You know, I have been thinking and writing about this day for a little while....but I don't think it hit me until I saw this picture, posted by Grant Cummings, from the seat where he and his Dad used to watch the Falcon games.
This took my breath away. I was, at that moment, very emotional, as I am now. How many hours have I spent here? Not just physically there, but mentally there, anticipating and recalling. They can't be counted.
I'm not thinking about loss. I'll miss Anderson Arena, there is no doubt of that, but today I'm thinking of something beyond loss. When I think about Saturday and I look at that picture, I mostly just think, "wow, there were so many good times," and feel a sense of gratitude and acceptance that Anderson will always be in my heart.
I first was in Anderson Arena with my Father in 1971. BG played St. Bonaventure. I was six years old. I remember feeling like I was in Madison Square Garden....the enormity is what remains in my mind. My father died a couple years after that, and so we didn't see a lot more games there.
That's the kind of thing you think about when you have your own son. About eight years ago, I took my own son to his first game at Anderson. We watched Urbana play over a Christmas break and became pretty much regulars from there on in. We had great times. Sitting (generally) courtside, I can remember wins over Ball State in the tournament, Toledo in a snowstorm, Miami with Cole Magner...yeah, early on he had a propensity to have to go to the bathroom just after the 4-minute media timeout in the second half, but it was a special thing for father and son. I'm blessed to have had the opportunity.
I will always say this. When Anderson was full, it was the best game day experience I have ever had for any sporting event.
It started when you were about 100 yards away, you could hear the band from inside the arena, and the walls seemed to be vibrating with the energy from inside. You'd catch a glimpse through one of the doors of the inside, the floor, the fans, players warming up, and you'd start to feel your heartbeat.
Then you'd open the door and get a blast of heat and noise and human activity. You'd enter the arena, and you would immediately get all the sensations. First, incredible claustrophobia, people crammed into every nook and cranny, radiating energy. And the noise....when the team hits the floor, when the crowd chants de-fense, when a key three-ball splashes, when the opponent takes a time out after a big Falcon run...the noise was simply indescribable.
Everyone was so close. An opposing player would go to inbound the ball from the sideline and have two hundred howling students within 10 feet of his head. Players for Michigan and Michigan State, more used to playing in sterile amphitheaters, were visibly intimidated. It was hard to believe we ever lost.
And when the team won....celebrating in close quarters with that many people, all of them cheering and sharing in your joy, brothers and sisters of the moment. Those times are marked in my memory.
In a lot of ways, Anderson Arena is like your first love. You know it's not perfect, you know it has flaws, but it's pure.
It has always been home for me. Like many homes, it has seen times of pleasure and times of heartbreak. But, seeing those stands and that floor and the baskets and the band's area and the windows along the top and the big North wall...it makes me feel happy.
Farewell old friend.
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