As we're all painfully aware by now, we're stuck in the middle of those dreadful summer days where football is still a couple months away and basketball's even futher off, stuck with the endless Sportscenter baseball highlights (a diving catch in the outfield isn't all that cool if you've seen it 20 times already that episode...I digress). What that means is that aside from the wonderful Chicken Knowles saga, there tends to be a lack of discussion points that aren't rehased rankings or trivial personal stories on this here 'blog.' I'd like to say that what I'm posting is some insightful, though-provoking commentary on Louisville sports, but well, it's not exactly that -- it's more of a personal anecdote.
Anyhow, I'll cut to the chase, but first a little backround.
This summer, I've been given the tremendous opportunity to work as an intern at a publication in Pittsburgh (not going to specify), which, for those of you keeping score at home, makes me an indentured servant trying to get into a dying industry. All things aside, it's been great so far and most of all, it affords me the opportunity to get to talk to a lot of people in sports that I never would have gotten the chance to interact with before.
One night this week, I was out covering a game in a local summer league that features a lot of Pitt and other local college players. I was talking with a few of the players for a story I was doing when I noticed that a certain someone had just taken a seat right next to the player I was interviewing -- it was none other than Pitt guard Ashton Gibbs.
While I didn't need to interview Gibbs for the piece I was doing, I knew that I couldn't miss out on a chance to talk to one of the best players in the Big East. He had just finished playing in a game in which his team lost, so when I noticed an opportunity to say something, it was time for me to talk to him.
I could have done the standard move and gone up and introduced myself, explained to him the publication I was with and compliment him on the game he just played, but as if it were a reflex or something, I opened my mouth and these were the words that followed:
"I can't believe you lost to them bums," I said while steadily shaking my head.
Everything that followed seemed like something of a blur, but I can remember him scoffing, (appropriately enough) shaking his head and then proceeding to walk off.
Was it a childish thing to do? Probably. Was it journalistically responsible? Eh, debatable. But was it an incredible experience, one I won't be forgetting any time soon? Absolutely.