In the middle of The Shawshank Redemption, Brooks, the oldest inmate finally gets out on parole after spending his entire life in prison. When he’s on the outside, he says how much he misses Shawshank, because the world has changed so much and he had become so institutionalized that he can’t live without it.
Well, right now I feel like Brooks.
For the past four years (although it feels like an eternity) I’ve attended almost every Maryland home basketball game. Now I’ve graduated and I don’t have that luxury anymore. I’m on the outside looking in, just like Brooks. I have to go to the bars like everyone else to see the games. I can’t see any of the exhibition games unless I get a satellite dish. The world went and got itself in a big damn hurry. I’m thinking of re-enrolling just to go back, but I don’t think they’d take me.
It’s been almost eight months on the outside and I’ve come to one conclusion: I miss that place.
I miss the anticipation of a big game on campus, and the feeling that I was going to be a part of it. I don’t miss waiting in the cold for hours on end waiting for the doors to open, but I’ll say I do. I miss the expression on the security guard’s face when they were scanning tickets (it’s a cross between trying desperately to stay warm and a puzzling fascination of why there are so many people here this long before the game starts). I miss running to our seats as if it was a game of musical chairs and we didn’t want to be the last ones standing.
I miss rereading the same Diamondback five times because I don’t have anything else to do for two hours. I miss laughing to myself about the people who brought homework to do before the game, and then wondering why I never thought of that. I miss the student landmarks at the games, the guys who always sat in the same seats for every game (like Dr. Seuss hat guy, or big oversized Maryland flag guy).
I miss the pre-pre-game shoot around. I miss the individual applauses players would receive as they came out on to the court. I miss watching the rotation on Mike Jones’ jump shots. I miss knowing that everything I said could be heard by anyone else because the place was so empty. I missed the looks on the visitors face when a fan would yell something that crossed the line, and the giggle that followed from the rest of the students.
I miss watching the dunk contest they have 40 minutes prior to tip off (why they don’t televise this, I’ll never know). I miss the anxiety of thinking that James Gist is going to get his elbow stuck in the rim after he does one of his many Vince Carter imitations. I miss Mike Grinnon’s layups.
I miss Gary’s fist pump. I miss enacting the fist pump. I miss the student’s reaction to the fist pump. I miss it to the point where now, whenever I see a business man wearing a red tie walk into a building, I have expect him to look at the receptionist and raise his arm in the air.
I miss the buzz right before tip off, especially before the Duke game. I miss the electricity seemingly running through the seats that prevented anyone from sitting down. I miss asking people for newspaper to shake while the opposition is being introduced. I miss being sneaky and throwing the newspaper when the lights go out even though you’re not supposed to.
I miss Johnny Holiday, Testudo, and “T”.
I miss pounding on the plastic seating in the student section during opponents free throws. I miss the ensuing cheer whenever they miss a free throw, as if the students somehow took control of the player and made him miss it. I miss getting underneath a players skin, and when a player gets underneath mine.
I miss the silence in the air when a Maryland player launches a three… and the thankful exhale that comes if it goes in. I miss the warning cries from the student section whenever a post player thinks about shooting a three and the shriek that follows if he actually takes it. I miss the anxiety attacks that come with watching a shaky Maryland player go to the line.
I miss watching the faces of the opposing teams freshmen, the kids who have never been to College Park before. I miss watching them in the huddles of timeouts, their eyes never focused on what the coach is drawing up, but always darting around the arena as if they were nervously expecting a hit to be put on them by the mob.
I miss the officials… well, sorta. I miss letting them know that they don’t do their job very well, and that Stevie Wonder could make those calls. I miss telling them what the rules are, and asking them why they don’t call the fouls both ways. I miss the pity cheer that the students give the refs after they finally make a call that goes Maryland’s way following 18 calls that haven’t.
I miss watching a player foul out of a game and then have to crawl back to the bench all while the entire student section points at him and reminds him what just happened – as if he somehow forgot.
I miss the feeling after a Maryland win that because you dedicated four hours or more to a game, and that you had a hand in the win. I miss the sigh of relief when we beat a team we’re supposed to, and the joyous outburst when we beat someone we shouldn’t.
I miss Juan Dixon, Steve Blake and Bryon Mouton. I miss Drew Nicholas, Ryan Randle and Jamar Smith. I especially miss John Gilchrist. Heck, I even miss Nik Caner-Medley. Sometimes.
I guess I'm too old for that sort of nonsense anymore. But I still find myself wondering if College Park misses me as much as I miss it. But I doubt they'll kick up any fuss. Not for an old crook like me.
Chris DiIonno never worked in a library at Maryland. He can be reached at .
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