeast and showed teams why we were better, why Saturday was important and why Elton John had something to be excited about.

In the end, we both played for Saturday.

A couple of years ago the rugby field was taken from us due to construction. We were moved to the field behind McGuirk Alumni Stadium, and the band stayed where it was.

I went back to watch a game after the move, as an alumni. Just behind the rugby game, the football team was playing. I stayed with my team and watched them lose a close one to a team I now forget.

Standing next to a former teammate, I got lost in my own thoughts. I was swept up with nostalgia, and I couldn’t understand why.

Then I understood.

Echoing off the concrete walls of McGuirk were musical notes, full of pride and enthusiasm. The band was playing “Saturday” on a Saturday.

I felt like I should have been running.

–

The band is actively trying to raise money for a new facility to change, store its equipment and have its offices. While I never truly interacted with them – this team deserves a facility as much as anyone else.

They work hard, they play well, and they make this university proud whenever they hit the field.

Here are a few links for more information about how you can help. Do what you can – the Power and Class of UMass will appreciate it.

Power and Class

Band Alumni Page

Century club

UMass is ready to celebrate 100 years of basketball.

Sounds like the school will be bringing back some of the all-time best UMass teams while involving fans in the process.

The year will feature numerous initiatives and events surrounding the 100 seasons of basketball. Many of the details including dates and specifics will be released in the coming weeks and months. UMass will be holding a gala celebration near the conclusion of the 2008-09 season.

Throughout the year, all-time teams, all-time greatest games will be announced along with various games featuring honorees from the historic past.

I think the logo looks pretty cool – I wonder if it intentionally looks like a clock.

Also, while fresh in my head, here is my all-time team (starting in 2001, when I started following UMass):

• PG: Chris Lowe (with sincere apologies to Anthony Anderson, one of my all-time favorites)
• SG: Shannon Crooks
• SF: Gary Forbes
• PF :  Stephane Lasme
• C: Kitwana Rhymer

All-Bob-time favorite games:

1. Beating UConn in 2004.
2. Beating Syracuse in the NIT Quarterfinals in 2008.
3. Beating Oregon in Springfield in 2002 (nostalgia purposes).
4. Beating Florida in the NIT Final Four in 2008.
5. Beating George Washington at George Washington in 2005.

Anyway, I’ll probably get into this more as we see what stuff UMass has planned for the occasion.

Oh, also, all-time favorite player:

Shannon Crooks.

For what it’s worth

Tomorrow (June 14) will the the one-year anniversary of Between Mullins and McGuirk.

My goodness how the time has flown by.

During the past year, I have posted more than 200 times and have received well over 100 responses from you guys. That’s the kind of stuff that keeps me coming back for more.

I will continue to try and figure out this whole blogging thing, and I hope you stick with me as I learn. This has been a fantastic quasi-journalistic campaign for me thus far, and I thank you all very much for making it worth the while.

This blog keeps me connected to my alma mater, and it maintains my love for UMass and the Minutemen and Minutewomen. It certainly has been worth every second of writing, reading and looking over my shoulder to make sure the boss isn’t looking.

… as irony would have it, I got caught while writing this…

Thanks again… and GO UMASS!

Graduation nostalgia

Last week I had to run across Boulder, in full work gear, so I could attend my good friend’s graduation from the University of Colorado.

Earlier in the week I sent my cousin – who is graduating from Stetson in Florida – a congratulations IM.

I’m in graduation mode, and I’m getting nostalgic.

I figured since news is pretty slow right now, I would show you guys my senior column. I enjoyed every minute of my time at UMass, and I literally walked across campus as I wrote this.

Every once in awhile, I’ll sit and read it again. I read it when I miss Amherst, and I read it when I miss all my friends out East that enjoyed the UMass experience with me.

Hope you like it:

–

A Minuteman says goodbye

by Bob McGovern

“You’d better take one last good look….”

- NOFX -

As I sit here in the top row of McGuirk Alumni Stadium I have a perfect view of the best university in America.

