This time of year, they would talk about high school basketball. They would sit around the office of the IU student newspaper, most of them born-and-bred Hoosiers, and they would talk about the magic of the upcoming sectionals, the white-hot passions involved with playing the boys right down the road, the folklore of the old tournament, names remembered and games never forgotten.
It seemed a little odd to me, a non-Indiana native, back then in 1978-82. But Hoosier Hysteria cannot be fully understood unless you've grown up inside the culture.
I wonder now, though, do they still sit around the Daily Student -- or anyplace else in this state -- and speak of the upcoming tournament with the same abiding interest, the same deep intensity?
The answer, clearly and conclusively, is no.
"It's not what it was," said Herb Schwomeyer, author of "Hoosier Hysteria" and a long-time tournament historian. "I'm just very disappointed. We'll never have another state champion. What we had was a great tournament, the best in the country, and now it's gone."
Since class basketball ripped the guts out of this Hoosier institution, attendance is down, television ratings are down and passion is down. Worst, though, a big part of what made Indiana different, made Indiana's basketball tournament beautiful and unique, has been lost.
Good God, man, are we going to fight this battle again? It's been six years. Deal with it.
Sorry.
This year is the 50th anniversary of the Milan Miracle, the basketball moment that embodied everything that was right about this tournament, and if ever there was a time to revisit the battleground of class basketball, this is it.
With the girls semistates and the boys sectionals right around the corner, it's time, once again, to acknowledge that the multiclass system instituted in 1998 does . . . not . . . work.
"The saddest thing for me is to watch the state finals now and not see that many people there," said Waldron's first year coach, Jason Delaney. "I'm only 27, but I still remember what it was like when everybody was packing their gym. That was the greatest thing. The kids now, I don't even think they understand how it was."
The stated idea behind the change was to acknowledge the evolving scholastic landscape of the state, and give kids from the smaller schools a chance to enjoy their own piece of the pie.
The more virulent critics will insist it was nothing more than a bloody coup staged by small-school administrators hungry to fill their trophy cases.
Whatever.
It hasn't worked.
It's time to turn back the clock.
"They should," Schwomeyer said. "But I'm afraid they won't."
The multiclass proponents say more kids now get to go home with a shiny trophy.
Well, that's great.
But is that truly what they want?
My guess is, they'd prefer to be part of something legendary and precious and unique. My guess is, those small-school guys -- like, say, unbeaten Waldron -- would trade all their trophies for a chance to run the floor with Lawrence North and Pike.
"I know our guys would love to get a shot at it," Delaney said. "Honestly, I couldn't tell you who won the 2A championship three years ago. But you always remembered the champion (of the old tournament)."
With the 1954 anniversary at hand, we're inclined to lament the fact there can be no more Milan Miracles with multiclass basketball.
But the greatest victim in all of this has been the sectional.
When the sectionals commence all over the state next week, they will be a sickly ghost of what they used to be -- notably a backyard brawl brimming with old antagonisms.
Today, the matchups, which were revealed Monday, make no sense, consigning local rivalries to the dustbin of memory.
There was a time in this state when it was enough for the smaller schools to compete against their larger rivals from down the road. Beating them meant as much, if not more, than winning a 2A title.
And -- who knew? -- sometimes, those small schools ended up looking a lot like Milan. Since 1954, eight schools with an enrollment of fewer than 500 reached the final four.
They still talk about the Indiana high school basketball tournament this time of year. But they talk about it in the past tense, a late and lamented love, a cherished memory embraced and then lost.
http://www.indystar.com/articles/2/123808-1642-042.html
It seemed a little odd to me, a non-Indiana native, back then in 1978-82. But Hoosier Hysteria cannot be fully understood unless you've grown up inside the culture.
I wonder now, though, do they still sit around the Daily Student -- or anyplace else in this state -- and speak of the upcoming tournament with the same abiding interest, the same deep intensity?
The answer, clearly and conclusively, is no.
"It's not what it was," said Herb Schwomeyer, author of "Hoosier Hysteria" and a long-time tournament historian. "I'm just very disappointed. We'll never have another state champion. What we had was a great tournament, the best in the country, and now it's gone."
Since class basketball ripped the guts out of this Hoosier institution, attendance is down, television ratings are down and passion is down. Worst, though, a big part of what made Indiana different, made Indiana's basketball tournament beautiful and unique, has been lost.
Good God, man, are we going to fight this battle again? It's been six years. Deal with it.
Sorry.
This year is the 50th anniversary of the Milan Miracle, the basketball moment that embodied everything that was right about this tournament, and if ever there was a time to revisit the battleground of class basketball, this is it.
With the girls semistates and the boys sectionals right around the corner, it's time, once again, to acknowledge that the multiclass system instituted in 1998 does . . . not . . . work.
"The saddest thing for me is to watch the state finals now and not see that many people there," said Waldron's first year coach, Jason Delaney. "I'm only 27, but I still remember what it was like when everybody was packing their gym. That was the greatest thing. The kids now, I don't even think they understand how it was."
The stated idea behind the change was to acknowledge the evolving scholastic landscape of the state, and give kids from the smaller schools a chance to enjoy their own piece of the pie.
The more virulent critics will insist it was nothing more than a bloody coup staged by small-school administrators hungry to fill their trophy cases.
Whatever.
It hasn't worked.
It's time to turn back the clock.
"They should," Schwomeyer said. "But I'm afraid they won't."
The multiclass proponents say more kids now get to go home with a shiny trophy.
Well, that's great.
But is that truly what they want?
My guess is, they'd prefer to be part of something legendary and precious and unique. My guess is, those small-school guys -- like, say, unbeaten Waldron -- would trade all their trophies for a chance to run the floor with Lawrence North and Pike.
"I know our guys would love to get a shot at it," Delaney said. "Honestly, I couldn't tell you who won the 2A championship three years ago. But you always remembered the champion (of the old tournament)."
With the 1954 anniversary at hand, we're inclined to lament the fact there can be no more Milan Miracles with multiclass basketball.
But the greatest victim in all of this has been the sectional.
When the sectionals commence all over the state next week, they will be a sickly ghost of what they used to be -- notably a backyard brawl brimming with old antagonisms.
Today, the matchups, which were revealed Monday, make no sense, consigning local rivalries to the dustbin of memory.
There was a time in this state when it was enough for the smaller schools to compete against their larger rivals from down the road. Beating them meant as much, if not more, than winning a 2A title.
And -- who knew? -- sometimes, those small schools ended up looking a lot like Milan. Since 1954, eight schools with an enrollment of fewer than 500 reached the final four.
They still talk about the Indiana high school basketball tournament this time of year. But they talk about it in the past tense, a late and lamented love, a cherished memory embraced and then lost.
http://www.indystar.com/articles/2/123808-1642-042.html
