If I may indulge my inner hipster for just a moment, allow me to say I liked the band Journey before liking Journey became cool. I’m not old enough to say I was there from the very beginning. But long before the Chicago White Sox and the San Francisco Giants made it their anthems to World Series titles, before The Sopranos infamously ended their series with it, before the effervescently annoying kids from Glee remade it, I would rock Don’t Stop Believin’ loud and proud whenever I could.

The E is what makes it different. The E sets it apart from its older sibling. Some even say the E makes it better. But as advertisements in the St. Louis area like to ask: What does the E stand for?

In 1957, the E stood for essential. As the Illinois communities east of St. Louis – locally referred to as the “Metro East” – began to grow in the post-World War II boom, citizens and businesses demanded a viable larger-scale public university in the area. Southern Illinois University, located almost 100 miles away in Carbondale, stepped in to fill the void with extension schools in East St. Louis and Alton, Illinois. 

The E then stood for expansion, rapid expansion. Twice as many students than administration expectations enrolled at the original sites. Enrollment doubled again after just two years. The school was overwhelmed, and more room was needed fast.

 In 1960, the E took on its actual meaning when the school acquired 2,660 acres of rolling farmland on the western edge of Edwardsville, Illinois, and began to build a permanent campus. By 1971, the campus had earned enough autonomy from the mother school it was given its full and current name: Southern Illinois University Edwardsville. 

For my family, the E stood for education and enlightenment. When I turned 13, my mother decided to go back to school, and SIUE stood as the best option. She spent four years making the 90-minute round-trip commute to Edwardsville. Sometimes during summer sessions, my younger sisters and I made the trip. Once I sat with my mom during a larger lecture class, and it was my first taste of what college would be like, especially at my much larger, above-the-red-line state school across the river in Missouri. 

In the summer of 1997, my family all gathered at the Vadalabene Center to watch my mother receive her degree. It was a culmination of four years of long drives, late nights, and limited money. It was also a celebration of dreams accomplished, a rarity in our family to that point.

Tuesday night marked my first return to the Vadalabene Center since that momentous day. In the 14 years that had elapsed, SIUE decided to shed its reputation as a commuter school and become a major four-year, stay-here university. The E now stood for enterprise. The school built residence halls, expanded the Vadalabene Center, and decided to make the jump into NCAA Division I athletics. 

SIUE is now in its fourth and final year of the transition phase, meaning the Cougars remain ineligible for post-season play. Their graduation to full-fledged membership comes next season. But with the transition comes a tougher schedule as more Division I opponents must be played along with a full Ohio Valley Conference schedule this season. This night’s opponent, though, were the Ball State Cardinals from the Mid-American Conference.

Ball State jumped out to a quick lead by making four of their first five shots, forcing SIUE coach Lennox Forrester to call a timeout four minutes into the game once the margin hit 13-2. The Cougars managed to cut that lead to 15-11 within a couple minutes, but it was obvious Ball State would control the pace and tempo for the game after that. The Cougars always seemed to be a step behind defensively. It wasn’t a talent issue. SIUE has talent. It was simply a matter of anticipation and movement in response to that anticipation that left Ball State’s shooters open for threes and left the paint open for layups and dunks. The Cardinal lead grew to 14 after a buzzer-beating three by Jesse Berry. 

The second half saw much of the same, as the Ball State lead slowly grew from hovering around ten, to hovering around 20, then flirting with 30 as the game wound down, finally settling at 76-55 at the final horn. 

Some might say the E would currently stand for exasperation, because the losses can and will pile up. I would contend the E must stand for endurance.  Four years can seem like a long time, especially closer to the end. But, then comes a celebration as the dream is finally achieved. For SIUE, that day, the day when the E stands for elation, is hopefully closer than anyone ever realized. 

I spent the better part of the womens’ game looking around the brand new arena. It was still sparkling clean and well lit with wide concourses. All the concession stands displayed their wares on big screen TV’s used as computer displays. It even had that new-building smell. While it is certainly nice, it’s almost too new, to the point where it seemed sterile. Character is something a building must earn over time, and with this being just the fourth official game ever played there, that time is a long way off.