It’s 10:14 on an unusually brisk May evening and I’m writing this via the light of my cell phone, which turns off every five seconds, leaving me in a moment of complete darkness.

To my left are the twinkling lights of Southwest and the pulsating energy of my alma mater, to the right is the road leading away from campus … the road leading home.

Aside from the cars pulling in and out of Yellow Lot, I am the only semblance of life here. Yet, as the sounds of engines and far off music reverberate off the walls of this U-shaped stadium, it’s increasingly imminent that I am far from alone.

I have thought about this column since I was a sophomore and always wondered how I would write it. Yet, four years after packing my things, leaving Florida and heading north, it appears that it has already been written for me.

There are no cheers or youthful banter as I exit the north entrance of my football stadium. I leave with only the sound of my footsteps, grinding through the loose pebbles underneath me.

Just another Minuteman saying goodbye.

I made it through the parking lots that separate McGuirk from Southwest, yet with each step I wanted to stop and write. I knew I couldn’t though; writing everything that came to mind about this school would fill a novel that only a select few would want to read.

Now I’m sitting on the big pyramid in Southwest staring blankly at Washington Tower, my home for my first two years. Memories are shooting through my head so fast that I stop and try to grab one, but it’s gone before my pen can touch the paper.

Here are these giant stacks of lives, running parallel, shoulder-to-shoulder. Once in a while they collide with each other for an instant and if they are compatible they stick, if not, they simply continue on their respective journeys.

This is where I learned as a freshman and taught as a sophomore. It’s where I met my first roommate, Chris Puliafico, who introduced me to my best friend and roommate for the next three years, Mr. Jordan Quitko.

I am sure these names are foreign to most of you, but so many have a similar story. Everyone came here running alone in some respect and met people who, for one reason or another, stuck more than others. In the end, these clusters are what we remember and what some of us are afraid to leave behind.

A wet paper towel almost hits me as I walk past Kennedy Tower. Two kids are sitting in their window laughing as I dodge its path. I simply smirk, shake my head and warn the kid behind me, who is barely phased by the air-borne prank.

Now I’m sitting here in the tunnel that separates Southwest from campus, the division between blissful immaturity and educational reality.

In the distance I can hear the yells and laughter of those who are enjoying the waning days of this semester. Just the lingering calls of animals, not yet ready to leave the Zoo.

Standing at the gates of Garber Field, right next to the Curry Hicks Cage, I can feel a sense of this university’s tradition. As steam bellows from underneath UMass’ surface, it masks Garber’s entrance in a fine gray hue.

It’s hard to believe I watched UMass beat Syracuse here only days ago. Those boys are coming back again on Sunday, this time I won’t be sitting in the press box.

Before I pass Curry Hicks, I make sure I go around “the Circle of Bad Grades.” I made the mistake of walking right through the middle my sophomore year … never again.

I’m sitting in front of Bartlett Hall now, the house of the fine Journalism major. I can’t help but think of all I’ve learned here, the true educating outside the social education. Nick McBride, Norm Sims, Bill Israel, and Jim Hicks; thank you for showing me that the only thing objective about life is that nothing is ever truly objective.

From the 24th floor of the library I can see all of my campus. I am sitting at a desk near a window in the far corner, facing the practice fields. Engraved in the middle of the desk is “GO Minutemen!”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

As I look out I can see the faded facade of the Mullins Center, cracking through the darkness. Four years of concerts and athletics encapsulated as memories under one green roof.

I was here through the good and the bad. I saw coaching changes and athletic directors come and go. Through it all, it was well worth it as the two of us danced on December 9th 2004, a glimmering light in my college career.

Right behind the Mullins Center is my rugby pitch, where I learned how to be a man while never letting go of the child that plays within all of us.

Too many memories on this chilly May evening, I’ve tried to capture them, but I failed, just as I knew I would.

I guess my search has left me here for a reason, as I stare at my reflection in my library’s window. Maybe it’s too much and perhaps that’s why saying goodbye is so hard.

