Friday, March 18, 2016

The Senior Tribute

Dear seniors: I love you all.

These are not game notes. These will never be game notes. If you want game notes, you'll have to wait.

Every year, I pour out my heart about my seniors. I really have no claim to them, other than pride in watching them mature and excel and succeed. But I think of them as mine anyway. I hope I may be allowed my foibles. If not here, then where?

And every year it seems like I have more of them, as we build connections with more and more teams. I can't give them all the love they deserve. Some I don't know well enough. Some, we haven't been through years of ups and downs, of thrilling wins and crushing defeats, of mind-numbing idiocy and breathtaking brilliance. (To love them is to be honest about them and yet still love them anyway, knowing their flaws and embracing their virtues.)

Worst of all, this year my conferences colluded to create an impossible situation. St. John's and Seton Hall, of course, conflicted, and in such a way that we couldn't just hitch a ride with someone. That's to be expected. But Iona's senior day was the same day. So was Michigan's game at Rutgers. What's a fan to do? I needed to be in four places at once, and the most any of us can do is two.

So instead of enclosing little senior tributes in each set of game notes, I'm going to give them all a little space to breathe, a little time to shine. They deserve this much. So many of them will never see the limelight. One or two or three might sniff the WNBA; most aren't even dreaming of it. Most of them you've never heard of unless you've been following the conference or the Game Notes of Doom. In this moment, you're going to hear of them.

I can't give them all their proper shine, of course. Michigan only comes to town once a year. It's hard to build a connection that way. So I'll let Michigan tell the stories of Kelsey Mitchell and Madison Ristovski instead, let them tell the triumphant story of Halle Wangler's journey from walk-on to scholarship athlete. They deserve more than the fleeting glimpses I can give you of them.

And I've only just begun to know LIU and their seniors. I don't think I've even ever seen Angelia Allen play. It wouldn't be fair to try and talk about her. Ashley Brown, I've only seen once, maybe twice by the time these notes go up. I don't know enough to tell you about her. But I can tell you about the fighting spirit that brought Shanice Vaughan out of the locker room on a badly twisted ankle because her team was short-handed, though, and the passion she brings to the floor. I can tell you about Jolanna Ford and the big boards she pulls down, that she makes plays in the paint and goes hard after the ball. I can do at least that much for these Blackbirds waiting for their moment to arise.

Fordham... ah, Fordham. I've rarely had the opportunity to see Khadijah Gibson play. I don't know her as well as I should. But I've watched Samantha Clark. In some ways, she's one of the most frustrating of my seniors. She has the kind of build that undersized centers in mid-major conferences dream of. She wouldn't look out of place in the Big Ten or the Big XII of the last decade. And there are far too many days where she can't finish at the rim, or she takes a three with far too much time on the shot clock. But she comes up big in big games, and there are few in the Atlantic 10 that can match her strength. I wish her all the best.

And now we come to my Big Three, my trinity of sorts, the three senior classes who have wrapped themselves around my heart and wrapped me around their collective fingers. We've taken these wild rides together for four years, more or less, through the breathless highs and the heartbreaking lows, seen buzzer-beaters and historic firsts. Three classes, each one of them with a record smasher, each one of them with an immortal, each one of them game-changing for their school.

*

This is not how the last year of Cassidee Ranger's college career was supposed to go down. No one plans on being injured. No one plans to spend conference play lurching about on crutches, reduced to starting the defense chant on the bench. In an offense that has so often relied on the long ball, Cas's shot would have been a perfect weapon.

We used to call her the Lone Ranger sometimes, because there were countless times when she would be open in the corner, and no one would see her. And then sometimes they did, and it was glorious, and we would fire up a rendition of "Slap Shot", because I'm a New York Rangers fan and that's how we roll when a Ranger scores.

She was pretty tough on the boards, too, and she could hold down the fort screening for her teammates. This has been a fantastic year, but it could have been even more fantastic with Cas shooting from the corner or breaking Marina loose for a drive.


Joy Adams is a freak of nature. Her athleticism is astonishing. You get ready to hold your breath when she's on the fast break, because something spectacular is going to happen. It may well be a spectacular miss. But it's just as likely to be a spectacular shot. And if it's a spectacular miss, then she's going to rebound it just as spectacularly.

She has an incredible ability to insinuate herself into spaces. That's what always catches my attention about her- she finds her way to the basket, and she will get the ball. She can take over a game, put her stamp on it, make sure that no one else gets the ball. She'll scrap and fight and dive for balls. Her energy is contagious.

She'll finish her collegiate career with one of the highest rebounding totals in NCAA D-I history. For a while, she might even be immortal; the NCAA record book keeps the top (I believe) twenty-five all-time. She'll be on that list, right there with Courtney Paris and Jillian Alleyne.


Cas is a sweetheart, and Joy is a phenom.

But Aaliyah Robinson is my favorite Gael.