After the womens’ game ended with a 55-50 Ball State win, I went down to the lobby to make the important ticket exchange. The womens’ ticket was general admission, and I took advantage of that by trying out several different seats in the lower bowl. But as I expected, the mens’ ticket I got in return sent me climbing into the upper corner of the arena, three rows from the top to be exact. A few more of these womens’ basketball cast-offs joined me in the highest reaches and we settled in for the tip of the mens’ game. 

This game marked the first of seven straight road games Alabama State will play between now and December 22, a common plight among teams on the lower end of the Other 24. But the Hornets came out with a smothering defense, and Evansville responded by having several one-and-done possessions to start the game. With ASU’s Ivory White adding a couple of threes on their end, the Hornets found themselves up 14-7 at the under-12 timeout. 

But the Aces and coach Marty Simmons must have made the necessary adjustments in that timeout, and St. Louisan Kenny Harris took over from there. He scored nine points in the last 12 minutes of the half, including an #OMGDUNX-AND-1, then a layup as the first half clock expired, capping a 25-7 Aces run and giving the home team the 32-21 halftime lead.

Most of the other cast-offs around me had left by now. Honestly, I was thinking about it myself. I really didn’t pay much attention to this game, possibly because of my distance from the court, maybe because I was road-weary, but I think it was just simple boredom. I know I should never be bored at a game. I think the sterility of the place got to me. It’s not a rip on Evansville, although I wonder why there was no pep band and a non-existent student section. The timeout promos were the same I’ve seen everywhere, and the canned music was the same I’ve heard everywhere. I guess I’m disappointed because I was expecting a unique Evansville experience and got what almost seemed like a neutral-site game.

The second half continued with the Aces keeping a double-digit lead for most of it. Alabama State finally picked up with a full-court press upon cutting the lead to nine. The press proved effective for a while, forcing a couple of Aces that lead to Hornets points. Evansville ahd a tough enough time getting the ball across mid-court in time to avoid a 10-second count, with Simmons himself forced to call a timeout with just one second to spare. 

But the Hornets’ press took the wind out of their collective sails, and in the last five minutes of the game signs of fatigue set in. An airball three shot by White with 2:20 left showed Alabama State just didn’t have the legs to finish the game, and the Aces sealed up a 62-55 win.

Thanks to the cold snap that had blown through the area and blasting sounds of Florence and the Machine on my radio, I was able to stave off the boredom and fatigue long enough to make the drive back home to the land of BreadCo. Two battles fought this time out, and two battles won. We might make it through this season after all. 

The Governors from Austin Peay State University didn’t have as long a drive as I did, as their campus in Clarksville sits only 54 miles from Lipscomb. But without a win in their first seven games, the voice had to be screaming in their own minds, “When will you win? Are you guys this bad? When you lose this, 0-9 is a guarantee because you go to Memphis next.”

But like life itself, college basketball doesn’t wait for people to sort out their issues, and this game tipped off as scheduled before a small but steadily growing crowd, due in part to two above the red line schools playing just a few miles north of the Lipscomb campus.

One part of Resistance that really isn’t addressed often is how it manifests itself in the actions of those trying to overcome its influence. I can only wonder if the voices screamed any louder at the Governors as their first six possessions went as such: steal, steal, missed layup, charge, made layup by Jerome Clyburn, charge. In the first four minutes, APSU had four turnovers and two points. Lipscomb had a 7-2 lead.

Although I was four rows from the court, I couldn’t hear what Governors’ head coach Dave Loos said to his players during the first media time-out. As a 21-year veteran at Austin Peay, I’m sure he’s seen many teams get off to bad starts, both in a season and in a game. His voice in the time-out must have drowned out the voices in the players’ minds for a while. 45 seconds later, Peay tied the game at 9 each after a rebound basket by TyShwan Edmondson, then a steal on the ensuing inbound and layup by Clyburn. 

Resistance works in equal directions sometimes, made evident in the three-minute, 14 possession scoreless streak by both teams finally broken by Jacob Arnett’s layup to give the Bisons a 27-20 lead with 6:03 left in the first half. Lipscomb pushed the lead out to ten, 36-26, when the halftime buzzer sounded, helped along by 14 APSU turnovers in the half. 

