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(Sorry for the length of this post, but I figured some might want to hear my side of the story!)
From Mini’s Perspective,
I can’t say that I technically remember the first failed trip to Omaha since we never did make it to a game, but I certainly remember our first actual game that following year. In fact, I was a great bunter my entire baseball career because of a failed Stanford bunt attempt proved costly as LSU came back to win it. As the winning run for LSU crossed home plate there was a rush of emotions, a combination of disappointment, sadness and finality that resulted in a few tears. Little did I know that very same feeling would great me in stadiums across the United States over the next 22 years.
To this day I believe that feeling wasn’t simply about the outcome of a game. There was always more to the story. Those teams mattered to us and their season coming to an end was always an unwelcoming event that just so happened to be accompanied by the other team scoring more points/runs. The car rides home were never as fun as the car rides there, but they were still priceless time together, coupled with whispers about next year’s team.
What started out as a not so funny coincidence turned into a statistical anomaly. We just could not see Stanford win. With my high school graduation beginning to creep up, we got desperate. Desperation was met with despair. Days after graduating from high school we set off on one last hurrah, going to Florida State to hopefully will Stanford back to Omaha. A record setting 17-1 loss and a rainout latter that feeling I was introduced to in Omaha returned in the back of the rental car. Is this really how it ends? I am going to college at Dickinson State, do I have to give up the Stanford fandom? Are we done chasing this thing?
To answer those questions; No. Hell No. And who are we kidding here?? I earned my stripes as a Stanford fan and I saw no good reason to give it up. Instead of watching most every game in the same room, we watched from hundreds of miles apart. Not much else changed. When there was a bad call against Stanford I would pull my phone out and wait for the angry phone call (and a call always came). My family isn’t great about talking about feelings or stuff like that, so Stanford sports served a rather important purpose in my life away from home phase. Calls about the game were a useful excuse to catch up and check in with each other. If a game was every missed that would be a red flag that something was wrong (I think, since neither of us really missed any big games).
There was an extra benefit of a Stanford team making a postseason run. A family reunion of sorts. This time together becomes all the more precious the less we get together. Heck, mom even started joining the ride. Thankfully, Tara managed to give us some degree of hope. I knew this year could be special for women’s basketball. Not only was Stanford good, but the school I happen to be attending was vulnerable in ways they have not been in the past. Somehow, someway, the team made it to the final four and we managed to meet them there, but not without some drama.
The night before the semifinal game, the only flight out of Dickinson, ND got pushed back to the point where you would not make it to the game in time. Mom and I found a technical work around, drive 100 miles to Bismarck, catch a flight to Dallas, grab a rental and pull into town just in time. This was neither efficient nor economical but, sure enough, you guys made it. When South Carolina was up 9 at the first media time out I felt nothing but guilt. All the time, energy, risks, and costs it took to get here only for it to end like this? Thankfully, Stanford came roaring back. But then those last 9 second happened. Out of nowhere the game was all of the sudden on the line.
The last time we had seen Stanford women’s basketball win a postseason game was in 2005. Here we go again... She missed! Please give us this one, let us enjoy the next 36 hours full of anticipat…SHE MISSED TOO! We won! You can barely see us in the replay on ESPN as the Stanford players celebrate, I have my hands above my head in pure disbelief.
The time leading up to the championship game was awkward. As pessimistic as we are, it was legitimately difficult to not feel pretty good about playing a team Stanford had already handled twice. But we tried! Stanford got off to a solid early start and it felt like the Iowa Rose Bowl was coming. Turns out it was much more like the 2013 Wisconsin Rose Bowl. It was a battle and Arizona refused to go away.
Based on the officiating, and the fact that McDonald is a great player, I pleaded all afternoon “do not let this game come down to McDonald driving to the basket for a game winner.” That was clearly what Arizona planned during that last timeout. Stanford used that timeout to come up with a plan to force one more stop. I used that timeout to soak it all in. For whatever silly reasons, this was our thing. Who knows what would have happened if Stanford would have held off LSU at the 2000 CWS. Would a win have ended the journey way before it was supposed to? Maybe in some cruel way the loses were a different kind of fate after all.
As the ball was inbounded, the rush of emotions arrived, the same feeling that these trips always ended with. But, SHE MISSED! WE WON!? As we embraced in the long overdue celebratory hug, the tears were flowing. Instead of disappointment it was relief, instead of sadness it was joy, but the finality portion of the equation was stronger than ever. We, quite literally, did not know what to do. We soaked it in; we took pictures, we grabbed some confetti and waited until ushers forced us to leave. We did it!
Most stories don’t end at the climax and I don’t want this one too either. Here’s to a few more confetti hugs and maybeee a few less emotional outbursts targeted at the officials (can you believe Stanford shot 2 free throws all game!?). I can’t help but notice the next women’s final four is just down the road from you in Minneapolis…
P.S. Not to be nitpicky but your long list of Stanford grads that served as childhood role models and heroes had at least two glaring omissions, mom and dad! Thanks for all the sacrifices that led to every ticket, every trip, and every mile. I am aware my portion of your theoretical inheritance has already been spent chasing Stanford teams for 22 years and I wouldn’t want it any other way!
