A Run in March

Everyone talks about their love for March Madness.  College basketball fans clamor around televisions on Selection Sunday and feverishly scratch out their brackets convinced they have the winning combination of upsets and chalk.  When Thursday finally rolls around fans are worked into a frenzy and frantically follow games via computers, iPhones, text messaging, phone calls, two hour lunches, hooky, and sick days.  It truly is madness.  In fact loss of work productivity during the tournament costs American companies an estimated 1.7 billion dollars annually.

However, for most college basketball fans, their love of March Madness flows from their love of one team.  They grew to love the tournament because nestled in the midst of thirty two basketball games over two days was one game; one game fans cared more about than any other.  That one game you cleared your calendar for; the game you smuggled a radio into middle school for; the game that was on TV in the library at lunch; the game you got updates about in the dugout; or simply, the Arizona game.

Of course, your love of March Madness hinged on that one game.  Somewhere in the back of your mind you knew that if something went wrong on a lazy afternoon in March your professed love for March Madness would quickly dwindle to a passing interest, no matter what your bracket said.  Somehow the rest of the games lost their CBS-blue-blocked-letter-scoreboard-luster when your team was no longer involved.

However, when your team finds a way to win, steals a victory and moves on, is anything sweeter?  All of a sudden you find yourself watching, and even caring, about all the other games.  The CBS College Basketball tune plays on loop in your head; you track down obscure articles about your team; and drink up all the analysis you can find.  You're a part of the madness; your team is relevant; people ask you for insider info; the question is not, "Are you watching the game?" The question is, "Where are you watching the game?"

And isn't that how it should be?  Isn't that how Tucson remembers it?

Remember those warm Sunday afternoons in March?  Remember fidgeting about all day, trying to find something to do but always watching the clock--is it 4:17 yet?  Remember turning the TV on and standing in front of it before sitting down?  Do you remember those few minutes before your parents would anxiously walk in from whatever yard work they were doing?

How about those yards on Saturday afternoons in March--filled with barbecues, laughter, football, and lawn games--that would fall silent around tip-off.  Do you recall refusing to change the chair you sat in?  Wearing the same shirt?  Refusing to watch the game anywhere but the back room of the house?

Do you recall the streets in Tucson on game days in March: dead quiet; one or two cars driving around a ghost town--out-of-towners.  Or what about the giant "Go Cats" sign hanging off the scaffolding on the construction site at UMC?  

Do you remember being 12 years old and running outside with your dad--both screaming--when Arizona beat Kansas?  Or what about your neighbor playing "Bear Down" on his trumpet?  Honking horns?  Fireworks? Do you remember defeating God in the Elite 8?

Of course you do Tucson, because that's how March is supposed to be.  And damn, doesn't it feel great to be back...

This video was uploaded to YouTube by user "bchesin" and was not created by W.C. Homer.

Cover Your Ears 'Cause It's Getting Just a Little Too Loud

Can you hear that noise?  Can you hear it building?  It's coming.

It's the noise of expectation.  It's an inescapable, incessant, and inclusive sound swallowing all who hear it, chomping them up and spitting them out as ESPN fodder.  It's an outside-to-in, directed sound that suffocates its supposed-to-be un-captivated audience and tells them everything they aren't.

This jumbled mess of talk-show, message board, twitter, facebook, blog, print, and television clutter is nothing more than a massive deterrent to the basics of hard work and execution.

Who cares if the talking heads who's athletic careers consisted of setting screens and waving towels pick you to finish first, second, or last?  They aren't blocking out, shuffling their feet, or finding the open man.  They don't play the games.

Traditionally the noise in Tucson has been deafening and that's the way we've liked it.  Rocky times in the desert changed that but times are changing.  Again.  The drone is building.  The drone of "this team can", "this team should", "this team will" is getting louder.

It's the same drone the football team heard after they beat Iowa-the-mighty; consequently crowning themselves Kings of the West, defenders of the Pacific, America's hot team.  Interview this, prognosticate that, face-time, face-time, face-time.  The noise was loud but the Beavers didn't bother to listen or buy in.  They rolled in and out of town with the most resounding of all noises: a win.  And just like that, the noise went away.

You see, the noise, it comes and it goes; after all, it's just noise.  Contrived, speculating, reaching noise.  Cover your ears and it's gone.  Cover your ears and you're left in silence with but one thing: you.  And just you can be a difficult thing to face.  Just you has to run, jump, hustle.  Just you can't finish second because everyone said so.

So as the noise level rises, Sean Miller will run his drills, watch his film, and implement his discipline.  Coach Miller will cover his ears because he understands that the noise has never done a damn thing for a 19-year-old kid and that a 19-year-old kid has done everything for the noise.

