The sound of winter.

The lights are turning on. A glow comes off the wooden floors, reflects off the folded up bleachers, lights up the backboards. A dozen men hustle in. The squeak of shoes is joined by the soothing sound of dribbling basketballs. The coach's whistle shrieks. The first shot goes up, you hear the clang of the cold iron. It's almost there. The next one's up, all you hear is the sweet swish of leather through nylon...

The sound of perfection

That's right kiddos, it's basketball season.

This is the beginning of declining grades, forgotten work, excessive 'sick days', and a severe interest in my television (and occasionally the gym).

The boys of Indiana

And of course, my Butler Bulldogs. They start off this year ranked 18th. This is ridiculous. No other team would be ranked this low coming off the storybook season, finishing as a runner up in the tournament.  However, their 'mid-major' status confuses the pundits. They're not supposed to be this good while being this small.


But this doesn't matter now. We're going to show them again. We'll play our style of ball. We'll show off the fundamentals and win...again and again and again. We'll fight through the adversity, take on the big teams, run through the tournament, and finish at the top this year. And I'll be watching every game I can.

I don't care if I become anti-social, if my grades slip a bit, if my eyes turn red. I'll be watching as much as possible. And not just my Bulldogs. My TV stays tuned to ESPN and CBS throughout the winter. I catch every game I can, watching the perfect sport, played how it should be played, with passion, with fervor, by men, for no pay.

It's sport in its purest form.

This is only the beginning though... I haven't even caught March Madness yet. I can feel it creeping in. I've got that little tickle in the back of my throat. I know I'm slowly catching it. In a few months, I'm sure it'll be full blown and I can't wait.