Sunday Sunset With Crux Du Connoisseur and Chai Tea
Author: David From http://www.musingsoverabarrel.com/ • Apr 10th, 2024Category: Blog Entries.Local
Cheers!
As a graduate of Purdue University and a 20+ year blogger, I think I'm contractually obligated to have thoughts on Purdue finally getting over the hump to make the Final 4.
It’s cool that they did it.
Happy?
Okay, I'll say some more. My evolution from rabid to casual sports fan has been well documented here, so I won't repeat it.
Have I watched every Purdue game in the tourney? Yes.
Did I scream “That's a foul!” about 25 times at the TV today? Yes.
Did I do a shot of celebratory bourbon with my son when the game was over? Yep! But ultimately the successes and failures of college kids playing basketball have no material impact on my life. If the run ends next weekend I’ll be happy it happened, and I’ll go on with life.
I am very happy for the people whose lives are impacted though. Coach Painter, who should not need the validation, has it. The media will find some new imagined failure to hold over him now. Coach Keady, who absolutely should have made a Final Four or 2, gets to see his coaching protege do it following the same general formula he passed down through his coaching tree. The team, most of which are not headed into professional basketball, gets this amazing and intense shared experience that will bond them forever. They also erase the first-round loss from last year. Nobody cares anymore. And let's not forget that they aren't done. They can still be National Champions.
Also, although it's been obvious to anybody who pays attention for a while, it's obvious to everyone now. Purdue owns Indiana. It's the premier college basketball program in the state, and it's not even close anymore.
So, what does it all mean? A lot, if you are closely connected to the team or University. For the rest of us, some school pride, good memories of college life resurfacing, and new memories of the tournament run. It might not be a lot in the big picture, and really should not have the importance we put on it, but given the shit show the world has been since 2016, I'll take my wins where I can get them.
Boiler the fuck up.
The ancient greyness shifted suddenly and thinned like mist upon the moors before a wind.
An old, old prophet lifted a shining face and said:
“He will be coming soon. The Son of God is dead; He died this afternoon.”
A murmurous excitement stirred all souls. They wondered if they dreamed
save one old man who seemed not even to have heard.
And Moses, standing, hushed them all to ask if any had a welcome song prepared.
If not, would David take the task?
And if they cared could not the three young children sing the Benedicite,
the canticle of praise they made when God kept them from perishing in the fiery blaze?
A breath of spring surprised them, stilling Moses’ words.
No one could speak, remembering the first fresh flowers, the little singing birds.
Still others thought of fields new ploughed or apple trees all blossom-boughed.
Or some, the way a dried bed fills with water laughing down green hills.
The fisherfolk dreamed of the foam on bright blue seas.
The one old man who had not stirred remembered home.
And there He was, splendid as the morning sun and fair as only God is fair.
And they, confused with joy, knelt to adore
Seeing that He wore five crimson stars He never had before.
No canticle at all was sung. None toned a psalm, or raised a greeting song,
A silent man alone of all that throng found tongue — not any other.
Close to His heart when the embrace was done, old Joseph said,
“How is Your Mother, How is Your Mother, Son?”
-- Sister Mary Ada