On exorcising demons and finding optimism
Narratives in the sports world can mirror what we see in ourselves: fighting internal battles and overcoming great things, whether its attaining knowledge and experience over something that’s struck frustration in the past and to put those abstract fears to rest, growing and forgetting the trials that were endured. It can be something as simple as rising everyday and doing just enough to fall into bed, peacefully, rinsing, repeating. It can be the act of feeling present without the weight of yesterday or tomorrow. It can be a litany of things both physical and metaphysical, unique to each and every one of us.
Nine years ago, a Jesuit university from Omaha, Nebraska, featured one of the greatest collegiate basketball players of all-time, surrounded by sharp shooters, underdogs, and role-players that happened to hitch their wagon to a blinding star. Within the madness of March’s bracket, this little University out of the Great Plains went about disposing of the Ragin Cajun’s of Lafayette, lining themselves up against a Baptist college from Waco, Texas. What transpired was harrowing, as the Jesuits proceeded to get exposed in every facet of the game, and soon that star dimmed, the illusions of grandeur were slammed into the cobwebs of college basketball’s past, and that little Jesuit University yawned into the cosmos.
On a brisk mid-March day in Denver, Colorado, Creighton University represented an opportunity to its fanbase to forget that lightly-toasted trauma of nine years ago, nearly to the day. When the bracket was revealed, there was that green and gold logo representing the Baptists of Waco that so many had seared into the dark place of their minds; in the pecking order to achieve success was the University that kept them from the promised land all those years ago. Like the past, the Bluejays discarded their first round opponent and had a date with the Bears of Baylor.
Just over a week prior to the Baylor game, Creighton had another shot at redeeming the teams that came before it, to put to rest another narrative that permeated throughout the program’s relatively short history in the Big East Conference.
Villanova. At Madison Square Garden.
Twice the Bluejays faced the mighty Wildcats in championship games. Twice the Bluejays fell. Between the 16-17 team who willed their way to that matchup, despite all that transpired before it, and the team of 2021-22 that was brimming with young talent and similar adversity, the Jays never seemed to be at full-force when it came to The Garden and Jay Wright.
This year, there was no GQ Jay. There was no Josh Hart, Jalen Brunson or Collin Gillespie. There was no devastating injury or plodding offensive gameplan. Creighton jammed the gas pedal from the beginning and bludgeoned the Wildcats like their White & Blue ancestors wished they could. A complete dressing-down. All five starters played their part and scored in double digits. To say it was exhilarating would be an understatement.
It was only the second day of the tournament, however. There wasn’t a crown awarded; they had two games left to achieve that.
The next day, Creighton [REDACTED].
Retribution is a double-edged concept. One must suffer first before achieving it and that form of suffering can come in many different ways, but retribution simply is. For all of Greg McDermott’s warts, he’s always seemed to heal, primarily in the form of leadership. He’s made his fair share of mistakes, but it’s hard not to see how he’s made up for them. Forgiveness is granted in due time when mistakes are highlighted as a one-off, not to be repeated.. Never was he steadfast in his wrongness - quite the opposite. But those moments are still part of who he is - flawed. Imperfect. Like everyone.
That’s what makes collegiate athletics the dynamic it is: you have to be okay with mistakes. You have to be understanding that growth will occur. Nothing in college athletics is rigid. It flows like an unforgiving river stream, carrying whoever jumps into it along, but the scenery and intensity can change at a moment’s notice. No longer are players held to a 4-year standard. They finally have the freedom to move if they please.
When this iteration of Creighton basketball fades like the supernovas of teams past, it will be increasingly easy to look back at it with rose-tinted glasses. They were historic in their endeavors, they were flawed with their inconsistencies, yet they gave fans what fans always dream of: wins and banners.
When Creighton started running Baylor off the three-point line, my heart hummed. When they were giving up easy mid-range buckets at the elbow and immediately answering them, my lungs twitched. Perfection at the free-throw line made my knees bounce. The stops started piling up. Francisco Farabello splashed a three, Ryan Nembhard responded with one of his own seconds later, and the lead ballooned to 18 points. The Baylor fans behind me fell silent. As the lone fan in baby blue in a section up in the miles-high nosebleeds, I watched the name on the front of those blue jerseys exorcise a demon in a scenario I only dreamed of. The same name that I yelled about as a teenager, the same name that I wrote about in my 20’s, the same name that slayed that damn Bear now in my 30’s, it was a fairytale coming full-circle right before my eyes.
After dispensing Princeton back to their ivory towers, Creighton slotted themselves against a team that wanted vengeance of their own. San Diego State has been an increasingly fun non-conference opponent for the Jays, a back-and-forth affair that’s burgeoning on something with shades of rivalry. Four games, even split, now with a chance to go to a Final Four - the first for both programs? Delicious. The fact that Creighton limped into last year’s NCAA tournament and beat the Aztecs in overtime - sans Nembhard and eventually Ryan Kalkbrenner, and now had everyone full-strength? Fuel to a fire.
The Jays seemed like they were in control until San Diego State tightened up their defense. The physicality ratcheted up. It was a bloody fight until the very end, where, well, you know what happened. Heartbreaking? Sure. Respect for that program? Absolutely.
When the iteration of Creighton’s men’s basketball program departed after their Sweet 16 run as the 2020-21 season concluded, there was a lot of anxiety on how things were going to look. How the team was going to rebuild. I even wrote about it on this website! The expectations were surpassed and the gift of promise was laid upon our laps. This machine that McDermott has fine-tuned has the bandwagon churning, all cylinders firing, no matter what the attrition looks like.
Would you like to see Trey Alexander, Arthur Kaluma, Ryan Nembhard, and Ryan Kalkbrenner return, with additional supplemental pieces, and have ‘em run it back? Personally, yes. You’d be an idiot not to lust for that. There’s comfort in that, like a warm blanket on a chilly spring day.
There’s also comfort, especially with this coaching staff, in the unknown. There’s historical evidence that a rebuild doesn’t have to take two seasons, it’s something that can be realized with the right pieces and the right leadership.
I was too critical of the team earlier this season when shit was starting to hit the fan. Looking back now, it’s what made the payoff of their run all the more satisfying. To succeed even with their struggle is a testament to the human spirit, but with any success there’s always a guiding light. To find that light in someone or within yourself when the chips are down, is when success becomes shared. With shared success comes fantastic stories. Fantastic stories that you can share over drinks, during halftimes, on long drives, and simply in passing.
That’s what sports can give us. That’s what success can show you.
