A State's Game

In 49 states, it’s just basketball.

           

But here, few grow up without an iron hoop in their driveway and an orange ball of leather in their hands; the fascination with a game here sweeps a state, it is an identity.

           

Kids here grow up fantasizing about a Knight without armor, dreaming of a Bird that cannot fly.

           

Here, basketball is not a game; it is a lifestyle. 

           

Every Friday or Saturday night, the high school kings of hardwood steal our attention, entire towns coming together to rally around the boys of winter.  The roar of the crowd rejuvenates the love for the game, the community packed into a gym in hopes of witnessing a few hours of magic.

           

Here, some of the greatest Meccas of the game are constructed; nine out of ten of the United States’ largest gymnasiums reside on this soil, castles built for battle between silk clad warriors.  Chrysler Fieldhouse in New Castle, the house that Alford built, seats 9,325 fans, enough to host over half the town’s population.

           

Only here can an athlete rise to hero status by dawning crimson and white candy-striped pants, and Fever is an epidemic that people love to catch.

           

Here, Miller is more than just a beer, and only here can a horrific comb-over become a fashion statement idolized by a black and gold nation.           

           

Only here do coaches strive to achieve the status of Tony Hinkle and to have the winning percentage of Bob Knight.

           

Ask “What word best describes 1976?”

           

The answer returned would undoubtedly be, “Perfect.”

           

Isaiah Thomas, Kent Benson, Quinn Buckner, Scott May, Damon Bailey, Steve Alford, Jared Jeffries, Eric Gordon; the crimson and cream have treated these names well, basketball prominence at its finest.

           

Only here can one man put a small town called French Lick on the map.

           

Walk into Lucas Oil Stadium on April 5, 2010; what you would find is a sea of navy, a state behind an unusual representative, witnessing a run for a championship unparalleled in college basketball.  Only here could Gordon Heyward become a household name, a present day David and Goliath story becoming a reality.   Only in this stadium would every breath be stilled as the last precious tenths of a second melt away and the hopes and dreams of a Bulldog nation move in slow motion with a ball as it flies from the hands of a hero at half-court towards the open mouth waiting at the base of the glass.

           

Only in this state would this scenario be that of déjà vu, as those reflect back to 1987, where a Smart shot conquered the enemy at the buzzer.

Only here can a small school with an enrollment of 161 students play for a state title, backed by a community of Indians – and win.

           

And only here would a film be produced to honor this team’s journey to history, stealing the hearts of all who watch.

           

From the time kids here are old enough to pick up a basketball, they are dribbling in the driveway and challenging their friends to a game of H-O-R-S-E.

           

What can explain this love of a game, a passion that defines a community, an entire state, a hysteria for the hardwood?

           

Well, in 49 states, it’s just basketball.

           

But this is Indiana.