The Patriot Center was packed after George Mason's victory against Connecticut. We celebrated our school's triumph. In our heart of hearts we knew this would happen. We knew our players were good enough. We knew they were better than you or anyone else thought. But only when it happens can it be understood. Our school made the Final Four. It's more than that however. We are not Connecticut, or Duke, or North Carolina, or their ilk. We have a different story. We are George Mason.
Jim Larranaga, a scrappy ballplayer from the Bronx, who had coached his son at George Mason not too long ago, is now the toast of the country. This is for him. When I was first accepted into George Mason for graduate school, my brother recounted "that old army guy" that had taken GMU to the tournament, where they lost against Maryland in the first round. George Butler is his name. This is for him.
This is for all of those people that believe in the underdog, not for one night, but for a magical ride. This is for Folarin Campbell, an overlooked point guard/forward that makes Mason move. He is the soul of our team. He brings up the ball on offense and guards the opponent's forward on defense. He rebounds as if he were twice his own size.
This is for the people who predict their team will make the Final Four because they truly believe in their players' hearts, courage, will, and ability, despite what the experts say to the contrary. You don't know our team. This is for Lamar Butler, whose smile lights up your television only slightly less than his jumpshot. A senior guard who promised to take his school to the Final Four and delivered.
This is for the fans of George Mason, singing our 1980s Bon Jovi song as the band plays. I am always shocked that these kids know every word of a song from a terrible '80s band, but it is a testament to the fans' love of their team. This is for Tony Skinn, who was mighty close to being remembered by his fans as a great player with shouts of "Tony, Tony" cascading from the stands, but a goat, a villain, and a scoundrel from the rest of the basketball world thanks to a sucker punch in what may have been the team's final game.
This is for the bench, unheralded. This is for Will Thomas, who added to his dynamite play against oversized giants in the tournament. This is for Jai Lewis, the butt of fat jokes, and he loves it. Because more fats jokes means his team continues to win.
George Mason's Final Four run is not a miracle to those that knew. Miracles don't have explanations. You can't look to a team's talent to explain a miracle. Determined play throughout a season can't articulate what has just taken place in a miracle. A coach's strategy doesn't come into play with miracles. George Mason's Final Four journey isn't a miracle. But it is a gallant upset. One for the ages. This is for Billy Packer and Jim Nance, who berated GMU before and after we were chosen to participate in the NCAA tournament. It was personal. They knew not what they spoke and yet they screamed at the top of their lungs, "You are not good enough! You should not be here! We don't want you!" They can scream all they want Saturday as they watch their first George Mason game this season. This is for Seth Davis, who thought "Jai Ellis" could provide an impact against UNC and "Jamar Butler" sung well.
This is for those that don't believe that the underdog can or should win. This is a reminder that they do win. They inspire hope when all is lost. They help us escape from the pain of the world. The improbable can occur and it is not a miracle. There are reasons. These reasons cannot always be predicted, because a person's heart is not on a scouting report, a player's determination cannot be viewed in his statistics, and you cannot predict a person's desire. But they are there, the reasons. Four wins equal a trip to the Final Four and George Mason will be there.
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