The reaction of the College of Charleston fans to last night’s loss to Davidson was priceless…well, maybe not priceless, but worth little more than the $2 or $3 that they charge for a hot dog down at that new arena in Charleston. The C of C mob launched hot dogs at the court just before the game ended, thereby suspending play briefly, whilst ruining a perfectly good frank. So much for southern hospitality.
Meanwhile BR and I were in our respective bars – BR in Nashville, and me here in Arlington, VA – trying to stomach a frustratingly close game, all the while texting one another furiously from possession to possession. As usual, BR got peeved at me when I nostalgically hearkened back to the steady hand of Jason Richards. “I don’t think about that,” he texted with obvious disdain. I know I can be a bit unstable during games, often riding an emotional roller coaster with each swing in momentum. One minute, you’ll see me leaping in the air with Curry admiration, the next, i’ll be slumped in my chair cursing negatively at an ill-advised Barr jumper or a ticky-tack Rossiter foul. Whenever my personality clashes with BR (as it so often does), it’s up to one of us to stoically remind the other: “Solidarity.”
Solidarity is easy to discount during a Socon toilet flushing, but it was a lifeline during and after that dismal loss to Purdue last week. With the game far out of reach, most CBS affiliates switched to UConn v. Gonzaga. The station at my location kept the Davidson game on, and in masochistic fashion, I watched till the final second had expired off the clock, believing in a Curry miracle until the end. BR’s feed was one of the many that switched, and I dutifully recounted the play-by-play for him and his family over the phone. That’s solidarity.
But having gone off-track by paying the obligatory lip-service to a loss that we all deserved (see, e.g., my most recent “Superstar” post), I return to the task at hand: castigating those hapless spectators who paid double disrespect to their hot dogs — first, by somehow not eating the things by the time the game was nearly over, and second, by flipping the uneaten beef and bun onto the hardwood. Seriously, did those fans really think Davidson would NOT win their 38th straight Socon contest? Yeah, we’ve been struggling recently…but…that’s 38 consecutive wins. 38. I don’t care if your frank is microwaved or even straight out of the refrigerator; it deserves more than a kamikaze flight path from row 35.
Admittedly, I’m a little bit concerned about the 79-75 margin of victory. But not as concerned as I am with BR’s habit of putting ketchup on his hot dog. As if the sodium dosage of a dog isn’t bad enough, spraying some liquid red salt on top generates more hypertension than watching Curry get hit with four offensive fouls before burying Duke with a trio of 35-foot daggers down the stretch. I prefer my dogs dressed “Chicago Style.” In fact, on my way out of Detroit next spring, I may need to make a stop in the Windy City to celebrate.