‘Shining moment’ will last a lifetime
Posted by Cathy on Apr 14th, 2008
Dear National Champions,
Thanks, I needed that.
You have no way of knowing this, of course, but 2008 hadn’t been going very well for me. Family stress and strain, a devastating personal loss, dreary weather, and a malaise I couldn’t seem to shake, made bright spots — dare I say, “shining moments” — few and far between.
Not that my troubles were worse than anyone else’s. Stuff happens. No one is immune. You guys are all too familiar with personal loss and adversity. You know what I’m saying.
Two Sundays ago, however, I felt the fog starting to lift. Then, last Monday night, I was seeing the light again.
Maybe that sounds too dramatic, too corny, too “Gee, lady, get a life,” but it’s true. Thanks to you, I’ve learned that something as simple as a basketball game — actually, three incredibly thrilling games in a row — can be simply transcendent.
Each of you has your own highlight reel of shining moments that will play in your heads for the rest of your lives. I hope you know that every one of your fans has their own reel, too. Here are some scenes from mine (Luther Vandross theme song optional):
• Constructing an elaborate shrine to the “Almighty Jay” in the living room, asking our company to contribute something lucky to the altar.
• Watching friends and family comply willingly, deferentially, as if this was a perfectly rational thing to do.
• Praying out loud for the win over Davidson. Not so much for myself, but for a coach that seems like a pal, even though I’ve never met the guy.
• Stepping onto my porch after the victory, hearing the roar rise up from every corner of town. Woo-hoo’ing at the top of my lungs, all by myself, in the rain.
• Laughing at the naked guy with the nice, er, assets, on top of the truck at Ninth and Mass after the North Carolina game. (I know, it’s not exactly G-rated, but it’s MY highlights reel.)
• The look on my daughter’s face when she spied Naked Guy, and her answer when my sister asked if she’d seen anything: “I think so. He must’ve been cold,” she said, matter-of-factly.
• Screaming after Mario sunk that improbable, incredible trey. We’re talking off-the-decibel-charts, otherworldly, Banshee screaming. My ears are still ringing.
• The final buzzer. Kissing. Hugging. Jumping up and down. Wheat waving. Yelling “Omigod ... omigod ... we did it ... we did it!”
• Pyrotechnics over the driveway. My husband’s childlike glee when he finally got to launch the fireworks he’d been saving in the garage forever.
• Calling my elated son, halfway around the world in a New Zealand sports bar. Listening with tears in my eyes as he went on and on about “glorious destiny,” and how Grandpa must have been courtside in heaven with Phog Allen and Dr. Naismith, pulling some strings.
“This is the best day of my life, Mom! I’ve never been happier!” he cried. Music to a mother’s ears.
• Seeing my neighbors and their friends — a normally dignified bunch — jammed into the back of a pick-up truck, hollering like a bunch of hillbillies on their way downtown.
• The group hug that was Massachusetts Street. Celebrating with 40,000 of my closest friends. Embracing strangers and high-five’ing so many people, my palms stung.
Those, dear champions, were just a few of my shining moments. Now, multiply them exponentially for each person you see on the parade route today, and for the thousands in Jayhawk Nation who cannot attend. Only then will you have some understanding of the gift you’ve given us.
Will the championship change our lives? No, not really. Not permanently. Stuff will still happen. Hardship will inevitably return.
But when it does, we can always pull out our highlights reel, relive those moments again and again, and feel a little lighter.
Thanks. We needed that.
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