This is so exciting, I can’t get over it. And, I don’t want to get over it, because this is as good as it gets. And, it’s good for me!
On Senior Night, I sat with the beautiful and eminent Alex G. Campbell, Jr. who had, in addition to me as his guest, a lovely young teenage gal. As the lights in Rupp dimmed, the video package of stirring moments played, the pump it up music blared, and the announcer said Josh’s name, I leaned over to her and said, “It doesn’t get any better than this,” and I meant it.
It was my way of reaching out to a bright kid full of promise and encouraging her youth not to be wasted on her youth, to mangle the truism. I’ve been around the world and done things most people would find impossibly exciting, dynamic and even unattainable, but very few times in my privilege-white-first world-movie star life have I been more thrilled with my lot in life than at Kentucky basketball games.
I cherish my cultural life. What I felt when I saw “Winged Victory” the first time I walked into the Louvre was a literal rushing wind. My own eyes have watered as I looked reverently at the delicate eyes conveying ineffable emotion in a Vermeer; while shooting “Ruby in Paradise” I dreamt Beethoven’s violin concerto in its entirety. I have been to cathedrals and temples around the world, and driven through the streets of Dublin with Bono playing me studio cuts of unreleased music (another type of church, make no mistake about it). So, confuse my intense emotion around UK basketball with lack of depth in other areas at your peril. But all these things, and many others, such as reading a profound book that makes my soul stretch, are no more special than watching a team in our iconic jersey pass the basketball well.
Passing to me is the most spiritual element of the game. It’s like a precious secret shared amongst kindred spirits in spite of resistance, even hostility and it says, “here you go, here is my treasure, it’s you and me against all of them, and we know we can do it.” Erik (Daniels) and Chuck’s interior passing was of such a superb quality, and it reflected the integrity of their relationship as fine athletes and devoted, caring friends having a profound shared experience (yes, that is what college is). The way Pat and Rajon pass in traffic is a gift, a kiss, a belief in what it is possible to accomplish in the face of difficult, changing odds (aka man-to-man defense, traps, etc.), and ultimately, an affirmation that we are organic beings who feel immense pleasure in being creative and playing: on the run, behind the back, between the legs, without looking, leaning, slashing, curling. Creating. Playing. Being alive.
We’ll need to be plenty alive against Utah’s fabled Bogut, but I am confident we’ll do to him what we did to super successful, super scary big men Tim Duncan and Marcus Camby in ’96 on our way to winning it all: neutralize, if not shut him down. We had a fine game against UC, turning their notorious defense into a sieve, and I like our chances from here on out if we play with the spirit, urgency, and desire.
Using our God given talents to feel our life’s experiences more deeply is divine, which means, inexorably, that Kentucky basketball is a religious experience — just like we’ve been telling every one for years. Which is why I not only don’t want to get over the thrill of our advance to the Sweet 16, I don’t need to. It’s good for me, this sense of safety and belonging in my tribe, the heady increase in the joy of being alive, the exultation and spiritual tinge of those exquisite passes. Roll over, Beethoven, the Wildcats are coming to town!