1. I just want to beat IU 1992 to the punch. College basketball is just crazy and there will probably be random upsets somewhere today. Go Hoosiers. Ha ha

  2. Miller got the trip to Lincoln as a package deal with Maui and Manhattan.

    Price got a gift certificate to White Castle.

  3. Dustin Dopirak #7

    Sunday, November 11, 2012 – 4:30 AM EST

    Toward his point, Harvard does get to keep Remy for eternity. He was in fact prescient on that one. It’s reached inside joke level at this point, because I didn’t realize they would head that direction in recruiting him. I didn’t call it. He did. He can keep that.
    If I knew how to mix lead-in’s for ScoopTalk (Hugh is so much more awesome than me technologically) I would include some Remy. Thanks guys.

  4. Remy Abell scores 6, Butler loses to lower ranked Nova. Nevermind… I like Remy too. How did AE do by the way?

  5. Geoff- Thanks for that story. I just read it and thoroughly enjoyed it.

    I didn’t play most of my “shoot around’ hoops in a barn…or rim attached to a barn…I played in front of 10 acres of beautiful frontage property of green grass and blue spruce trees…and maples..and apple trees…and plum that grew seemingly before my eyes and upon a portrait of my dad’s pride and joy and love of nature .

    At the countryside castle of my father’s creation, \my basket and plywood backboard was attached to wonderful beams salvaged from a warehouse that used to be a home for Pullman railroad cars. Dozens of old cast iron streets lights a modernizing Indiana town no longer wanted stretched the property borders…One of the old lights was perfectly placed just a few yards from my b-ball hoop allowing me to play amongst the diving bats following nighttime game-winners coming back from the black to a white board target…Splash or clunk…splash or clunk…splash or clunk.

    My favorite spots on the court were marked by destroyed grass had worn down to dirt…There was also a dirt road from house to garden that would pass through the imaginary paint and this would also pound down the surface to allow for challenging dribbling from grass to dirt…to bumps of all sorts…There was a massive fieldstone boulder (an extra, I suppose that my dad didn’t need for the huge fireplace) located at what would be just right of a top-of-the-key jumper. It was there to serve as a marking for a hand-operated water pump I could grab a drink on a hot summer’s day…I wish I could cup my hands again and transplant myself back to those days of carefree existence…The pump installed by my dad delivered a spring-fed variety of water unique to the property…It was cold as a cold beer from the fridge. My dad loved to brag of the spring-fed waters that were unique to his land…It all flowed from the backside of another 10 acres behind the house at the bottom of a steep ravine….There was also a beautiful pond adjacent our land where I could fish bluegill and crappie. These were my summers…And there was our big German Shepherd that followed me everywhere, protect the borders…and then go off and do his own thing…..

    I lived on that court. I couldn’t dunk but I could find my version hang-time that had nothing to do with hoops. The ravine behind a line of trees just past the water pump had huge oak trees growing up to the sky from its slopes…Some were probably 300 years old…They must have been 5-stories tall…I would take to swinging on huge vines that grew down from the massive towering oaks …I lived those pre-teen and early teen years as part Pistol Pete and part Johnny Weißmüller…

    I miss those beautiful summer days spent in my private hoops paradise. And, of course, I miss my dad and mom. My mom inherited an extreme love of all sports from her dad…Our obsessions for boxing and basketball could provide hours of phone chat long after I left home. She was a huge fan of Indiana high school ball…and could never get enough of watching the Bulls and MJ.

    Thanks again…And thanks for all those lunch and beer offers as well. I can imagine that your own experiences have just as many uniquely fond memories that beat to the heart of a basketball pounding against the soul of your own dreams….

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