The key to overcoming resistance is ignoring the voice and hard work. The Governors came out of the locker room ready to do both and make this game close again. Melvin Baker hit an jumpshot. Edmondson and Josh Terry each had drives for layups and drew the foul to convert three-point plays. Two more J’s from Baker, and what was a ten-point lead was cut to four. 

Lipscomb went cold for just long enough to let Austin Peay cut into the lead, and after two Clyburn free throws, Peay actually took a 44-43 lead. 

Of course there are times when resistance means nothing in whether one succeeds. Sometimes others are just better. 

Jordan Burgason nailed back-to-back superhoops from almost identical spots to push the Lipscomb lead back to 5. While they didn’t just go away, as they had too much pride for that, resistance overcame Austin Peay. Lipscomb won 67-59, and Peay fell to 0-8 on the season with Memphis looming.

After the game, I wandered into a little bar-n-grill across from my hotel, and as expected by being in the Music City, I found some young, as-yet-unheard-of musicians jamming on acoustic guitars. The crowd, a dozen at most, consisted mostly of friends the musicians had begged to come out on a cold November evening. But for two hours, I sat with them and listened to some of the best original music I’ve ever heard. If they all put out albums like they say they are, I will have plenty to listen to on future trips. 

Here were people fighting their own inner voice, trying to overcome their own Resistance in a city where dreams die by the thousands, but success may wait just around the corner. 
Resistance is an disgusting, ugly thing. But fighting it, and ultimately beating it, creates wonderful, beautiful things.

(Oh, and the three fantastic musicians in the photos above are (L to R): Clay Evans, Morgan Tobias, and Stephen Salyers. All three had amazing original songs and top-notch performances. Another one who isn't pictured above but equally wowed me with her music is Katie Basden. I think these four are all basically stars in the making, but then again who isn't in Nashville. Still, I would love to say someday I saw them way back when...)

The phrase “Will it play in Peoria?” traces its roots to the days of Vaudeville. Performers believed the inhabitants of this city on the banks of the Illinois River to be the ultimate “focus group”: far enough from the East Coast that most of the latest trends hadn’t reached them yet but close enough to Chicago so some of them had, small enough to ensure the residents had some sort of common rural sensibilities but big enough that they weren’t total bumpkinish rubes. Advertisers, entertainers, and politicians still see the people of Peoria, nestled in the heart of the state in the heart of the country, to be the quintessential Americans. If a message could be accepted here, if it “played” here, it would play anywhere. 

When it gets down to it, basketball is basketball.
-Larry Bird


I know what you’re asking yourself, and the answer is yes. There is a shrine to Larry Bird at Indiana State’s Hulman Center. It’s ok. I asked that question when I first came here, too. 

The shrine isn’t much, and it’s not like Larry’s name is in 12-foot high letters above it. It’s just enough to remind anyone who may not be aware of it that Bird did in fact attend Indiana State and carried the Sycamores to the highest point they have ever, or possibly will ever attain. The shrine is simple, but effective, just like Larry.

There’s a series of photos of Bird in various poses: shooting, celebrating a basket, sitting on the floor in front of the scorer’s table. Then there’s the trophy case. 

The silver trophy in the back is the 1979 NCAA runner-up trophy, earned when Bird’s Indiana State Sycamores lost the national championship game 75-64 to a Michigan State squad led by a budding superstar named Earvin. 

This stuff you all probably know. 

The 1978-79 college basketball season has been recapped by several books, most recently When March Went Mad by Seth Davis. I’m surprised the movie hasn’t been made yet, but due to lack of zombies or vampires it probably won’t be made anytime soon.

But a fact that was covered just briefly in Davis’ book, as well as most other accounts of Bird’s life, is that none of this should have happened. Larry Bird didn’t go to Indiana State at first. Bird started his college career at Indiana. 

Imagine it: No magical Sycamore run, no shrine, no book. He’d have been just another in a long line of good Hoosiers, not the greatest Sycamore to ever put on the Blue and White. 