Compressed in that guard's body is the rebounding will of a mighty center. Two inches taller, and she'd be high rotation in the A-10; six inches taller, and you would have heard her name long before this, somewhere in the Power 5.

More than that, she comes up clutch from beyond the arc. She can pour it on and incite the crowd, and she's deadly dangerous on the backcourt trap. One fucks with A-Rob at their own peril.

I would have loved to see what she could do in a larger frame- more height, more strength. But that doesn't mean I don't love what she does now.


These are my, and your, Iona Gaels, the first senior class in Iona women's basketball history to go dancing. They are the joy of my March Madness, and for one shining moment, maybe they'll be yours.


*


Shakena Richardson was born to control the game.

That's the only way I can describe her. When she has the ball, you damn well know she has the ball. When she's running the offense, you damn well know whose show it is. I've seen a lot of point guards over the years, and she has a commanding presence beyond her years (which is saying something for a graduate student). She looks immensely comfortable running the show.

That control extends to her body as well. She does things in the lane that seem impossible for her size. She is possessed of both incredible tenacity and incredible strength. She almost single-handedly dragged Seton Hall back into the semifinal game against Creighton, because she wasn't going to give up.

But don't let all of that make her sound like some kind of grim, implacable, martinet. Kena has more fun out there before games than just about anyone. She's certainly one of the best and most enthusiastic pre-game dancers I've ever seen, and I've seen some serious hip-shaking in my day.

I couldn't be happier that she decided to head on home, or at least closer to it than Tallahassee.


Sometimes you just need to find your niche. That's what Jordan Mosley has done. Role player is a job that needs doing too.

Jordan's the only one of the senior quintet at Seton Hall who doesn't start, and sometimes I wonder if it gets to her. The fact that I have to wonder tells me how much of a team player she's been. Being able to follow is almost as strong a sign of maturity and leadership as taking the lead is.

She's not going to do anything flashy. She doesn't go on dramatic scoring runs or make acrobatic SportsCenter lay-ups. But she'll come up with a big three at the right time, or she'll make a key defensive stop.

In some ways, she's the hardest of my seniors to get a handle on, because we see so much less of her. But she's no less a part of this team and its success for that. After all, the starters can't do it alone. Rosters are 15, not 5, for a reason.


I've been watching Aleesha Powell do her thing for a while now. We go back to Iona, to the maroon and gold, to one of the fastest backcourts in the nation, to proud parents perched in the highest bleachers the Hynes had to offer, to broken axles and the long road to and from Philadelphia.

She's a nice kid. Heaven knows she's been patient when we start talking basketball with her dad and she's wondering why these two weirdos have latched on to her family.

She looks so fragile, like she's still growing into her body. Don't let that fool you into questioning her toughness. Leesh takes the contact and gets right back up again to go hit the free throws. There are plenty of tweets on my timeline and notes in my blog to the effect of "STOP HITTING TINY ALEESHA". And she goes back for more.

She's so fast. Even at the Big East level, she's so much faster than almost everyone out there that she changes the game. She makes plays happen on defense with her quick hands and her closing speed. No ballhandler is safe when she's around.

But what really sets her apart for Seton Hall is her simpatico with Coach Bozzella. It's understandable, given their common roots at Iona. But at the same time, it's fascinating to watch the implicit trust between them when she has the ball. When Kena, or the freshman TT, has the ball, Coach never seems satisfied with the tempo of the game. When Leesh is bringing the ball up, he almost never has to implore her to speed it up or beg her to slow it down. They understand each other, and that's a key part of what makes the magic happen.

That's going to be a big hole to fill.


Tiffany Jones: the world's tallest Swiss Army Knife. (No, I don't think that's literally true, partially because Tiffany is not a literal Swiss Army Knife with all kinds of tools that you pull out with your fingernail, and partially because I don't doubt that someone somewhere has built a ten-foot-long Swiss Army Knife that you would have to tow with your car.)

But when it comes to versatility, that's her all over. Step outside and hit the deep three? Tiffany can do that. Own the boards like a boss? Tiffany can do that. Finish at the rim? Tiffany can do that. Block an opponent's shot into the second row? Tiffany can do that. (I've seen it, or at least the distance equivalent, at Walsh.)

In her brief time at the Hall, Tiffany has become indispensable. She comes to work hard every night (sometimes to her detriment- she's had days where she's pressing too much to force things that aren't happening). She spaces the offense and provides an interior anchor for the defense. She provides a threat inside and out, and that opens up opportunities for everyone else.

I'm sorry we didn't get her for longer. I think she would have been one of our greats. As it is, in three semesters she's shone bright like a shooting star.


Tabatha Richardson-Smith and I have a love-hate relationship. I love to watch her. She hates me.

I'll be honest: this post is different now that I'm writing it after the Big East tournament and what happened there. I think about Tab the person much differently now. What I thought was an ongoing good-natured ribbing was anything but, and now I find myself wondering how else I misjudged her.

