The curious bend rules to test their strength, both that of themselves and of the rules themselves. If they break one, it’s only out of exuberance. Let them glue it back together and act like they didn’t know it was ever broken, and when it breaks again for the first time blame it on the one who touched it last, and when they get found out about that and it’s strike three, let them bat again in another couple of innings. The curious test their strength to see if they have what it takes to become a champion.
Congratulations, James Arthur Boeheim, to you and your under-heralded over-achieving (or is it the other way around?) group of scrappy young 2-3 zone-playing Orangemen! You served your sentence well, for the most part whining in silence, only once lowering yourself to the groveling of an appeal for a lesser sentence, which you did so fairly receive, and now you have come back with a vengeance this postseason, serving notice that you and your brothers-in-orange are a force to be reckoned with, and are not to be taken lightly this Final Four-trademarked weekend. You did it, man did you ever, Jim, and with a middle name like Arthur, you’re the king of the comeback, the kind of royalty we can all aspire to fall into. Oh what a soft fall it is, too, what with the shock-absorption cushion-technology built in to the Nike contracted landing pad. When you fall… err, jump from grace… do leap gracefully, and aim for the big white Swoosh!
America and the NCAA, synonymous lands of big dreams and redemptive glories, and dependent upon however many times one gets caught, every orange-blooded citizen deserves a second, third, fourth, maybe even a fifth and sixth chance to set it straight again. Whatever chance this is for you, James, here in your fifth Final-Four appearance, rest assured that those slaps on the wrist you took last fall you took for America, and they made you more of a man, more of an American. Perhaps they also provided your team of hoops mercenaries with just the right ratio of fight to firepower to make this year a Melo-like celebration in the Lone Star State. If you are so lucky enough to survive to the final buzzer on Monday night with more points tucked-away in your favor, know that when you climb that ladder and cut off your piece of the nylon, that song playing in your head will be One Shining Moment, and you’ll be the star shining brightest of all.
Somewhere NBA market research drools a jealous saliva when contemplating how the NCAA’s well-oiled machine is every year able to rake in more profits in three weeks from its balls-out end of the season tournament of madness than the NBA can make over the course of two months worth of playoffs. Why such a difference in payoff? It’s the promise of the unknown, along with the keeping of the machine well-oiled. Guys like Jim Boeheim are not the problem, they are the Grade-A oil that works so well. If the big-wigged fat-suits behind the NCAA have a problem, it’s that every once in a while they have to punish one of their own for working too well. Haven’t you heard? The N and one of the As in NCAA stand for Nike and Adidas, and Generals like Boeheim long-ago guided Nike’s Air Force on air-raids over the air-waves, and upon the ruins of their destruction they built the Big East.
Now into the ACC has his entire herd migrated.
This weekend, with the help of his do everything, All-ACC senior forward, his star thirty-six percent from the field shooting freshman, his bearded, balding, not too much better from the field senior sharpshooter, and a few long-armed, rebounding, 2-3 zone playing big men, one of whom is Derrick Coleman’s offspring, Jim Boeheim once again looks to become a champion. Way to go, Jim! Go Orange!