Why Do Champions Get Remembered? Because They Survive and Advance
By far the fewest signs of aging are seen on this piece of paper entitled Villanova, 2016. It’s the most accessible one out of this whole mess. Even the chair that’s in front of this desk is covered in shirt after shirt with SLAM covers on them. Gotta squeeze in here to read this paper because, sheesh, there’s a lot of info on here.
Trying… to… sit… down… in… this… tight… space—oops, accidentally hit those dials. Clear sounds break through the fuzzy static that had been imposing its will.
“Trying to go the length of the court with Arcidiacono. Three seconds at midcourt.”
Another voice butts in and just yells “Jenkins!”
There’s a noticeable uptick in crowd volume. Anticipation rises.
“Gets it to Jenkins,” the other voice jumps. “For the championship…”
A beat of silence.
A blaring buzzer.
An incomprehensible eruption. Four cannon shots go off. Pandemonium.
“Villanova! Phenomenal! The national champions!”
Too loud, too loud, gotta turn all this noise down to learn more about Jenkins.
Scan the paper, scanning, scanning. Jenkins isn’t the first name on here. That distinction belongs to head coach Jay Wright. Seems like he had been coaching there since 2001. The paper says this was his first of two national championships, the other happening in 2018. Lots of other accomplishments listed out here. Oh yeah, he seems decorated. Multiple coach of the year awards, five Big East tournament wins, over a dozen Villanova players that made it to the NBA. Coach Wright knew what he was doing.
But let’s see who else is on this piece of paper. There’s Josh Hart, the junior who led the team in total points, points per game and minutes per game. They have him listed at 6-5, but he was also second on the team in total rebounds? How’s that possible? Maybe that stat is a mistake.
Under him is that Arcidiacono guy, noted as the team’s captain. Ryan is his first name and he was a senior. This must have been their point guard because he led them in assists and steals. Classic floor general kind of stats. Wait a second, maybe there’s still too much dust on here because this says he led the entire Big East in total minutes played. That’s quite the accomplishment, almost as good as being named the 2016 Final Four Most Outstanding Player.
Ah, there’s Jenkins. Kris Jenkins, to be exact. A junior like Hart. He could really put the ball in the bucket. Second on the team in total field goals and total points and first on the team in threes made. That includes, it says on here, the game-winning three-pointer for the natty. He’s valid.
There are some other key names on here. There’s senior Daniel Ochefu who rebounded and blocked shots better than anyone else on the team. There’s the stellar freshman Jalen Brunson, a playmaking machine, so it says on this piece of paper by his name. Phil Booth’s name is underlined with handwriting that just says “steady.” The word “relentless” is scribbled next to Darryl Reynolds’ name. Mikal Bridges also has something sloppily written next to his name… hard to read, but it looks like it says “high-level competitor who doesn’t miss games.”
They had a real good team, a real good team. That must be why there are a bunch of navy blue and light blue Villanova shirts piled up in this equipment closet. A crewneck and some short sleeves that highlight this 2016 run. Makes sense.
Might as well turn up the radio again. It’s faint again, but the scratchy audio is transmitting a recognizable voice.
“But more than any individual honor,” that voice begins, “possessed something that Coach has preached from day one and that’s attitude… This is a team for the ages, on and off the court.” Applause follows that voice. It belongs to President 44, Barack Obama.
Static, mostly, but a few faint cheers can be heard through the fuzzy radio reception. This must be an older radio on this messy desk. It’s gotta be at least, shoot, a decade old. Maybe even more because it doesn’t even have any screens on it. Nothing digital to it. Just a few… dials. Dials, right? That’s what’s on this machine. It was buried underneath a stack of poorly-stored papers. Some of these pages are way more aged than others. This pile doesn’t have any rhyme or reason to it, does it? Doesn’t seem to, at least. Gotta shake the dust off of ‘em. Gotta find a light in this room right off the basketball court. There’s gotta be one around here somewhere, but it’s too dark to see it. Gonna have to rely on this flashlight.
Ah, finally, just enough light to see what’s going on here.
What do we have here? They all have logos and years at the top of them, all of these papers, last names and stats, too. But just hints of vaguely familiar information peeks out from the dark.
Villanova, 2016? Mmmm. UConn in 2011… then Duke in 2010, followed by Florida, 2006 and Michigan State in 2000. What’s going on here? What are these? Because under that stack are even more pieces of paper. Arizona, 1997. Kentucky, 1996. Duke, 1991. Louisville, 1980. And then finally there are two pieces of paper that have the Indiana logo at the very top, one from 1981 and one from 1976.
Fifty years ago? Five decades back?
But wait, there’s one last paper stuck underneath the radio. What is that?
Really need the light in here. Can’t make it out. Why is there no light switch in this outdated equipment closet? Gonna at least make the radio a little louder while the light search continues. Still hard to make it out, but there’s a familiar song playing. Something about a shining moment.
Let’s see, let’s see. Spinning around this room, pointing the flashlight everywhere possible. There are a few curled banners, a few plaques hastily hung on the concrete walls, a few loose basketballs, a few forgotten sneakers, a couple of strands of cut nets, photos of celebrating basketball players and a heap of torn up SLAM magazines. And in the corner is a mound of clothing. Shirts, shorts, hoodies—hundreds of pieces. It’s possible to make out some of the logos from the schools on the old papers. There are even more logos on even more pieces, in every possible color. Oh, there it is, the light switch. Finally, lights, please.
Now with the last piece of paper in sight, there’s one more logo to see. Let’s turn the radio up even louder. Calls of greatness gone by flood the sound waves. The noises of joy are so visceral that it’s impossible not to be overcome by inspiration. The soundtracks to championships, to eternal legacy, to a status that transcends the physical and the audial, to a place where the electricity of winning is still coursing in the bodies of fans all these years later.
That last piece of paper, the one under the radio, says SLAM, Survive and Advance, Indianapolis 2026.
