College basketball in March is healing medicine for a fractured nation
The moment was thick with anticipation: The topranked team in women’s college basketball, the University of South Carolina Gamecocks, trailed the University of Tennessee by two points in a game earlier this month. It was the semifinals of the Southeastern Conference tournament, and just a single second remained. Two sets of fans were moments from a miracle. Either Tennessee would add to its storied history in women’s basketball by completing a dramatic comeback over the best team in the country. Or South Carolina would continue its undefeated season into the SEC tournament final, chasing a national championship and a perfect season.
The teams’ fanbases hoped for the impossible. Fans of the game itself anxiously awaited the inevitable highlight. The in-bounds pass found Kamilla Cardoso, the Gamecocks’ tallest player – left wide open because she had never made a three-point shot. Then, she made one. Onscreen, there was a tangle of people and emotions. Living rooms and group chats and social media all sprang to life, filled with fans wanting to share the experience. I bounced up from the couch in disbelief, spilling my beer. My heart was racing, my blood pressure rising.
I’d warned my new doctor this would happen. During our first visit a few days earlier, I mentioned taking daily blood pressure readings at home, because hypertension runs in the family. She asked when it tended to be highest. “In the mornings,” I answered, then added a little quip to help break the ice: “And when watching college basketball.” Her eyes caught the University of North Carolina Tar Heels logo on my pullover. I could see she had a story. Probably about some madness from a March long ago.
In a nation that needs common ground, college basketball offers it this time of year. It’s keeping lots of folks stressed and excited these days. The win-or-go-home drama of the women’s and men’s tournaments invariably creates the plot lines that fans crave. Desperation heaves that win or lose games. Long shots pulling off upsets over storied blue bloods. Star players fashioning a legendary tale and relative unknowns getting their 15 minutes of fame.
Some become lifelong memories. Thirty years ago, the Tar Heels won the women’s college basketball championship on a last-second three-point shot. I was 200 miles from home, in a freshman dorm with other emigrated Carolina boys crowded around a TV. When the ball swished through the net, we shot out of the room in crazed celebration. Nearly giving ourselves heart attacks, running laps through the halls and shouting out our home state.
A lifetime later, in my doctor’s office, a heart attack was the very thing she was trying to help me avoid. She explained how high blood pressure, left unchecked, damages the body’s organs over time. Kidneys, the brain, even the eyes. Some folks can make lifestyle changes and fix the issue completely. But others are predisposed and need daily medication for the rest of their lives. I told her that hypertension-induced heart failure took my grandfather in his 50s. It was a somber and eye-opening conversation, leaving no ice left to break. In the span of a few minutes, my doctor had gone from new acquaintance to trusted confidante.
The stakes are too high for me to ignore her instructions. As I watched the opening rounds with family and friends last weekend, surrounded by food and good-natured trash talk, the game snacks were healthier. I’ve upgraded daily cardio from a priority to a necessity. Besides, sharing the experiences brought on by electrifying performances and thrilling finishes is good for the heart. It creates a connection with people of all kinds, in places of all sorts, witnessing the miraculous together.
As I was leaving the exam room, my doctor’s coffee mug caught my eye. The logo of her alma mater – the University of Michigan Wolverines – was emblazoned across it. She described a tournament memory while walking me out: She was an undergrad during the Fab Five years, named for the quintet of freshmen in 1991 thought by many to be the best recruiting class in men’s college basketball history. This starting five of fabulous players became cultural icons and a national sensation. After losing in the championship game in their first year, they returned the next.
Against the Tar Heels of North Carolina.
We both remembered that heartstopper. Thirty years – plus one – ago, my Tar Heels beat her Wolverines for the title when Michigan’s Chris Webber, a future Hall of Famer, botched a call for a timeout. I was a senior in high school with my best friends, thrilled by the victory and bouncing around the room. My doctor and her fellow Wolverines agonized over the defeat, still a source of anguish. Instead of dividing us, though, the memory forged a sort of social trust. It was a gesture offered as a reassurance that we’re on the same team.
– – Theodore R. Johnson, a retired naval officer, writes on issues of race, democracy, and American identity. He’s the author of the forthcoming book “If We Are Brave” and 2021′s “When the Stars Begin to Fall: Overcoming Racism and Renewing the Promise of America.”