Nothing I can really add to all of…whatever it is we all are experiencing today. But what Bonzo mentioned earlier about his nephew really hit home.
My boys are 11, 8 and 5. God bless them, because of dad, they wear UK gear everywhere, talk shit to their friends at school, write down our game times on their little whiteboards in the kitchen. They bleed Blue, like we all did, at that age. Because we saw our dads, our grandpas, our uncles, etc. It’s what a little boy in Kentucky does.
We, at least (and I use the “we” broadly here - everyone from Centch growing up with 78, to me coming of age with Mash) had some tangible results and (really) good outcomes to validate that learned religion that is Kentucky Basketball. 96? It validated the first 14 years of my existence.
My boys, however, they know nothing but embarrassment. They’ve never experienced the absolute, sheer joy of winning in March and April. They know only sadness. My oldest remembers the Monk/Fox year, but that’s it. Today, he doesn’t get to talk shit on his asshole classmates. Instead, he catches shit from the token asshole kid who is randomly a UNC fan, despite having born and bred Kentucky parents. (That kid is a loser, by the way.) They go to bed sad. They wonder why their dad is sad all the time. Why is daddy a maniac, mama? Aren’t sports supposed to be fun?
On the way to school this morning, my third grader (wearing a UK hoodie and hat, mind you, bless him), pipes up from the backseat, “why do we put all this energy into UK if we just suck?”
That, my friends, broke my heart. I will admit I felt a tear. And I just made another couple tears typing this.
