A Special Breslin Bound Edition

The year was 1997. The game was a Class A semifinal between Detroit Redford and Detroit Central. Redford was led by Omar Zeigler. Central was led by a junior power forward named Antonio Gates (you might have heard of him)

It wasn’t a pretty game but the ending was unlike anything I had ever seen. Central decided to hold for the last shot. And when I say hold I mean HOLD. Point guard Dwight Smith dribbled near the mid court line for what felt like an eternity. When he decided to finally go. His pocket was picked and Redford streaked the other way for the game winning lay up as time expired. To this day it was as dramatic of a loss on such a large setting I have ever seen. My memory has Smith flying to try and block the shot then continuing to run right on up through the tunnel to the locker room. I don’t remember him returning and I did not blame him. It was an absolutely brutal way to lose a game. 

If you don’t know how the story ends. Take heart it got better for Central and Smith. Central returned and won the the state championship the following year. That Antonio Gates guy did ok for himself. Even though Dwight Smith graduated and did not get to win the state championship. Like Gates he matriculated to an Ohio MAC school. He played college football and was eventually a middle round draft pick. After that he went on to win a Super Bowl with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. I remember feeling happy for him. Thinking he could finally exercise that gut wrenching loss from his system. 

That might seem like a long meandering intro. I will even acknowledge I might be off on a few small details. However I must also add this. Those first few paragraphs were written completely from memory with no research. As you could probably guess. I remember it vividly because I there. It was my first big time high school basketball game at the Breslin Center. As an impressionable middle schooler I was hooked. The following morning when Andrew Mitchell delivered perhaps the most dramatic championship buzzer beating finish in MHSAA history for Detroit East Catholic— there was no turning back. My fandom was sealed.

I’ve been fortunate enough to attend the college version of the Final Four. A must go for hoop heads. I’ve been to the Super Bowl. Another bucket list event for a sports fan. I’ve been to Wrigley and old Yankee Stadium among many other famous venues. That being said my favorite sporting event and locale is still the MHSAA semi finals and finals held each year at the Breslin Center.

At times I’ve wondered myself about the attraction. Twenty plus years is a long time to do something consistently. Should I just grow up and move on to something else? Trust me as the event has backed up to spring break in recent years. Michigan winters have made question my sanity. But once again at the end of this week. I’ll be heading back down familiar roads again. Why? I have a good idea and I’m going to try and briefly unpack them in this space. 

We are a few weeks away from another iconic sporting event that I have not been fortunate enough to attend— The Masters. A “tradition unlike any other” is the tag line. When you hear “patrons” wax poetic about this event. It is usually in relation to it’s unchanging nature. From the hand operated leaderboards, to the unspoken code of conduct, and even the concession stand offerings. They say once you walk through the hallowed gates. It’s like entering a time warp. 

I would never compare the modern confines of the Breslin Center to Augusta National. That being said from middle school to my early forties. Not much has changed. The event will take place from Thursday to Saturday. The order of games among the four divisions has seen minimal change during this time. I don’t recall any change in the semifinal format. Divisions III and IV on Thursday. With Divisions I and II on Friday. Followed by championship Saturday. There have been minor tweaks in the order on Saturday. But since 1994 that has pretty much been it.

Allow me to submit the following photo into the record as evidence

I’m not a hoarder so you will just to take my for word it. The two items you see above should be familiar sights to anyone who has attended. The foreground is not an old ticket. It is a ticket for this years event. That’s right in the digital age. They will still print you a paper ticket. You could could probably guess what this sentimental fool chose. That paper ticket looks exactly the same as the one used way back in the mid 90’s. Exactly the same. From light blue color scheme, to the red MHSAA logo, even the font and formatting.

Speaking of font and formatting. The background photo is a page from a random program. I believe it’s 2016. Doesn’t matter what year I picked. Could have picked 1999 (sorry Prince) but I don’t have that one. Wouldn’t matter. Once again it would look the same. The above page layout for each individual team has never changed— not one iota. A team picture and roster in the same spot. A smaller gray box listing school info along with the name of the superintendent, principal, and athletic director. A listing of the teams opponents and results. A map with arrow indicating where the school is located. I learned more about Michigan geography from those programs than any class I ever took. There is a high likelihood you purchased said program from a student at nearby East Lansing high school. You can count on these details like clockwork.

While I love nostalgia. Let’s not forget the competition component. For the vast majority of participants. This weekend will be the pinnacle of their athletic participation. From communities large and small. It never gets old watching “kids” leave everything out on the court. The palpable buzz in the arena is nearly the same when a high profile Mr. Basketball starts to put on a show— or when a team from the UP without a player over 6 foot begins to get hot from beyond the arc.