So with this I leave you with my final column for this incredible newspaper at this stellar establishment. My only hope is that through my writing over the past few years I was able to give you a piece of myself as I ventured to the heart of UMass athletics.

I never thought I’d be writing this, but then again it wasn’t really me. It was you, this school, and everything I’ve learned and experienced along the way.

And for that, UMass, I thank you.

Bob McGovern was a Collegian columnist.

Way back machine

One last thing on Travis Ford… here is the column I wrote after he was hired.

I sure feel like a horse’s ass now.

From the Collegian (3/28/05):

On March 5, the Massachusetts men’s basketball team played its final regular season game and its last game at the William D. Mullins Center until next season. As I walked around the court, towards the Green Room, where the press conference is held, I stopped and looked at the sea of maroon one last time.

It was one last glance at the vast silence which encompasses this arena. One last time to see empty maroon seats and hear the solemn banter of apathetic fans looking for more than a two point nail-biting victory over a lesser opponent.

A mere 20 days later the university decided that not only would this be a last time for me, a graduating senior, to see this depressing scene, but it would be the last time the Minutemen ended a season with less energy than it started with.

Enter Travis Ford.

On Friday afternoon, the University of Massachusetts introduced Ford as its new head basketball coach. Cheerleaders lined the walkway to the podium and in the middle of dozens of side-conversations throughout the stands, the familiar UMass fight song broke through, turning the heads of those in attendance to the man who will be changing the face for their program.

Forty seconds they stood. Shouts and cheers from a spirited audience filled with students and alumni rang through as Ford stood at the podium. He looked around with a straight face and tried to cut in, but the crowd wasn’t having it. They stood and Ford let them cheer, this was exactly what he was looking for.

When the crowd finally sat, bringing into view a large sign in the back row which said, “Welcome to UMass Travis Ford,” Ford began talking about what he wants for this program. He mentioned that it was, in essence, a time for change.

The entire time he spoke, the Curry Hicks Cage sat in silence, occasionally cheering when he would hit a nerve. He mentioned how UMass was going to be, “the hottest ticket in town,” a phrase which resonated with the alumni and represented something that most of the students had never truly seen… a sense of school pride.

Most of the team lined the first row of the Cage, just behind the two sections of chairs set aside for the press. None of the players had been introduced to their new coach, or his subsequent staff, and sat in the same position as everyone else, listening and analyzing this southern man that appeared to be saying all the right things.

He told the crowd that they needed to come to games and that they had to be, “a part of the team.” He spoke of how his doors were always open and how this was the community’s team. For the first time in years the men’s basketball team at UMass took on the image of something bigger than a maroon and white team lost in the Berkshires.

After telling the crowd what they needed to do, Ford directed attention to the men in black warm-ups sitting in those front row seats. Each hunched over figure had his eyes transfixed on the coach as he mentioned what their responsibility was. He told them that they were about to learn what it meant to truly work hard.

Each player had a straight, objective face after the initial comments, but Ford switched gears and had a few of his future pupils smiling. He said it was going to be fun, that as hard as they worked, they were going to have more fun than any other team they came across.

This comment appeared to hit everyone there than afternoon. Amidst the very heart of March Madness, the University of Massachusetts was absent, yet very much alive. Players and fans alike have been missing this fun the past few years and Coach Ford was adamant and confident that it was coming back sooner than later.

A new era of UMass basketball has arrived in the form of a hardworking southern man from Madisonville, Ky.

Perhaps it is truly time for this community to have some fun.

Bob McGovern is a Collegian Columnist

For Nina

I know this is supposed to be strictly for UMass sports, but today we lost one of our four-legged fans.

Nina, a four-year-old retriever that belonged to my good friend Aaron Millman, passed away today after exploratory surgery indicated an irreparable liver disease. This was only a few days after the vet told Millman that the dog did not have cancer and would be OK.

