It is on nights like this I wish I had picked a different college.
Not because I did not thoroughly enjoy cheering on my Kansas Jayhawks in my dorm room in Nashville, alone save for one friend who actually picked Memphis to win in her bracket. And not because seeing the throngs of people on Mass makes me wish I was at a school that supported its athletic teams (although I do admire the efforts, however small, of Vandy Fanatics). I would still pick Vanderbilt over KU, lower GPA and all.
No, it is a little thing called class that causes me problems. You see, I don't think my sociology professor will sympathize with the excuse that my reading is only half completed because I felt the need - and this is a need - to celebrate the victory of a school 600 miles away. (It doesn't help that he's a Duke fan.) I'm doubtful one of my English professors, who hails from Memphis, will sympathize either.
But like many of my high school comrades, I rejoice in the chance to celebrate the glory of an incredible athletic accomplishment in this time of end-of-the-semester sorrow. It is not every day a procrastination excuse like this one comes about - usually this time of year (also known as spring) I mutter vague explanations like "sunshine ... Frisbee ... running." Tonight, I propose the handful or so of us Jayhawks at Vanderbilt take pride in the only thing our sad rectangular state is known for here: its basketball team. For one night I will toss aside Shakespeare critics for sports analysts and read articles long after ESPN has cut to its early morning infomercials. I will indulge in the glory of Mario Chalmers and his 3-pointer, of Danny and the Miracles, of winning a national championship.
I mean, even Roy Williams was a Kansas fan tonight. If that's not proof that anyone and everyone is sharing in the victory, I don't know what is.
Rock chalk.
