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Editor's Note: Cameron Hurst is a December 2019 graduate of St. Bonaventure University and the recipient of the 2020 Mark Hellinger Award. He previously served as a reporter for The Post-Journal.
I guess I'm just not used to it.
Despite all of the success the St. Bonaventure men's basketball program has had over the last decade or so, I can't say I've ever prepared myself to accept a scenario in which it is "comfortably" among those slated to appear -- a victory in Sunday afternoon's Atlantic 10 championship or not -- in the NCAA Tournament.
Consider:
My deposit to enroll at SBU probably hadn't even been cashed when the selection committee's bracket leaked on Selection Sunday 2016 with the news that the school I had chosen to attend college would be among the "First Four Out." (Added angst came when the university that houses that "other communications school" made it in when they shouldn't have. … And rode that wave all the way to the Final Four.)
I was just getting into the heart of my coursework when the 2017-18 Bonnies, led by Jaylen Adams, Matt Mobley and Courtney Stockard, and victors in contests against Syracuse, Maryland, No. 16 Rhode Island and Davidson in three overtimes en route to a program record in wins, was relegated to a play-in game as an 11-seed.
And, of course, my mouth and heart dropped on St. Patrick's Day 2019 when Nelson Kaputo's 3-point attempt doinked off the back of the rim at the Barclays Center in that year's A-10 final against Saint Louis -- a miracle run where even that Sunday appearance couldn't get the Bonnies into the NIT, let alone the NCAAs.
So, you'll forgive my failure to exhale until after the clock struck 0.0 during its 74-65 victory over Virginia Commonwealth University Sunday afternoon.
But while I would place myself among the last people to take for granted a comfortable ride to Indianapolis, this week-long layoff between Bona's impressive victory over Saint Louis (*insert Travis Ford meme here*) and its championship final Sunday gave me some time to think about this juncture in the program's history.
It wasn't too long ago that I was talking to another Bona alum born and raised in my hometown who graduated in the wake of the program's 1970 Final Four run and amid a 1977 NIT championship. The gentleman and I met via email through a column I wrote a few years back and we found ourselves kibitzing over whether or not this year's edition could fend off a pesky Davidson team two games in a row.
He closed his initial correspondence with words that will surely resonate ahead of the Bonnies matchup against whoever they see in the first round next weekend.
"As a Bonnie, hope springs eternal."
Indeed.
And so, we dance.
With these guys. Who have made this terrible time so enjoyable through their play.
And so, we dance.
Despite a quiet year with no fans rocking the Reilly Center into the oblivion.
And so, we dance.
In honor of our friend, Dennis DePerro, who would've loved every moment of this.
And so, we dance.
In honor of the man who leaped into the arms of a school desperately searching for some heart when it nearly had lost its soul; who mortgaged a job others were calling "career suicide" into becoming its winningest occupant and the lone member of that lineage to dance three times.
And so, we dance.
On behalf of the Bonnies that didn't get to -- the Posleys, Wrights, Hagans and Hollises of the program. … Those who were tremendous athletes who despite circumstantial shortcomings, left indelible marks on St. Bonaventure basketball lore.
And so, we dance.
In honor of those who have before -- the Stiths, the Crawfords, the Adamses, and the Nicholsons of the program. … Those who laid the foundation and drew the blueprint for large-scale success at one of the smallest Division I universities in the country.
And so, we dance.
With the willful hope that, like those other schools of similar size and similar budget, we too can turn a plain yellow pumpkin into a golden carriage each year.
And so, we dance.
In honor of that Lanier-led Bona team who came two wins away from fitting the glass slipper as well.
And so, we dance.
Despite the welding jokes, the court-storming jokes, the endless snow jokes and the constant mispronunciation of Olean.
And so, we dance.
Because the clock hasn't struck 12 yet and, maybe -- just maybe -- this is the year the slipper will finally fit.
And even if it doesn't, runs like these only grow the obsession -- not limit it. And when we dust ourselves off from this wretched virus (hopefully) come next fall, it'll make raising that banner into the rafters of the Reilly Center all the more sweet.
Why not us?
Let's dance.
Pax et Bonum.