But Bird and Indiana were not long for each other. The immense IU campus overwhelmed the young, shy Bird. Then there was the run-in with Bobby Knight, and not the kind most think when they see the phrase “run-in with Bobby Knight.” For once, it was a lack of words coming from the General doing the damage.

“Larry looked up and saw Knight walking toward them. He stiffened and readied himself to speak to his head coach for the first time since arriving on campus. Knight walked toward Bird; Bird said hello — and Knight blew by without saying a word.”
-From When March Went Mad, by Seth Davis

Bird spent 24 days in Bloomington before moving back to French Lick.

One coach’s decision at a seemingly innocuous moment changed the course of history for two teams.

And a decision made by Green Bay’s head coach Brian Wardle may not change the course of his program, but the regret felt by the second-year Phoenix coach might be just as great right now.

Under the banners recognizing Bird and his accomplishments, the Phoenix and Sycamores played a return game from the 2010 BracketBusters game won by Green Bay 60-59.
 
The Phoenix held a one-point lead late in this contest as well, coming back from an eight-point Sycamores lead early in the second half to force one of the game’s two lead changes on a Steve Baker superhoop with 5:54 left. 

The second lead change was yet to come.
 
Trailing 56-54 with 20 seconds left, Sycamores sophomore guard and Terre Haute native Jake Odum drove the ball to the right wing, turned and left the ball for Jordan Printy. 

Phoenix freshman Keifer Sykes came up to guard Printy, and despite being six inches away from the Sycamore guard, Sykes made the critical error of not putting his hands up to defend the shot right away.
 
That was all the space Printy needed. Printy drilled the three-pointer with 15.1 seconds left to give the Trees the 57-56 lead.
 
But it wasn’t the last error for the men from Titletown.

Green Bay promptly drove the ball down the court, and in the confusion that seemed to be an unfortunately constant part of Indiana State’s game, Green Bay’s center Alec Brown took the ball at the free throw line. Brown drove down the left side of the lane and casually lofted up a left handed lay-up that kissed off the glass and in for the go-ahead basket with 6.7 seconds left.

Then there was the whistle. No one noticed it until after the ball had gone through.
 
The referee stood in front of the Green Bay bench, pointing directly at Wardle and waving his hands to signify one of every coaches’ nightmares had indeed just befallen him. 
 
Wardle had called time-out to set up a final play before Brown’s drive began. 

No basket. 
 
Indiana State still led 57-56.

After that timeout, and another called by Green Bay to prevent a five-second count, the ball went again to Brown. His jump shot from just beyond the left block clanked off the rim and into the hands of Indiana State’s Carl Richard. 

A missed front-end free throw and a short desperation heave, and it was over. This time, the Sycamores come out with the one-point win.

While the fans walked out of the Hulman Center, past the simple shrine to Larry Legend, most of them didn’t think we had necessarily seen the course of history be changed by one coach’s choice. It did mean a win for the now 4-0 Sycamores in their hopes of making back-to-back NCAA tournaments, and those in Terre Haute will gladly take it.

“The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned... I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself.”
-Maya Angelou

The last rays of daylight coming through the gray sky guided our way back over the Mississippi River and into Illinois. After a quick jaunt to Memphis for an early tip-off, my friend Drew and I were back on our turf headed for a familiar haunt: SIU Arena in Carbondale. 

“He who chooses the beginning of the road chooses the place it leads to. It is the means that determines the end.”
-Harry Emerson Fosdick

We were up before the sun and on the road by the time the first light filtered through the low, gray sky. We drifted south through the southernmost part of Illinois and then paralleled the Mississippi River. For the beginning of this journey that will be the 2011-12 season, I figured someone else should enjoy the travel and the games with me whenever possible, so I invited my friend Drew. He was able to get a day off from enlightening young minds on the ways of physical education, and we were on our way to Memphis.

