It was a truly magical experience.
It was Another Cinderella Story round two, and no I’m not talking about the Selena Gomez straight to DVD version of the platitudinous, old fairy tale. However, we at Butler sang this old tune even more shrilly than the previous year.
The days following Butler University winning the Elite 8 and the second pilgrimage toward the NCAA National Championship were like a massive, ongoing free for all, an impeccable blend of a fraternity party and a clamorous and blinding fireworks show. Then throw in a dash of an overstimulated mob (sans torches and pitchforks), a sprinkle of early afternoon inebriation and other blatant displays of questionable behavior that involved red cups and wild attire in front of various adults, parents and young siblings/children in general who stormed the lawns of academic buildings and Greek houses like flocks of chickens.
It wasn’t our fault though, it was an overpowering sensation — a force far stronger than each of us. We were all truants; and this includes the professors as well. We thrust impending due dates aside, papers were postponed, countless classes cancelled, and the bookstore and Starbucks were packed like an overcrowded prison. It was nearly impossible to maneuver through the bookstore in order to reach your destination of the Atherton Union dining hall. You were virtually one of many sardines jammed into a small jar. Overzealous shoppers milled about in every corner darting around from price tag to price tag like rats rumbling over a piece of cheese.
This fever was more exhilarating than Bieber Fever. Even those poor, clueless saps such as myself who don’t have the foggiest notion of what’s going on in college/professional sports these days hopped on the bandwagon and became overwhelmed by the hype. We were the underdogs, a school once lost on the map, who joined together as one in peace and harmony — something that is truly stunning to witness.
Not to mention, these past two years have certainly lent us a hand in not only skyrocketing our enrollment/visitor basis, but it also allowed us to rake in bundles of profits. And boy, did the administration spend it wisely. That is, after they were finished rolling in the bills and cackling with dollar signs in their eyes like a villain from a cheesy animated film.
For instance, they took the liberty of purchasing televisions that display the dining hall menus, as well as bricks in the streets that spell out “BUTLER” in enormous letters. All of this instead of another dorm building for our rapidly growing student population, or bowls for cereal that aren’t the size of shot glasses. In fact, word on the street is that there are countless freshmen dorm rooms that are meant for two people with three students crammed in it like a month’s worth of clothing stuffed into a miniscule piece of luggage. This is only one example of how the reign of our basketball team transformed our school.
However, I digress. All of our predicaments suddenly became trivial as we launched ourselves full throttle into the zeal of our team’s dominance. They caused our school to make a splash on the scene and unleashed the green-eyed monster from countless universities nationwide. But most importantly, it unveiled the unruly Woodstock Festival within us all that was catalyzed from the ubiquitous state of euphoria and unity. That was the smoldering thrill that electrified each of us on campus that provided at least one commonality between us all. And that was what made it truly unforgettable.
Clare Kelly graduated from OPRF High School in 2009. She is currently a sophomore at Butler University studying Secondary Education and English.