Between constantly burying my head in my hands and the tears it was hard to actually see the games, but goddammit, I was there. I was there trying to talk myself into Cully Payne and Brennan Cougill as the future of the program. I was there when Eric May was our best post player and the only thing that brought any sort of joy to my hopeless life. When John The Criminal made a layup and briefly made us all believe that there really were angels and that they loved us, before immediately dribbling the ball off his foot and reminding us that, no, life is shit, there is no heaven, and some day we're all going to die and rot, and if we're real fucking lucky that day will be soon. I remember when I dreamed of one day being as athletic and UT-San Antonio or as skilled as Duquesne. I served, goddammit. I was changed. When I went into that arena I was young and innocent and I left a defeated and bitter old man. What the hell do you kids even know about sacrifice?