We sat on the cold stone floor – as far away from the toilets as possible because we weren’t stupid – and listened as the announcers talked of teams like North Carolina, Michigan, and our “home team” Illinois. We all huddled close around the radio, keeping the volume down so the sound would not leak into the hallway and give us away. During a time-out, when the radio would cut away to a commercial break and temporarily free us from the hypnosis the game had, I would carefully sneak out into the hallway, hall pass in hand, and run next door into Coach Buerkett’s room. The room was darkened and quiet as the other, less fortunate students in what was normally my social studies class watched some dreary documentary on World War II or JFK or whatever. I don’t know because I wasn’t watching it. I would slowly walk up to Coach’s desk, relay the latest scores to him in a whisper, wait for his approving nod or surprised glance then return to our post on the stone floor in the bathroom just as the time-out ended.


It didn’t stop at the school’s doors. After the last bell, I would rush home as fast as my growing frame would allow and promptly place myself in front of the TV, tuned to CBS, and wait with bated breath... for The Chimes. Before people demanded constant information in front of their faces at all times and the TV networks complied to those demands, before the internet made scores instantly accessible, we were forced to wait until the powers at CBS decided the time was right to let people know about the other tournament games that were happening or had already finished. They announced this time with the playing of The Chimes, a synthesized xylophonic version of the classic NCAA on CBS theme. The Chimes meant your wait for much-needed information was over, and it was met with hands grasping for pen and paper and eyes locking onto the screen.


George 84, ILL 77.
Mary 74, SLU 66.
Minn 74, SIU 60.


This is when I learned how to write without looking at what I was writing. I can still do it today if the need arises. 

I did this for every game, noting the scores in a shorthand only I understood, and in a house with just my mom and two sisters, one only I cared about. I would then transfer the results into my hand-drawn brackets, one page laid out for each region all leading to the fifth page. Most call it the Final Four. 


The need for my new-found fix carried on through high school. In March of my senior year, I watched in the back of the Hillsboro High School library as a young man named Bryce drained a prayer of a shot to beat Mississippi. It was then I learned about Valparaiso and all the other schools, the ones who weren’t North Carolina, my old “home team” Illinois, or my future team, Missouri. I learned they were called mid-majors, big enough to play for it all but not big enough to earn much respect in the greater college basketball world unless they won several games in March and became the latest to be “Cinderella.”

College brought a deepening the love of the game by actually being a part of it as either a fan or a journalist-in-training, being cautious of tip-toeing the line between the two. And while the majority of my time was spent following the Big 12, new friendships with those from far-flung hometowns expanded my awareness of the rest of the teams that make up Division I. Missouri Valley, Ohio Valley, America East — we followed these with almost as much fervor as our own school. This continued after graduation and the inevitable scattering thanks to e-mails which started in earnest in November and grew in frequency and detail as the season sprinted toward March. 


And March... that’s a tradition I could write a book about, and someday I just might. Watching 48 games in 4 days with my favorite people and best friends in the world will be my version of paradise if I am given the luxury to choose.
---
Lately I’ve become a bit of a homebody. The comforts of my apartment, small though it may be, have been much too alluring. Most of my time off has been spent inside, in front of a glowing screen of some type. At first I didn’t really notice it, in fact I kind of liked it as I’m an introvert at heart. But I’ve always been one to believe man by himself is not man at his best. I believe it, but don’t live it.

But with the renewal of my passion, the start of the college basketball season, I’ve decided to also renew my desire to seek out others who share that passion and to travel about the Midwest to do so. 

Along with this renewal came an opportunity to contribute to a greater project. After seven seasons criss-crossing the nation to cover the vastly-uncovered smaller schools for a website called The Mid-Majority, it’s founder and sole contributor, Kyle Whelliston, decided to end his journey and challenged his readers to begin their own. 


I have accepted the challenge.

Over the next 17 weeks, I will travel to 25 college basketball games in six states. Seeing all 25 in person will be dependent on time, money and the consistent inconsistency of the Midwestern winter.

I will write about the games I will see. You can read the accounts from all of us on the Mid-Majority site. Our goal is to collectively cover 800 games over the course of the next five months. I will also repost my own recaps here on this blog. 


Almost nothing good starts in a middle school boys’ room. But I hope to prove the exception: a beautiful life-altering obsession leading to what is hopefully a life-altering journey.