The noise may be building around his young program but we can be certain of only one thing: Sean Miller is 17-15 as the Head Basketball Coach at the University of Arizona.  Nothing more.  Nothing less.

So with their ears covered and left alone, these 'Cats will quickly come to realize that in silence, you are what you are.  They'll find out if they can or they can't.  Will or won't.  They'll win.  Or they'll lose.

This Arizona Basketball team will be what it will be and I can't wait to watch.

Arizona/Iowa: A Big Game for Program, Town and Team

Let's get one thing straight: by the end of the year Saturday's game doesn't figure to significantly impact season goals for this Wildcat football team.  There are two goals for this team: 1) Win the Pac-10 2) Beat ASU--Saturday will not come to bear on either goal.  However, make no mistake: Saturday's showdown with Iowa is a BIG effing game.

Any time you welcome a top ten team into your house it's a big game, but this game has added importance for Arizona.  These type of games build programs, buoy recruiting, and make money.  ESPN is in the house.  The students are in town.  The old stadium will be sold out, and even apathetic Tucson football fans have pulled their heads out of the sand to take a look.  The electricity in the air is palpable, but excitement among Wildcat fans is still gently guarded by years of "almost" and "not quite enough."  A win tomorrow and fans will let their guards down, fasten their bandwagon seat belts, cross their fingers, and think Pasadena.

Can't you just imagine the scene already?

The UA Mall will be jammed full of alumni, students, and Tucsonans all decked out in red, hours before the game.  Strangers on University Ave will be high fivin' and screaming bear down.  Old college friends will fly into town to rendezvous at their old stomping grounds and revel in the on campus fervor.   The student section will be shaking the entire eastern side of the stadium with red pom poms.  Prominent former basketball players and football players will be on the field (Channing Frye, Damon Stoudamire, and Joe McLean are in town--I bet that list grows).  People are going to turn out in droves to celebrate Arizona.

So will Arizona seize the moment?

If they do, the excitement surrounding the football program as it enters Pac-10 play will be as high as it's ever been.  Tucson will become a hostile place to play for reasons besides heat this season.  TV listings for UA games will say ABC instead of TBA.  Arizona basketball recruiting target Josiah Turner and recruiting commit Nick Johnson--visiting this weekend--will see a party that most 18-year-olds can't even dream about.  But a victory will have an impact that will ripple far beyond this season and this football team.

A victory will make a statement about how far this program has come under Mike Stoops and where it is going. This game is an opportunity for Arizona to position itself in the national conversation which hasn't happened in over a decade.  This game is a chance for a program, not just a team, to make some serious noise--so let's hear it!

The stage is set, the actors are cast, the battle lines are drawn, and the kegs are cold...

...the only thing left to do is BEAR DOWN and beat the Hawkeyes!

Just remember, stay off the field until the game is actually over.

PS: Click the Damon Stoudamire link, seriously.

Toodles Tucson

The Homers were both born and raised in Tucson, Arizona. I followed that with a lovely four-year stint in San Diego and returned. While it wasn’t really my idea or plan to return, I’ve never regretted it. BH spent a shivery four years in Ithaca and a green three in Eugene. Next for BH, as you’ve read, is Portland. However you slice it, we Homers have spent the vast majority of our time on earth as Tucsonans and now I’m leaving; BH has been gone for a while. It’s been great and as the Homers leave Tucson for a yet-to-be-determined amount of time, some nostalgia has bubbled to the surface. A tribute ensues.

AB’s thoughts are in Red. BH’s thoughts are in Blue. In case you were wondering these are indeed UofA colors.

Tucson: The Mountains

I never appreciated their beauty until I left. While San Diego is absurdly beautiful, the stoic Catalinas never look the same twice. Although the sun setting over the ocean is timelessly captivating, the colors of an Tucson sunset are unparalleled. My favorite mountain view is the backside of the Catalinas, on the way to Oro Valley. Here I can see every nook and cranny of the mountains, highlighting the depth, size, colors, and magnificence of the range.
 

And Sabino Canyon, another place I didn’t learn to appreciate until I’d returned. I discovered the solitary beauty of this subtle canyon while training for a marathon. I’d run to the top of the Canyon – a grueling 3.7 uphill miles – early in the summer mornings. The shade of the eastern ridge was life saving. The monsoon run off over flowed the bridges and would soak my shoes, a mild concern compared to my burning lungs and quads.