However that is mainly window dressing for why I enjoy the event. I didn’t drive myself to the event as a middle schooler. I have always attended the event with my father. Some fathers and sons hunt or fish together. That’s not us. Some pass along businesses and work together. My Dad was a minister. While I’m not some raging heathen. That wasn’t exactly in the cards for me. A love of sports and playing music were what we did. For a variety of reasons playing music has kind of dissipated. But weekends like the Breslin Center remain.

A chance to get away for a weekend was a welcome respite for both parties. As someone who attended four schools. In a bizarre way it provided a grounding location for me. Psychologists have a fancy word for this phenomenon. I’ll spare you the details. For my Dad I’m sure he welcomed some time away as well. He wasn’t a minister for that weekend (although he was frequently back in the pulpit that Sunday) I wasn’t worried about fitting in among new hallways. We were just fans. We could analyze coaching decisions without impunity. Among the many we could vent frustrations with officiating without repercussions. But more importantly we bonded. We talked and enjoyed the valuable time together that only fathers and sons can really understand.

We could publish a pretty comprehensive Ingham County lodging guide. I think we have stayed everywhere. Some good, some not so much. However as long as that room had TV it served its purpose. Nothing like trying to find good takeout and get back to the room in time for that other little tournament that is taking place concurrently. Always fun when the local squad is still alive. This weekend should be no different.

While every part of me would love make this a greatest hits column. I do want this to be a good read and there just isn’t enough space. Full disclosure, I’m not on some type of ironman streak. I have missed some years. My first child was born around this time. I gladly missed that year and and the corresponding early birthdays were family time well spent. However two particular weekends standout in my memory.

One was my shortest visit. In 2014 I was in the midst of a career change. The accompanying stress and uncertainty were all apart of that period. In a new position I simply did not have the ability to take time off. I was prepared to take it easy and sit another year out (that would have been two or three in a row) Then a funny thing happened. My alma mater (Cadillac) surprised and qualified for the division II semi finals. Guess who called and said he had tickets? My Dad picked me up from work to high tail it down 127 to watch a resurgent Benton Harbor squad put a beat down on the Vikings. We stayed for the second game before heading home. Despite the result and short stay. If felt good to be back in familiar surroundings. During an uncertain time in my life it was an oddly reassuring night.

However that pales in comparison to 2017 and 2018. I had once again switched careers. This time though I felt I had found what I was supposed to do. I was a real life card carrying journalist. To top things off the stars appeared to be aligning quite nicely. The team I was covering (Buckley), along with town I lived (Manton) were on their way to semifinal appearance. No more of those annoying wristbands to get to seats. I would get see behind the big black curtain and be on press row.

Life had other plans though. On the morning after covering Buckley’s defeat of Suttons Bay. I was en route to dropping my kids off at school. I never made it to work that day. After a head on collision the trip ended with an emergency air lift to Grand Rapids. I ended up spending the next few weeks in a ICU ward. Needless to say I had more important things to tend to.

Such a dramatic recovery is multi layered and personal. I’ll probably always leave the most important parts out. However as you could guess. Sports was never far away. My Dad went to a game. He didn’t stay long. Said it was hard to do alone. I didn’t blame him. The Manton basketball team stopped for a brief visit on their way down to Lansing. I don’t remember much about that. Nevertheless it was a moving gesture. I do remember a visit from two Buckley team members a few weeks later. Both teams provided motivational gear and messages. Seeing those signs and shirts everyday when I woke up was highly inspirational.

Which brings us to 2018. I was excited to be heading back. While also apprehensive as whether or not I could physically do it. When I pulled right up next to the arena in a handicapped parking spot. I grabbed the cane that I still needed to walk. I had to laugh when I looked up at the gate that was welcoming me back.

No I’m not delusional, and no I’m not related to Dan Gilbert. But I couldn’t help being struck by the irony. The Gilbert family was going back to the Breslin Center through the Gilbert Family Pavilion. I don’t cheer much. Just isn’t part of my observational nature. However I will always remember getting emotionally involved in Buckley’s come from behind victory to earn another final game appearance. The boys from Manton were eliminated early. But they were a few rows behind me. And I don’t have to tell you who was sitting next to me. Hollywood couldn’t have scripted it any better….

Well maybe not. In the ensuing years I have made it down to press row. I no longer need that cane I wrote about earlier. This year adds an interesting concluding chapter. It won’t just be my Dad and I. My son is coming and this year to make it a three generation event. You won’t see my on press row this year. More important things to do.

If you made it this far. I hope you enjoyed this little walk down memory lane. Maybe it resonated with some readers. I hope you are encouraged to focus on the relationships that really matter in life. As this rundown shows. Sports will always be there in some form. Time unfortunately will not. Cherish the time we are blessed with and don’t let something as trivial as a scoreboard get in the way of those values. Enjoy the weekend. I just showed the world my seats are. If you are attending and enjoyed this column. Feel free to stop by and say hello. But above all enjoy this festival of basketball. And please MHSAA don’t ever move this event.