I met the dog only a few times, but she was one of the nicest animals I ever encountered. She had a friendly demeanor, her tail was always wagging and she was friendly to strangers if they were amicable with her human companion. She is why the cliche “man’s best friend” exists.

There isn’t too much more I can say because I wasn’t around her all the time, and I don’t want to overstep my bounds. I just wanted to make sure this was mentioned somewhere because I know she means and meant a lot to one of my best friends.

I’m sorry for your loss Millman – the only consolation is that you were lucky enough to have a dog with that type of personality … one that resembled yours.

More Ford rumors

Anthony Randolph, a standout freshman on the LSU men’s basketball team, may be heading to the NBA Draft, but he has a soft spot for interim head coach Butch Pierre.

Perhaps this could buy Pierre another year, and, in turn, give Travis Ford another year at UMass.

All speculation on my part, but that’s all any of us can do at this point.

From The Daily Reveille:

“I would say there’s a 90 percent chance I’m coming back here,” Randolph told The Daily Reveille on March 10. “I like it here. I like the coaching staff, the players, the fans and the whole LSU atmosphere.”

Randolph also said interim coach Butch Pierre’s future with the team would affect his decision.

“He’s part of the reason why I came here, and he has helped me get to where I am right now with his coaching and mentoring on and off the court,” Randolph said.

But several reports began to circulate Wednesday that Massachusetts coach Travis Ford is the leading candidate for the men’s basketball coaching vacancy.

Dan Parker of Parker Executive Search, the search firm handling the coaching search, denied those reports Wednesday, saying an athletic director would be chosen before a coach.

The press conference for Randolph is today. Perhaps he can shed a little light on LSU’s coaching situation through his decision.

These rumors are starting to weigh heavy.

–

The News Times had an article on Gilbert Parson, a 6’5 lineman heading to Amherst.

Parson, a 6-foot-5, 310-pound Canterbury School senior, chose the Minutemen over offers from Northeastern, the University of Rhode Island, Central Connecticut State and the University of Maine. UMass, which is coming off a 10-3 campaign, was the NCAA Division I-AA runner-up in 2006.

“They weren’t on the top of my list until I went on the visit there and they blew me away,” Parson said. “They seemed to be so far above and beyond the other schools structure-wise and talent-wise. I felt real comfortable with the kids. Everything felt right. It just looked like a place where I could be successful.”

–

PERSONAL NOTE:

Yesterday I saw the news that Patrick Ewing, Pat Riley and Hakeem Olajuwon were in this year’s Basketball Hall of Fame class, and I couldn’t help but to get a little nostalgic.

Ewing made me interested in basketball. He was my favorite player, on my favorite team during a classic era in the NBA. He cemented my Knicks fandom and made those late spring, early summer months enjoyable for me, my dad and Knicks fans everywhere.

His battles with Olajuwon are some of my favorite and most heartbreaking memories. He never won a championship, but the way he played the game was special and legendary.

In 1994, several important things happened to me. My grandfather passed away, signaling the first powerful death that I had to deal with. He was a great man and will always be a positive memory in my mind. That summer, when the Knicks were playing the Rockets in the NBA Finals, we had his wake at our house.

I sat on my couch, surrounded by family, and watched Ewing shoot free throws during the championship. He had the vintage wrist flick … completely effortless. Later that night, my great uncle and I went out and set up my very first basketball hoop.

We raised the basket to regulation height, and I didn’t lay it up, and I didn’t shoot a three. I chose a spot that seemed like free throw distance, and I flicked my wrist – just like Ewing. That night I took my free throws and thought about my grandfather. No swish or brick swayed me, I just thought about mortality, sadness and how strong Ewing must be to launch a basketball so effortlessly.

I still shoot the same way.

So, congratulations Patrick, and thank you for all the memories. I still get a bit misty whenever I’m in Madison Square Garden and see No. 33 hanging from the rafters. It reminds me of when things were new and sports were fun.

The Knicks have been a different shade of blue ever since you left.