My favorite Sabino memory is BH and my hungover hike to Hutch’s Pool. We started far too late, after far too late of a night, after far too much drinking. But we were determined to find water and swim in it. We asked the gate attendant if there was water and he said doubtful. We asked the information center and they said maybe. We took our chances and headed up. The hike was a moderate three miles and we were lucky to have cloud cover. Not knowing where we were headed, things looked grim as we saw only leaky traces of water heading towards our unknown destination. We turned a corner and there it was: a glorious, sparkling (in most parts), cool body of water. An oasis. We jumped in and swam and jumped in again. It was an incredible escape from many things in a special summer. Thanks BH.

I grew up hiking in the mountains behind our home in the foothills. I fondly recall hikes in Pima Canyon with my family on weekend mornings. Often the hike was a quest for the rarest of things in Tucson: water. Going for a hike through a craggy canyon and a forest of cactus and then finding yourself playing in a river of water is magical for a boy growing up in the desert. I didn't realize at the time, but my parents were instilling in me a passion for hiking that would survive to this day. Thanks mom and dad.

Despite my early start I didn't truly appreciate the mountains until I left for college in the east. Out east you find rolling hills and winding roads shrouded by trees. A horizon line of any expanse is a rare sight in the east, unless you find yourself perched on a high peak or sitting on the Atlantic Coast. Rolling hills and an obfuscated horizon line are far different than the endless skylines and wide open expanses of Tucson. In Tucson mountains rise out of the earth and meet the sky in every direction. When the sun sets in the evening the mountains in the west turn a deep shade of purple and cut sharply through the bright red and orange sky. Some people take the sun setting over the ocean, but sunsets in Tucson are beyond comparison.

My favorite hike is the Finger Rock Trail. The hike is difficult, so don't skimp on water, but the views are well worth it. You start at the top of Alvernon Way and shimmy your way up the right side of a small canyon. A little more than half way up you can stop at Linda Vista Saddle and look out over the entire city--from La Paloma to Davis-Monthan. Several miles further you finally summit Kimball Peak. You are now above Finger Rock but you're looking down Romero Canyon on the backside of the Catalina Mountains. You can see Picacho Peak far away in the distance and off to your right you can see Mt. Lemmon looming higher than the rest of the Catalinas. I've been on this hike with friends from home, friends from college, family and girlfriends. I know almost every turn, every rock, and every place to stop. I love it, and love the mountains it takes me through.

Tucson: Growing Up

Manzanita was a great elementary school and I made some good friends in Kindergarten that lasted all the way to today. Pretty cool how that works. I made many other friends along the way, including BH in fourth grade. I even invited him to my birthday party that year for flag football. Evidently my dad yelled at him.

We finished school at Catalina Foothills but I think it might be safe to say we finished at the Foothills Baseball Academy; or at least got diplomas from there, too. It’d be an understatement to say we played a lot of baseball in High School. But ya know what? We were good and it was fun being good. I’ll never forget losing the 2001 State Championship or the overthrow stopped by Jason Pridie’s toe that – had the ball just hopped over his cleat – would have gone into the dugout handing us the State Championship. I’ll also never forget the game winning home run (orwas it game losing for us?) Pridie hit that is still in orbit.

One perk to growing up in Tucson (and you later learn is a downside when you grow up and have to explain that you’re not a cowboy) is Rodeo Break. What is Rodeo Break you’ll ask? Well, Rodeo Break is two or three days off of school for the Rodeo, duh. We take it in place of President’s day. Basically, it’s a chance for Zonies to go skiing or go to Disneyland. I suggest addressing it with your local school board and adopting it.

Now I was once told that it would be impossible for me to have a good childhood because of the lack of grass in Tucson. Not true. Have you ever built a fort in a wash? Played sports year ‘round? Lay poolside in February? How about November for that matter? Tucson is a beautiful, homey, simple place to be raised and a fun place to grow up.

I went to preschool at Tucson Community School (TCS). Both my sisters went there and my mom later became the director of the school. Incidentally, my three-year-old class teacher, Mrs. Lazaroff, was still teaching the threes when my mom worked there two decades later. TCS is where I met my best friend Koren, and as a result our families have become close friends over the years. Our families have vacationed together, shared holidays and countless dinners together, laughter, tears, funerals and musicals. My name is still in the cement foundation of a play structure at TCS--right next to Koren's. It's a unique place that was instrumental in my childhood.

I remember Saturday mornings at Mehl Park. On any Spring morning at Mehl Park you would find little leaguers from tee-ball to Juniors competing for the right to get a soda after the game--win or lose. Sure things got competitive. Dads got thrown out from time to time, kids--myself included--were moved to tears by failure. However, that was where baseball all started for me, and where I met most of the guys I'd be playing baseball with almost every day for the next ten years of my life. Thanks Mike, Charlie, & Jay.

