Open Mic: “I Came to Syracuse for Big Games”

Eds. Note: I put out an “open mic” call early last week asking readers to participate in a Syracuse-Georgetown essay experiment.  Dave M. submitted the below piece outlining how he developed his beautiful disdain for Georgetown University.

When my season ticket package arrived freshman year, one game stood out among all the rest: Feb 19 — Connecticut.  After all, Connecticut was the 1999 champions. Connecticut was Ray Allen and Rip Hamilton. Connecticut was a national powerhouse.

Georgetown? It was an N.I.T. team. A has-been.

Syracuse’s senior class (2001) had gone 4-1 against the Hoyas in three years. However, they were only 1-5 against Connecticut, and the one win was the biggest game in recent student memory. I came to Syracuse to see big-time games, and that’s what Connecticut was. Being a college basketball junkie, but only recently an Orangeman, Georgetown was just another game to me. Was I aware of the history between the Orangemen and the Hoyas? Probably, but I didn’t feel it. Those days were over.

The trend continued throughout my time on the hill. Excepting the forgettable DeShaun Williams meltdown season (2002), I was witness to a 5-1 record against the Hoyas, but only a 3-3 record against the Huskies. Meanwhile, Pittsburgh was beginning its post-2000 Big East run, beating Syracuse three times in five games (again, discounting 2002). While Georgetown was missing the cut for the N.I.T., Connecticut and Pittsburgh were facing off in three consecutive Big East Tournament Championship games. They were the ones standing in between Syracuse and Big East glory each year, so they were the ones I was gunning for. I can remember joking that I minored in “Hating Connecticut and Pittsburgh” while at school, and I don’t recall feeling any more bitterness toward Georgetown than I did toward Notre Dame, who only beat Syracuse twice in my four years.

A funny thing happens, however, if you attend a major sports school: You slowly begin to understand the history that you weren’t a part of. You have nightmares about Keith Smart’s jumper, even though you were five years old at the time and can’t remember a March Madness before 1990. You think it would be cool to have a Pearl Washington jersey, even though you had never heard of him until the new millennium. You find it very fitting that Georgetown once had a player named Michael Jackson.

I began to realize certain things: Connecticut had only been relevant since the early 1990’s (Pittsburgh only since 2000). Syracuse and Georgetown built the Big East; each institution has been the class of the conference since 1980. Suddenly, I saw the light: Georgetown was my rival. While I had reached that conclusion in a rational sense, it just wasn’t clicking emotionally. I mean, I rooted for Georgetown in some situations. Contrastingly, no matter how good it would have been for the Big East, I always wanted Connecticut to crash and burn.

And then, serendipitously, I found my answers in a passage from Chuck Klosterman IV: A Decade of Curious People and Dangerous Ideas:

What you need is (a) one quality nemesis and (b) one archenemy. These are the two most important mechanisms in any human’s life. We measure ourselves against our nemeses, and we long to destroy our archenemies. They are the catalysts for why we do everything.

Now, I know what you’re asking yourself: How do I know the difference between my nemesis and my archenemy?

Here is the short answer: You kind of like your nemesis, despite the fact that you despise him. You will always have drinks with your nemesis. You will attend the funeral of your nemesis, and—privately—you might shed a tear over his or her passing. However, you would never choose to have a cocktail with your archenemy, unless you were attempting to spike the gin with arsenic. If you were to perish, your archenemy would dance on your grave, and then he’d burn down your house and molest your children. You hate your archenemy so much that you keep your hatred secret, because you do not want your archenemy to have the satisfaction of being hated.

That nailed it for me. Georgetown is our nemesis; Connecticut is our archenemy. Both teams are vital to our basketball existence, but the Hoyas are the only ones with whom we are inexorably linked. The implied difference between Klosterman’s two theoretical adversaries is in the level of respect; it only seems like I hate Connecticut more than Georgetown. I unequivocally hate the Hoyas, but I respect them. They’ve been there with us since the beginning, and as the writer of Hoya Suxa  put it on Monday, Georgetown (and Syracuse) both understand that “…they’re at opposite ends of the spectrum, and one does not maintain relevance without the other.”

Conversely, my hatred for Connecticut stems from a feeling that they are infringing on what Syracuse and Georgetown have already established. Have they been a great program the last 20 years (and thus, a thorn in our side)? Absolutely, but that does not mean that they take the place of our historical foe. So, while Syracuse and Connecticut have had and will continue to have meaningful clashes, when one or both teams are mediocre, the luster is gone. But home or road, ranked or unranked, Georgetown matters. Georgetown is who Syracuse measures itself against, not necessarily in any given year, but over the course of history.

So sometimes I do root for Georgetown, if only because the better they are when we meet, the more meaningful the contest and Syracuse’s victory all that more sweet.

Connecticut? It can lose every game.

In short, I revel in Connecticut’s failures in general, but I revel in Georgetown’s failures against us. And when the question “who would you rather beat?” is posed, the answer is clear: There’s nothing better than beating Georgetown. It’s special and it means something every time Syracuse wins. The satisfaction I get from Syracuse beating Connecticut is more akin to relief; a feeling that things are how they should be.

But here’s the rub: I’d rather Syracuse lose to Georgetown, too. I accept that losses to Georgetown are an inevitable part of being in a great rivalry, and comes with the territory. I can handle it. Losing to Connecticut hurts more like an upset, almost like losing to your kid brother.

So for those Syracuse fans who have yet to come around, by all means, continue to hate Connecticut. But recognize Connecticut for what it is: the new kid on the block looking to pick a fight. Connecticut has made its presence known, no doubt, and will continue to be a strong opponent, but there is only one team that worthy of our focus, regardless of the circumstances.

That team is Georgetown.