So let me talk to you about Tab the player instead. No. Let me talk to you about Tab, Seton Hall's all-time leading scorer, instead. Let me talk to you about the superstar who should have been Big East Player of the Year. Let me describe the deep threes she takes with the greatest of ease and the least hesitation possible, the way she cuts through the lane with a tall grace, the way she tears down rebounds like it was going out of style. Let me describe the way she pounces on the slightest hint of weakness from a ballhandler on the press.

She has the Taurasi swagger and the game to back it up. She has the McCoughtry chip on her shoulder and the history to back it up.

But let me talk to you about a freshman buried deep on Anne Donovan's bench, coming into the game only when it was well in hand. Let me describe a player picking up garbage minutes and tough rebounds, name arcing awkwardly on her jersey. Let me talk about a reserve playing just a little bit reckless and a little bit fearless. She'd probably have been the one person who believed you if you said that by the end of her senior year she was going to be the top scorer in the Big East, the all-time leading scorer for Seton Hall, all-conference and undeniable star.

Tab's journey is Seton Hall's journey, from the bottom of the table to the top of the heap, from the back of the rotation to the front line, never forgetting where she came from, defining themselves by who they planned to be and not who they were, demanding nothing except everything.


These are my, and your, Seton Hall Pirates. They took the long way around, through La Salle, through Iona, through ASA, through Florida State and Rutgers, through the heart of Texas, to find their way to South Orange. Like every pirate crew worth their salt, they came together from disparate origins to become something stronger and something fiercer.

Raise the Jolly Roger. Plunder the lox. The Pirates are coming.


*


In retrospect, perhaps I didn't get the proper first impression of Danaejah Grant.

When Danaejah played her first games at St. John's, I thought she was a gunner, the kind of player whose only concern was how many points she had on the scoresheet, defense be damned. I had dark thoughts that that was why she left Clemson.

Maybe it was just the shoulder. Maybe it was just the shoulder brace, that giant black monstrosity that wouldn't have looked out of place on a football field or in a Borg crowd shot. Maybe that was holding her back from being who she really was.

Or maybe she realized she needed to be more than a pure scorer. Sometimes you see players come to that realization as juniors or seniors- we've come to call that a Briana Brown, after the guard who went from end-of-the-bench reserve to unquestioned captain. Some players make that leap in maturity, and maybe that's Danaejah.

Whatever the case- be it early frailty or late strength- D has come into her own this year, on both ends of the floor. She's rarely flashy. She doesn't make wild, acrobatic plays. She probably won't show up on SportsCenter any time soon.

What does she do? Everything. She's become a lockdown defender, and she usually gets one of the hardest assignments for the opposition. She's a jump-shooting threat who opens up the floor and spreads a defense. She has the strength to drive the lane, take the contact, and hit the shot- and then she'll usually hit the free throw, which is a blessed relief from all my years as a Johnnie.

It's been easy to overlook her. After all, how often do you really think about the ground you stand on? In this season, she's been our bedrock, the foundation on which everything is built.


To make aliyah is to ascend. I've never seen it be so true as it is for Aliyyah Handford.

You have to be a pretty special woman to wear #3 for St. John's. Angela Clark, wherever she is now, was an All-Big East performer on the tournament team that lost to Maryland in the Terps' championship year. Da'Shena Stevens was Big East Freshman of the Year and led St. John's to tournament wins and That Game Against UConn. It even extends to the soccer pitch- Rachel Daly is one of the greatest to don the St. John's shirt. So when this freshman whose qualification was in question came up with that number, I was skeptical, to say the least. You want to wear Angie's number? You want to wear Day's number? You better be good.

I think it's safe to say Liyyah has lived up to those expectations.

She is, simply put, breath-taking. I saw her pull off the Jewelly-oop once or twice. She knifes through the lane like a bolt of lightning. She gets hit hard, and every time, she gets back up again. And then she'll go do it again. Her midrange jumper is a thing of beauty, and every so often she'll step out for a pleasant surprise from deep.

And I haven't even talked about her defense. She has quick hands and a phenomenal ability to read the passing lanes. So much of her offense comes from her defense.

But the best part of her game is her positive energy. When Liyyah's happy, everyone's happy. Her smile is contagious. Off the court, she's just as energetic, even after a bad game. She's almost always got a bright smile, and when she doesn't, it makes the whole world a little bit sadder. That's really how she gets to you. And then she scores more points than any other Johnnie in the history of women's basketball, and you remember she's not just awesome at being a human, she's awesome at basketball.

To make aliyah is a religious experience. I'm agnostic leaning towards atheist, so I wouldn't know anything about that, but I'm okay with making that parallel.


Here they are, my, and your, St. John's Red Storm. These are two of the best to walk through the door, the thunder and the lightning of the Storm. They'll go down in the record books for all they've done for this program, and it'll be a long time before we see their like again.

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