As iterated above by AB and reiterated now by me, high school was defined less by folks in the classrooms than it was by Jason Hisey (see left). We played baseball or prepared for baseball year round. It all began as a little freshman in the fall of 1999 walking wide eyed out to "Iron Con:" the infamous Hisey conditioning program. For several hours we would sprint, jump, jog, run, push up, sit up, stand up and throw up. Iron Con only set the tone for summers, springs, and falls engulfed by baseball. If there's one thing Tucson weather allows for it is year round outdoor sports--we took advantage. I'll never forget the morning after losing to Pueblo (whom we had never lost to before). We woke up well before 5 am and drove to the baseball field. We were there so early the lights had to be turned on. On the way into school I passed my senior classmates getting onto a bus for a senior trip to Disney Land--I was on my way to run my ass off for the next four hours. Thanks Hise.

I grew up playing in the desert: making forts out of saguaro ribs; climbing mesquite tress; taking our dog for walks in the wash; riding bikes around Via Entrada; and playing in the water after a monsoon. It was a good childhood, made possible by my family, my friends, my dog, and by Tucson.

He is Nic Wise.

Dear Coach Miller,

I am writing today to tell you the story of a program and the legacy of a player.

In the beginning there was Lute Olson. He came to the caliche hardened earth of the Tucson desert and grew from nothing one of the most prominent, successful basketball programs in the nation. For years, Tucsonans basked in the glow of Lute's silver hair and unmatched success: 11 Pac-10 Championships, 22 consecutive tournament appearances, 4 Final Fours, 21 20 win seasons, 17 All Americans, and of course 1997. Lute Olson was the face of the program and immediately the most recognizable man in Tucson. His stature, good looks, and even keel gave him an aura and mystique that was rare for a desert town with no movie stars or professional athletes. We thought he would never leave.

Of course Lute would eventually leave; not even he could withstand the hands of time. People will talk about the mess he left in his bumpy exit. National talking heads will compare him to Eddie Sutton and scold him for not being more dignified in his departure. However, in Tucson--where time stops for a University of Arizona game--fans have come to realize something else: though it was Lute who built the program, it is Arizona that endures.

Our allegiance lies with the players on the court; it lives in McKale Center, with the banners in the rafters, the retired jerseys, the barber pole striped pep band, and with Ooh-Ah man. Our allegiance has been tested in these years of turmoil, but it could not leave with Lute because it is mercilessly tied to the players that don the cardinal and blue and proudly strap Arizona across their chest. Never has the unwavering allegiance to our players been more needed than during these last several years where we watched the last of Lute's recruiting well dry up and teams struggle to uncertain conclusions to their seasons.

However, there was one player that never gave in or gave up. He endured the waning years of Lute; he lasted through a volatile year with the temporary heir apparent Kevin O'Neil; treated us to a season with Russ, Mike, Dewey and the Big Three; and for his victory lap has ushered in the era of Sean Miller. He allowed tormented Arizona fans to hold onto a thread of continuity and hope. And he proudly, without faltering, represented the University, his teammates, his fans and our town.

He is Nic Wise.

Nic Wise: the last remaining vestige of a bygone era; the kid who wanted to play for Arizona when he was 15 years old; the young man who put his faith in the Arizona program despite the storm of uncertainty raging around him; the competitor who played through injuries, and fatigue; the senior who will play his last home game Saturday in front of three of his last four college coaches; the man who took a back seat to a coach and helped guide a group of boys (who will be the future of Arizona basketball) in the right direction for the first time in four years.

He was never the player of the year--not even an All-American. He didn't win a Pac-10 Championship and never went to the final four. Yet he--perhaps more than any other--deserves to have his jersey hang with Kerr, Elliot, Bibby and Gardner. His numbers will never compare. Yet here is a man that devoted four years of his life so that a program we took for granted for decades could survive.

When fans look back on these last four years, many will remember the end of the Lute Olson era. Many more will remember the beginning of the Sean Miller era. However, it is Nic Wise --the only perceivable element of stability in the last four years--that should be remembered. Nic Wise proudly wore the Arizona jersey despite a coaching carousel; despite lagging attendance; and in lieu of other opportunities. No one would have blamed him if he left.

Instead, Nic Wise reminded us that it is the A-R-I-Z-O-N-A that endures, and he gave his entire body, mind and soul to make sure that it would.

And for that Coach Miller, please see to it that Nic Wise's jersey hangs in the rafters.

Sincerely,

B.H. Homer

Please submit your letters to Coach Miller in our comments section or by email to wchomer84@gmail.com, or simply leave a comment. You know Nic deserves it.